25334	----	None 
27231	----	produced from images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) THE RIFLEMEN OF THE Miami. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS BEADLE AND COMPANY, NEW YORK: 141 WILLIAM STREET. LONDON: 44 PATERNOSTER ROW. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1862, by BEADLE AND COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. THE RIFLEMEN OF THE MIAMI. CHAPTER I. THE RESCUE. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly.--MACBETH. "Quick, boys, and be careful that they don't see your heads." Four men were moving along under the bank of the Miami, with their bodies bent, at a gait that was almost rapid enough to be called a run. They were constantly raising their heads and peering over the bank, as though watching something in the wood, which in this section was quite open. All four were attired in the garb of hunters, and were evidently men whose homes were in the great wilderness. They had embrowned faces, and sinewy limbs, and the _personnel_ of the woodman--of the men who hovered only upon the confines of civilization, rarely, if ever, venturing within the crowded city or village. It is hardly necessary to say that each carried his rifle and his hunting-knife. Between the three foremost was a striking resemblance; it appeared impossible that more than five years divided them in age. Two were brothers, George and Lewis Dernor, while the third answered to the _sobriquet_ of Dick--his real name being Richard Allmat. The fourth--he who brought up the rear--possessed an individuality which must have marked him in any situation. Barely more than five feet in height, and with bowed legs, instead of owning a jovial temper, as one would have a right to expect from his jolly-looking face, he was, in reality, a most irascible fellow. Never known to express satisfaction at any occurrence, gift or suggestion, he was constantly finding fault, and threatening dire vengeance upon those who surrounded him. These threats never being carried out, attracted little attention. "Tom" (as he was called) was considered a privileged individual, and, in spite of his disposition, was a favorite with those who knew him. This may seem strange when we add that, in addition to his sour temper, the natural defect of his legs prevented him from placing any dependence upon them. At his best speed he was but an ordinary runner. A stranger well might wonder that he should adopt a life where fleetness of foot was so necessary--in fact, so almost indispensable. Tom O'Hara turned ranger from pure love for the wild, adventurous life; and, despite the natural defects to which we have referred, possessed accomplishments that rendered him a most valuable ally and companion. He never had met his superior with the rifle, and his knowledge of woodcraft was such that, although he had spent ten years on the border, his slowness of foot had never operated against him; nor once had he been outwitted by the red-men of the woods. Besides this, he had the enviable reputation of being a _lucky individual_--one whose rifle never missed fire, or sped wide of its mark--one to whom no unfortunate accident over occurred; so that, take him all in all, few hunters were safer in the wood than this same Tom O'Hara. These four were known as the _Riflemen of the Miami_, of whom Lewis Dernor was the leader. Another member, then a long way off, will be referred to hereafter. "Quick, boys, and be careful that they don't see your heads," admonished Lewis, ducking his own and gesticulating to those behind him. "_Sh!_ look quick! there they go!" The four stretched their necks, glancing over the bank, out into a small clearing in the wood. "They'll cross that in a minute," whispered the first speaker. "Don't raise your heads too high or you'll be seen." "You don't appear to think nobody knows nothing but you," growled Tom, with a savage look. "_Quiet!_ There they go!" One Indian strode into the clearing, followed by another, then by two abreast, between whom a woman was walking, her head bent as if in despair, with steps painful and labored. Behind these came three other savages. They passed across the clearing--the whole seven, with their captive like the moving figures in a panorama, and entered the wood upon the opposite side. "Every mother's son of them is in his war-paint," said Lewis--who, by the way, divided his words with Tom, the other two rarely speaking except when directly appealed to. "Who said they wasn't?" demanded Tom. "And what difference does it make? They've got somebody's gal there, hain't they? eh? Say. And what's the odds whether they've daubed themselves up with their stuff or not?" "Well, what's the next move? To set up a yell and pitch after them?" "None but a fool would want to do that." "But don't you notice the bank gets so low down yonder that it won't hide us, and we'll have to show ourselves?" "It'll hide us as long as we want to be hid. Come, don't squat here, or we'll let the rascals slip, after all." Again the three moved down the bank, as rapidly, silently and cautiously as spirits, ever and anon raising their heads as they gained a glimpse of the Indians passing through the wood. The latter were following a course parallel with the Miami, so that the relative distance between the two parties remained nearly the same. It was manifest to the hunters that the Indians intended crossing the river with their captive at some point lower down, and were making toward that point. It was further evident from the deliberation in their movements, and from the fact that they were not proceeding in "Indian file," that as yet they had no suspicion of being pursued, although every one of their number knew of the existence of the Riflemen of the Miami--that formidable confederation whose very name was a word of terror even to their savage hearts. Entirely unsuspicious of the danger which menaced them, every thing was in favor of the hunters. For several hundred yards further, the two parties maintained their relative distance, the Indians proceeding at a usual walk, and the whites at a very irregular one--now running rapidly a few steps, and then halting and gazing over the bank to ascertain the precise whereabouts of their enemies; then skulking a few yards further, and halting as before, remaining all the time nearly opposite the "braves." Suddenly the latter came to a stand. "Now for a confab," said Lewis, as his companions gathered about him. "I wonder what they are going to jabber about?" "What do you want to know for, eh?" asked Tom. "It's pretty plain they're going to cross the river, but, confound it, how can we tell where it's going to be done? I've told you that the bank gets so low, just yonder, that it won't hide us any longer." "Who wants it to hide us? They intend to cross the river _here_, and in about ten minutes, too. Just watch their actions, if you can do it without showing your head." The Indians stood together, conversing upon some point about which there seemed a variance of opinion. Their deep, guttural, ejaculatory words were plainly audible to the hunters, and their gleaming, bedaubed visages were seen in all their hideous repulsiveness. They gesticulated continually, pointing behind them in the direction of their trail, and across the river, over the heads of the crouching Riflemen, who were watching every motion. Nothing would have been easier for the latter than to have sent four of these savages into eternity without a moment's warning; yet, nothing was further from their intentions, for, of all things, this would have been the surest to defeat their chief object. The captive would have been brained the instant the savages saw they could not hold her. The great point was to surprise them so suddenly and completely as to prevent this. From the present appearance of matters, this seemed not very difficult of accomplishment, as it was a foregone conclusion upon the part of the hunters that the savages would endeavor to ford the river at the point where they lay in ambush for them. It only remained for the Riflemen to bide their time, and, at the proper moment, rush upon and scatter them, and rescue the captive from their hands. "I wonder whether they're going to talk all day," remarked Tom, impatiently, after they had conversed some twenty or thirty minutes. "They're in a dispute about something. It won't take them long to get through with it." "How do you know that, I should like to know? Like enough they'll talk till dark, and keep us waiting. Confound 'em, what's the use?" No one ventured to reply to Tom's sulky observation, and, after several impatient exclamations, he added: "The longer they talk the louder they get, which is a sure sign the dispute is getting hotter, which is another sign it'll be considerable time before they get through." "I am sure we can wait as long as they can," said Dick, mildly. "My heavens! who said we couldn't? Just hear 'em jabber!" The conversation of the Indians had now become so earnest, that every word spoken was distinctly heard by the Riflemen. The latter, from the dress and actions of the savages, understood they had no chief with them, but were merely seven warriors, who had been out on this barbarous expedition, and were returning to their town with the booty and the captive they had secured. "They're talking in the Shawnee tongue," said Lewis. "Can't you understand what they're driving at?" "If you only keep your jaws shut a minute or two, I could; but if you three fellers mean to talk all the time, I should like to know how I am going to understand any thing they say. See whether you can keep quiet a minute, just." Tom's companions did as requested, while he bent his head forward, and seemed to concentrate all his faculties into the one of listening. Upon the part of the Riflemen all was still as death. After several minutes of the acutest attention, Tom raised his head, and said, with a glowing expression: "They're talking about _us_." "The deuce! what are they saying?" "Don't you see they're pointing up the river and across it? Well, the meaning of all that is, that they're wondering which way we'll come from." "What seems to be the general expectation?" "The trouble is just there--the expectation is altogether too general. Some think we're on their trail, others that we're following the other side the river down, and waiting for the chance to let drive at 'em, while one, at least, feels certain we're _coming up_ the stream to meet 'em." "Is that their dispute?" "A part of it, of course, but the trouble is--what to do. Some want to strike off in the woods and take a roundabout way to reach home; but the greatest number want to cross the stream at this point." "They'll probably do it then." "Of course they will--no; I'll be shot if they ain't going further into the woods!" suddenly exclaimed Tom. "They're going to start in a minute, too. Get ready, boys, for a rush--it's all we can do." "Hold still a minute," commanded Tom, excitedly. Then dropping his rifle, he ran down to the river's edge, and picked up several large pebbles, one of which he placed in his right hand as if about to throw it. "What are you going to do with that?" asked Dick. "That's none of your business; you've only to wait and see. Just keep your heads down now, if you don't want them knocked off." Tom, drawing his hand back, struck it quickly against his thigh, accomplishing what is generally termed "jerking" the stone. The latter went circling high over the heads of the disputing Indians, and came down upon the other side of them, cutting its way through the dry leaves of the trees with a peculiar _zip-zip_, which was distinctly heard by the Riflemen themselves. The unusual sound could not fail instantly to attract the attention of the Indians. They paused in their conversation, and turned their alarmed gaze toward it, as if in expectation of some danger. With their instinctive caution, they separated, and partially protecting themselves behind the trees, prepared to receive what they supposed to be their enemies. A noticeable fact did not escape the eyes of the Riflemen. The captive, a weak, defenseless girl, was not allowed to screen herself, as did her captors, but was compelled by them to stand out in full view, as an additional safeguard against their bullets. It was at this moment that Tom hurled the second stone over the heads of the Indians, it descending with the same sharp, cutting sound, and resolving their suspicions into a certainty that their white enemies were indeed at hand. Lewis Dernor, now that the moment of action had arrived, was as shrewd and far-sighted as either Tom or any of the others. It was these very qualities, coolness and self-reliance in the crisis of danger, that made him nominally the leader of the Riflemen of the Miami. He saw the great advantage gained by O'Hara's artifice in attracting the attention of the Indians to the point opposite to that from which the peril threatened; but, at the same time, he well knew that those same Shawnees were too well skilled in woodcraft to suffer their gaze to be diverted for any length of time from the river-bank. As matters now stood, the captive herself was the only one who was looking in the direction of the latter, while her gaze was a mere mechanical one, wandering hither and thither without resting for a moment upon any particular object. Lewis felt that the all-important point was to make her aware of the vicinity of friends. She being a total stranger to them, and evidently with no hope of any immediate rescue, made this a matter of considerable difficulty; but, without hesitating a moment, Lewis suddenly arose to the upright position, thereby exposing his head and shoulders, and beckoned to the girl to approach him. The instant he had done this, he dropped on his face and disappeared. The attempt was only a partial success. At the moment of rising, the gaze of the captive was toward a point further down-stream; but the figure of the hunter, as it rose and sunk from view, was in her field of vision and did not entirely escape her notice. The unusual occurrence drew her look thither, making it certain that a second attempt, could it be made, would succeed far better than the first. All this Lewis comprehended, and as quick as possible repeated his movement precisely as before. This time the girl saw him and perfectly understood his meaning; but, with a precipitancy that filled the hunters with the greatest alarm, she started directly toward them, with outstretched arms, as if imploring assistance. It was at this instant that Lewis discovered a quickness of perception, coolness and promptness of action that was absolutely wonderful. Looking out upon the exciting drama being enacted before him, he saw with unerring certainty how far the girl could run before being fired at by the savages. Waiting until she had gone the distance, he raised his head and shoulders to view, and called out in a voice of thunder: "I say, gal, drop flat on your face and stay there." The quickness with which this command was obeyed, and the almost simultaneous crack of two rifles, might well have caused the belief that she had fallen because shot through the heart; but such was not the case. The command of Lewis broke upon her like a thunder-peal, and as quick as a flash of lightning did she comprehend the fearfully imminent peril in which she was placed. So marvelously close had been the calculation of the hunter, that at the very instant she obeyed him, the rifle of the nearest Indian was pointed full at her. This did not escape the eagle eye of O'Hara, who, with the same coolness that characterized the action of his leader, discharged his piece at the bronzed head of the Shawnee, his aim scarcely occupying a second. The bullet sped sure, striking the savage at the very moment his own weapon was fired, and his death-yell mingled with the whistle of his own harmless rifle-ball. Even in this moment of terrible danger, the manner in which the Indians shifted to the opposite side of the trees could but attract the notice of the hunters. It was simultaneous on the part of all, and resembled that of automata, moved by machinery. First, every copper-colored body was exposed to full view; and the next minute six gleaming rifle-barrels only showed where they had sheltered themselves from the fire of the whites. They no longer doubted the point from which their danger threatened, and a genuine strategic Indian fight now commenced. Had the captive, who was now literally between two fires, done nothing but merely fall upon her face, her situation could not have been improved in the least thereby. But the nature of the ground near her was such that, by lying perfectly motionless, the bullets of the Shawnees could not strike her, unless they could gain a position nearer to the hunters. As matters stood, she was safe only so long as her captors could be kept from changing their places. This was manifest to both the whites and the Indians; and while the latter were now actuated by the desire to slay the girl, the efforts of the former were turned toward her salvation. It was further evident that the Shawnees were aware that they were now opposed to the Riflemen of the Miami, and were nothing loth for a trial of skill. The loss of one of their number was such a matter of course, that it operated only as an incentive for exertion and skill upon their part. A portion of the dress of the girl, as she lay upon the ground, could be seen by several of the Indians, and they fired numerous shots at it. Finding this accomplished nothing, they resorted to a far more dangerous expedient--that of shooting away enough earth in front of her to allow the free passage of one of their bullets to her body. It will be seen that great skill was required to do this, but the expertness of the Shawnee marksmen was equal to the task. They commenced their work by sending a ball so as to strike the earth immediately before her, and a few inches below the surface. The instant this was done, another fired his bullet directly after, with such skill that it varied but the fraction of an inch from following directly in its path. The force with which these balls were discharged was such that the twelfth one would most assuredly take the life of the girl. None knew this better than Lewis Dernor, who, in the same trumpet-like tone that had characterized his former command, called out: "Young gal, clean away the dirt in front of you and hide yourself better, or the imps will riddle you." It required no more incentive to do this, and she used her hands with such vigor that a few moments accomplished all she could wish. The ground, being soft and moist, favored her, and when she dragged herself a few feet forward, all of her dress disappeared from the view of the Indians, and she was as safe from their bullets as if behind the river-bank itself. A few more shots convinced the Shawnees of this, and they now sent several bullets whistling over the heads of the Riflemen as if to remind them that they were to receive attention. So long as the members of the two parties maintained their respective positions, this affray could amount to nothing; accordingly, several of the savages made an effort to change their posts in such a manner as to outflank the whites. Despite the admirable skill with which this attempt was made, the deadly rifle of George Dernor brought down a warrior as he flitted from tree to tree. This, for the present, put a stop to the movement and turned the efforts of the savages in another direction. Two brawny Shawnees, convinced that nothing could be done against the Riflemen, renewed their attempts to secure a shot at the girl, who all this time lay as motionless as if dead. They commenced working their way slowly but surely toward the river, while she, unconscious of the murderous stratagem, patiently awaited the turn of affairs which would free her from her terrible thralldom. Finally, an Indian, who was squatted behind a tree, gained a view of a tuft of her hair and brought his rifle to his shoulder. The sunlight that scintillated along the barrel of his weapon made it resemble a burnished spear, poised in his hand, while following it up to the stock, not only his crooked arm which supported the gun, but his entire profile was visible. Forgetting his own peril in his anxiety to slay the helpless girl, the Shawnee leaned several inches further forward, thereby discovering one-half of his shaven head. Ere he could draw it back, the whip-like crack of another rifle broke the stillness, and he fell forward on his face, pierced through and through the brain. "I've a great notion to break your head for you!" exclaimed Tom, in an excited whisper to Dick, for it was the latter who had fired the fatal shot. "Why, what's up now?" "I'd just got that Shawnee sure when you picked him off. Don't you serve me that trick again." With this ebullition, Tom subsided, and turned his attention once more toward their common enemy. The shot of Dick really decided the affray. It convinced the Indians that not only were they unable to shoot the girl or avenge themselves upon the Riflemen, but the latter had so much the advantage of them, that to prolong the contest would only be to insure their own annihilation. Three of their number were already slain, and the remaining four, from their respective positions, had not the shadow of a chance to pick off any of the whites. What might naturally be expected under the circumstances occurred. The savages commenced a retreat, conducting it with such caution that the whites could not gain another shot. The last seen of them was a shadowy glimpse in a distant part of the wood, as the four fled, thereby doing only what the Riflemen of the Miami had before compelled many a body of Indians to do. A few minutes later, Lewis rose up and said: "This way, gal; there's none of the imps left." The girl, timidly raising her head, glanced about her, and then, Lewis' invitation being repeated, she arose and walked toward him, looking furtively backward as though still fearful of her late captors. "Bless your dear soul," said Lewis, warmly welcoming her, "you've had a skeery time with them Shawnees, but you're safe for the present. You may set that down as a question that needn't be argued." "Oh! how can I thank you for rescuing me! I can never, never repay you," said she, with streaming eyes. "Who the deuce wants you to pay us?" asked Tom, gruffly. "Come, come, Tom, see whether you can't be civil once, even if you've got to be sick for it. Don't mind him, little gal; he loves you all the more for what he said." "I know he does, or he would never have risked his life to save a stranger as he has just done." Tom, from some cause or other, was obliged to gouge his eye several times with his crooked finger. One might have suspected that they were more moist than usual, had he not looked particularly savage at that moment. Dick, who, by the merest accident, glanced in his face was nearly startled off his feet by the irascible fellow shouting: "What you looking at? Say! Can't a chap rub his eyes without your gaping at him that way?" Dick meekly removed his gaze, while Tom looked ferocious enough to annihilate the whole party. The girl, just rescued from the Shawnees, was a comely maiden. Though attired in the homespun garb of the backwoods, she would have attracted attention in any society. If not beautiful, she certainly was handsome, being possessed of a countenance rich with expression, and a form of perfect grace. Blue eyes, golden hair, a well-turned head, small nose and a health-tinted complexion, were characteristics to arrest the eye of the most ordinary observer. Even under disadvantageous circumstances like the present, these were so striking that they could but make an impression, and a skillful reader of human nature would have seen that Lewis had been _touched_--that, in short, the leader of the Riflemen of the Miami had reached the incipient stages of the passion of passions, in the short interview to which we have referred. That he would rather have been scalped than have been suspected of it by his companions, was very true. Taking the small hands which were confidingly placed in his own, he said; "Let us hear all about this scrape, my little one." "My home is, or was until night before last, many miles from here. On that evening, I was left alone by my dearest friend, who little dreamed of the danger which hovered over our house. The Indians must have been aware of his absence, for, before it was fairly dark, three of them stalked in the door without saying a word, and led me away. They have traveled constantly ever since, and I was almost wearied to death, when you came up, and by the assistance of kind Heaven, saved me. How came you to be so interested in a stranger?" "As for that matter," replied Lewis, "it ain't the first time, my little one, that _we've_ been interested in strangers. I might say we've a particular interest in all the whites and reds of this region. The Riflemen of the Miami----" "Are you the men who are known by that name?" asked the girl, with a glowing countenance. "At your service," replied Lewis, with a modest blush. "Indeed, I have heard of you, and have heard your name blessed again and again by the settlers further east." "Which certainly is pleasant to us. As I was going to say, we were coming down the Miami, this morning, when we chanced to strike the trail of these identical Indians. It was easy enough to see that it was but a short time since they had gone along, and, as it was in our line, of course we jogged on after them. The red imps were taking it coolly, and in a couple of hours or so we got sight of them going down the river. Well, we followed on after them till they made their halt out here, when--well, you know the rest." "Of course she does," said Tom, "so what's the use of talking? What's the gal want to do? Go back to her friends, I s'pose?" "If you could take me there, I could not express my thankfulness." "Where is it you belong?" The girl gave the name of a settlement nearly a hundred miles distant. Lewis bent his head a moment, as if deliberating something, and then said: "We've got a job on our hands that _must be done_ this very night, and it is going to be such a lively one that it won't do to have you in the vicinity. Consequently, although there isn't one of us but what would risk his life to take you back to your friends, it can't be done _just now_." "You will not leave me?" plead the girl. "Leave you? that's something the _Riflemen_, I make bold to say, never did yet. No; of course we'll not _leave_ you. I'll tell you the plan. About five miles off from the river, lives old Caleb Smith and his two big sons, all as clever and kind as so many babies. We've got to be back at our rendezvous to-night, where the other member of our company is to meet us; and on our way there, we'll leave you at Old Smith's and return for you in a few days. Won't that be the best we can do, Tom?" "S'pose so." The girl herself expressed great satisfaction at this conclusion; and, as it was getting well along in the day, the Riflemen set out with their charge. In due time they reached "Old Smith's house," who was well known to them, and who received them with the most hearty cordiality. He gladly took charge of the rescued girl, promising that she should be guarded as much as if his own child. Just as the shadows of evening were closing over the wood, the Riflemen took their departure. Three days later they returned to fulfill their promise to the girl, when old Smith told them that, fearing some unexpected occurrence had detained them, he had sent his two sons to conduct her to her home. CHAPTER II. THE SETTLERS. We will rear new trees under homes that glow As if gems were the frontage of every bough; O'er our white walls we will train the vine, And sit in its shadow at day's decline, And watch our herds as they range at will Through the green savannas, all bright and still. MRS. HEMANS. The incident narrated in the preceding chapter occurred one autumn, many years ago. In the spring succeeding this autumn, a company of settlers, with their loaded teams, and unwieldy baggage, were making their slow way through the labyrinths of an Ohio forest to a sparse settlement buried many miles further in the wilderness. At that day, so comparatively recent, such a sight was rarely witnessed in this section, as a deep-rooted hostility existed between the settlers and Indians, and an undertaking like the present was attended with too great danger for it to be often repeated. The rut of a single wagon, half obliterated by accumulated leaves and rankly-growing grass, showed that this route had been traveled over but once before, and that on the preceding season. At regular intervals, trees were passed with chips hacked from their sides, the track having first been "blazed" before being passed over. Like the emigrant-party which had preceded it, the present one possessed but a single wagon, drawn by two pair of slow but powerful oxen. It had a substantial cover, beneath which were stowed an immense quantity of baggage and some six or eight children, including also four women, two of whom were married and two unmarried. At the side of the front oxen walked the driver, whose whole attention was devoted to their direction. Several yards in advance rode two horsemen, and beside them three men plodded forward on foot. In the rear, scarcely a yard behind the lumbering wagon, walked "old Caleb Smith," and his two overgrown sons, as proud of them as was any monarch of his favorite generals. In addition to the men enumerated, there were three more--who may properly be called the scouts of the party. One of these was a couple of hundred yards in advance, stealing his way along, as carefully as if pursued by an unrelenting foe, his whole soul occupied in watching for signs of the dusky red-men of the woods. At a somewhat less distance on either side of the road, and in such a position as to be opposite the wagon, was one of the remaining scouts, as watchful, vigilant and skillful as the one referred to. Thus the party progressed, neglecting no precaution that could make their safety more secure, and although numerically small, still far more powerful than were many emigrant-parties who had preceded them in penetrating other portions of the Great West. One of the young women, that we have mentioned as being in the wagon, was Edith Sudbury, the heroine of the preceding chapter. She had not a single relation among all those around her, and it was certainly singular that she should have united her destinies with those who, several months before, were entirely unknown to her. But, though not related, every one was her friend. Her amiable disposition, her grace and beauty of manners, her own prepossessing appearance, and above all, her unremitting kindness to every one with whom she came in contact, had won upon the hearts of all. Old Smith's two sons, Jim and Harry, one eighteen the other twenty, both over six feet in height, looked upon "little Edith" as nothing more than a baby, and woe betide the one who dared to offer her harm or insult in their presence! "I say, father, how much further ahead is that creek we've got to cross?" asked Jim, in a free and easy manner, as he would have spoken to an equal. "Well, sonny, it must be nigh on to ten mile." "Won't get over afore morning then?" "Don't expect to, as you see it's well along in the after noon." "Let's see--we've come over forty mile, hain't we?" "Yes, Jim, nearer fifty." "Well, we're that much nearer the settlement, _that's_ certain. If we get over the creek without much trouble with the oxen, we may fetch up there by sundown, eh?" "That's the expectation, I believe." "Provided, of course, _the Injins don't make trouble_." "Sh! not so loud, Jim," continued Harry. "They might hear us in the wagon, and I don't s'pose you'd want to scare Edith, when there's no need of it." "I should like to see any one try that same thing on 'em. They'd be somebody else scared, I reckon. But, father," asked Jim, in an earnest whisper, "how is it about the Injins? We haven't seen a sign of one yet, and that's what gets me." The parent and his children fell a few yards further behind, and commenced conversing together in suppressed voices. "I tell you what, boys," said the father, "it won't do to expect to get through without hot work. I've been talking with the scouts, and they think the same. I believe a number are following us, and waiting only for the proper place to come in upon us." "Where do you suppose that will be?" "_The creek!_" "Shouldn't wonder if 'twas," said Harry, in a matter-of-fact tone; "if we only had the women-folks out the way, we might count on some tall fun. I wish Edith was taken care of." "That's the deuce of it. I should think she got enough of the imps last autumn, when the Riflemen left her at our house; but that's the _Injin_, especially the Shawnee part of it. If there's any chance to get scalps with long hair, they're bound to do it. However, boys, it won't do to lose heart." "That's the fact, father, and I reckon none of this crowd intend to do that thing just now. Sam, in front, isn't likely to get asleep, is he?" "No danger of him. They say he never shuts both eyes at the same time." "I'll answer for them on the sides of the road," added Harry. "If there's a greasy Shawnee in a mile, Jake Laughlin will scent him. You mind the time, Jim, when he went with us over into Kentucky, and he saved us from running into that ambush?" "'Tain't likely I'll ever forget it, being I got my arm bored with some of their lead." "Well, that affair satisfied me that Jake Laughlin understands as much as it is worth while to understand about Injin deviltries, and that he ain't likely to be blind when there's so much to practice eyesight on." "I'd give our yoke of oxen this minute, if I could only set eyes on Lew Dernor and his boys, the Riflemen of the Miami," said the parent. "They've been long together, as I s'pose, and have been in more Injin fights and scrimmages than any men living, and yet not one of them has been grazed by a bullet. There's Tom O'Hara, whose legs are so short that he's about as tall when he sits down as he is when he stands up, and yet, I'll be hanged if he isn't the luckiest one of the lot. They're a wonderful set of boys, are those Riflemen." "Father," said son Jim, with a meaning smile, "you remember the night that Lew brought Edith to our house?" "Of course I do." "Didn't it strike you that he acted queerly then?" "What do you mean? I don't understand you. I noticed nothing." "I did. I saw how he watched Edith, and I made up my mind that he was in _love with her_! Since then I've found out it _was_ so!" "Why, Jim, I never dreamed of such a thing. He hasn't been to our house since to see her." "Just because he _is_ in love! I've met him in the woods a dozen times since, and by the way in which he questioned me, I'd been a downright fool if I hadn't understood him." This avowal seemed to trouble the father, as he bent his head; and, for a while, nothing further was said. But Jim, who had little reverence for sentiment or romance, added, in a meaning voice: "That isn't all, father." "What else have you to tell?" "That Edith loves him!" "Thunder! I don't believe it." "Well, I can't say _positively_ that she does; but I know she _likes_ him, and if Lew Dernor has a mind he can get her. You don't appear to like it, father." "I don't care much, but the gal seems so like my own da'ter, being I never had any, that I should hate despritly to lose her." "Fudge! it's got to come to that sooner or later, and who could she get better than Lew Dernor, the leader of the Miami Riflemen?" "None, that's the fact, but----" A footstep attracted their attention, and looking up, they saw Jake Laughlin step into view. He raised his hand, as if to command silence, jerking his thumb at the same time significantly toward the wagon and the rest of the settlers. He stepped carefully into the wagon-track, and the father and sons halted. "It's so," said he, nodding his head several times. "Are you sure?" "I've seen sign a half-dozen times since noon." "Shawnees, I s'pose?" "Yes. There are plenty of them in the woods." "What are they waiting for?" "The chance. There ain't enough, and we're too wide awake to allow them to attack us at present. They're waiting to take us off our guard or to get us at disadvantage. I've an idee where that'll be." "The creek?" "Most certainly. There's where the tug of war will come, and I think if we should encamp to-night without a guard there would be no danger of attack from the Shawnees." "Are you going to warn others?" "Not until night, I think, as there is no necessity for it." "Well, we don't need to tell you to be on the look-out. You know we've got a lot of women-folks to take care of." "Never fear." With this, Laughlin stole back into the wood, as cautiously as he had emerged from it, and the father and his sons quickened their pace in order to gain the ground they had lost. As they resumed their places in the rear of the wagon, no one would have suspected from their actions and appearance, that they had been conversing upon a subject so important to all. It was about the middle of the afternoon, and the emigrant-party plodded patiently forward, chatting and conversing upon ordinary topics with such pleasantry and zest that no one would have suspected the least thought of danger had entered their heads. So long as the silence of the scouts continued, the emigrants knew there was no cause for alarm. Should danger threaten, they would be warned in time. An hour later, as they were proceeding quietly along, the near report of a rifle broke upon their ears. Every face blanched, and every heart beat faster at the startling signal of danger. This it meant, and nothing else; and the members of the company instinctively halted, and made a partial preparation for an attack. They had scarcely done so, when Laughlin, with his cat-like tread, stepped in among them. "What made you fire, Jake?" asked Dravoond, one of the leaders of the party. "Me fire? I haven't pulled trigger since I shot the wild turkey yesterday. It must have been Sam or Myrick." As he spoke, the latter two, who were the other scouts, also made their appearance, when, to the surprise of all, it was discovered that neither of them had fired the alarming shot. Consequently, it must have been done by a stranger. The moment this fact became known, the scouts separated and resumed their duties, while the emigrants, after a short consultation, moved on again, more slowly and carefully than before. On the whole, although the report of the rifle could not be explained by any of the emigrants, the majority were disposed to take it rather as a favorable sign than otherwise. If made by an Indian, it could not have been done accidentally, for such a thing rarely if ever was known among them; and, as it could not have been fired by an enemy, with the full knowledge of the vicinity of the emigrants, the savages, if savages they were, must either be unaware of the latter fact, or else the strange shot came from a white man. If there were lurking Indians in the wood, ignorant of the presence of the whites, they were soon apprised, for both of the leading oxen, who had not done such a thing for days, now paused and bellowed terrifically for several moments. The driver endeavored to check their dreadful noise by whacking them over the heads, but it availed nothing. They were determined, and continued the clamor, pausing now and then, as though pleased with the echo, which could be heard rolling through the woods for over a mile distant. Having finished, they resumed their progress, as if satisfied with what they had done. "Father, them's our oxen," said Jim, "and, by thunder, if they bawl out that way agin I'll shoot 'em both. How far did you say the settlement is off?" "Forty or fifty miles. Why do you ask again?" "Nothin', only if they've put any of their babies asleep to-day, them oxen have set them all to squalling agin." The sun was getting well down toward the horizon, and the dim twilight was wrapping the woods in its mantle, when the teamster halted the oxen, and the emigrants commenced their preparations for the encampment. The wagon was left standing in its tracks, the oxen simply unfastened, and with their yokes on, led to where some bundles of hay were spread upon the ground. A large fire was soon blazing and crackling a short distance away, around which the women were engaged in preparing the evening meal, while the men, who wandered hither and thither apparently without any definite object, neglected no precaution which could insure them against attack through the night. The three scouts had extended their beats several hundred yards, and completely reconnoitered the ground intervening between them and the camp-fire, so that they felt some assurance of safety as they joined their friends in the evening meal. Just as they all had finished partaking of this, a second rifle report, as near to them as was the first, broke the stillness. The men started to their feet and grasped their weapons. They gazed all around them, as if expecting the appearance of some one, but failing to see any thing, commenced speculating upon the cause of this singular repetition of what had puzzled them so at first. "It beats my larning to explain it," said old Smith. "I tell you what it is," said son Harry, "that ain't an Injin's piece, nohow you can fix it." "How do you know that?" queried brother Jim. "It's the same gun we heard this afternoon, and when you see a Shawnee do that I'll believe our oxen don't know how to beller." "We must be ready, my friends, for the worst," said one of the emigrants, who, up to this time, had not referred to the danger at all. Another reconnoissance was made by the scouts, but with no better success than before. The darkness of the wood was such that they labored at great disadvantage, and it would have been no difficult matter for a single person to have remained concealed within a short distance of the whites. As the night progressed, the females and children retired to the wagon, and the men chose their stations around it. The oxen, one by one, sunk heavily to the earth, contentedly chewing their cuds, and a stillness as profound as that of the tomb settled upon the forest. The fire had smouldered to a few embers, which glowed with a dim redness through the ashes, and occasionally disclosed a shadowy form as it hurried by. Several of the men were sleeping soundly, for enough were on duty as sentinels to make them feel as much ease as it was possible to feel where they could never be assured of perfect safety. Two of the most faithful sentinels were Jim and Harry Smith, who were stationed within a few feet of each other. Now and then they exchanged a word or two, but the risk was too great to attempt any thing like a continued conversation. Three separate times Jim was sure he heard a footstep near him, and as often did he turn his head and fail to discover the meaning of it. Finally, he caught a glimpse of some one as he brushed hurriedly by and disappeared in the darkness. He raised his gun, and was on the point of firing, when he lowered it again. The thought that probably it was a white man, and a dislike to give the camp a groundless alarm, was the cause of this failure to fire. Several times again through the night did he detect a foot-fall, but he was not able to catch sight of the stranger. Shortly after midnight the evidences of his visit ceased, and Jim concluded that he had withdrawn so as to be beyond sight when daylight broke. What was his surprise, therefore, when he saw, as the gray light of morning stole through the wood, the form of a man seated on the ground, with his head reclining against a tree and sound asleep. If this surprise was great, it became absolute amazement when he examined his features, and saw that the man was no other than Lewis Dernor, the leader of the Riflemen of the Miami! Jim could scarce believe his senses as he walked forward and shook the sleeper by the shoulder. "I should as soon have expected to see Mad Anthony himself as to see you, Lew Dernor, sitting here sound asleep," said he, as the Rifleman opened his eyes and looked about him. A smile crossed his handsome countenance as he replied: "I believe I have been sleeping." "I believe you have, too. Have you been hanging around here all night?" "Yes, and all day, too." "And was it you who fired those shots?" "I fired my rifle once or twice, I believe." "Good! Well, Lew, we're glad to see you, and we would be a deuced sight gladder if we could see the rest of the Riflemen. Where are they?" "Up the Miami, I suppose. At any rate, that's where I left them." "Well, I'm afraid we're getting into hot water here, Lew, to tell the truth, and there's no one whose face would be more welcome just now than yours. I see they are beginning to wake up and show themselves. Gavoon has started the fire, so s'pose we go in and you make yourself known." The hunter followed young Smith to the camp, where, in a short time, he met and shook hands with most of the settlers, who were indeed glad enough to see him; and this gladness was increased to delight when he expressed his willingness to accompany them across the dreaded creek. In the course of a half-hour the females began to make their appearance. Near by was a small stream where they performed their ablutions, which finished, they gathered around the camp-fire, and busied themselves with preparing the breakfast of the party. Dernor, the Rifleman, was conversing with one of the settlers, when some one touched him on the shoulder. Looking around, he encountered his friend, Jim Smith. "Here's a person I s'pose you've no objection to see," said he, with a light laugh. The bronzed face of the hunter deepened its hue as he saw Edith Sudbury approaching, and although gifted with a natural grace of manner, he displayed some embarrassment as he advanced to greet her. Her conduct, too, was not without its suspicious air. Rosy and fresh as the flowers of the green woods around, perhaps the carnation of her cheeks was caused only by the morning exercise. Jim noticed these manifestations, and quietly smiled, but said nothing. In regard to the Rifleman, at least, he was right. As that brave and gallant-hearted ranger wandered through the grand old forests of Ohio, and the cane-brakes of the "Dark and Bloody Ground," a fair face had haunted his waking and dreaming hours. As he knelt beside the sparkling brook to slake his thirst, he beheld the same features reflected beside his own in its mirror-like surface. As alone he threaded his way through the labyrinths of those dim solitudes, he had a fairy companion as faithful to him as his own shadow. And when with his tried and faithful followers, it was the same. Only in the excitement of the fight, or the moments when his strategic skill was in rivalry with that of his dusky enemies, did this shadowy being cease to haunt him. Night and day, it was the same--and now he had met the _reality_, and was conversing with her. The conversation lasted but a few minutes. The services of Edith were needed, and she tripped away to assist the others at their duties. As she disappeared, Jim came up and laughingly remarked to the Rifleman: "A fine girl that, Lewis." "Indeed she is. I never have heard her name--that is, nothing more than Edith. What is the rest?" "Sudbury--Edith Sudbury." The hunter started, as if bitten by a rattlesnake, and turned as pale as death. Young Smith noticed his emotion, and asked, with some alarm: "What's the matter, Lew? What is there about that name that so troubles you?" "Never mind, Jim. I did not think it was _her_!" Smith had too much natural kindness of heart to refer to a subject so painful to the hunter, although his curiosity was great to know what could possibly have affected him so strangely. As nothing further was said by Dernor, this curiosity remained unsatisfied for a long time. The emigrant-party shortly after was under way. When within a mile or so of the creek to which we have referred, one of the scouts reconnoitered it, and came in with the report that quite a body of Shawnees were on its banks, and beyond a doubt were waiting for the company to come up. Dernor coincided in this opinion, and held a consultation with the male members of the party. The result of this consultation was a determination on his part to make all haste to the rendezvous of the Riflemen of the Miami, and bring them hither, the settlers agreeing to halt and await their arrival. The danger that menaced them was certainly great to make this step necessary. CHAPTER III. THE RIFLEMEN OF THE MIAMI. There they sat and chatted gayly, while the flickering of the blaze Led the shadows on their faces in a wild and devious maze; And among them, one I noted, unto whom the rest gave place, Which was token he was foremost in the fight or in the chase. DR. ENGLISH. One cold, drizzly, sleety day, in a winter toward the latter part of the last century, a party of Shawnee Indians crossed from the Kentucky cane-brakes into Ohio. Penetrating its deep, labyrinthine forests, they came upon a double cabin, where dwelt two widows, with several children. These they inhumanly massacred, and burnt their dwellings to the ground. Then, laden with their plunder, they set out on their return to Kentucky. It so happened that two brothers, George and Lewis Dernor, who were upon a hunting expedition in this section, came upon the burning cabin within an hour after the savages had left it. They saw by the numerous tracks that the party was too large for them to think of attacking; nevertheless, they took the trail with the resolution of ascertaining to what tribe the savages belonged; and, if possible, to pick off one or two, as a slight payment for the outrage they had committed. Following on for several miles, they gained a glimpse of them, as they crossed a ridge, and discovered, as they had suspected all along, that they were a party of Shawnees returning to Kentucky, although the majority of this tribe of Indians at this time had their towns in Ohio. A half-hour later, by signs known only to experienced woodmen, they became convinced that some one else was also upon the trail of the Indians. After a great amount of maneuvering and stratagetic reconnoitering, they learned that it was a hunter like themselves, and no other but their old friend Dick Allmat. Accompanied by him, they continued the pursuit, and a mile further on, discovered that still another person was dogging the Shawnees. Pretty certain that this must also be a friend, they managed to make themselves known to him without the tedious ceremony which had characterized their introduction to Allmat. He proved to be Tom O'Hara, whose utmost exertions were necessary to keep pace with the retreating savages. He was in a perfect fury that they should proceed so fast, when he could see no necessity for it, and was half tempted to expend some of his wrath upon those of his friends who laughed at his discomfiture. The party, now numbering four experienced hunters, felt considerable confidence in their strength, and the proposition was made to attack the Shawnees. The latter numbered seven or eight, and from their deliberate and incautious movements, it was manifest, had not learned that they were pursued. Perhaps they believed no white man could brave the blinding, seething storm then raging, for they neglected those precautions which seem to be second nature with the North American Indian. The proposition made by Lewis Dernor was agreed to, and the plan matured. The conflict took place in a sort of open hollow, and probably was one of the most sanguinary personal conflicts that ever occurred on the frontier. The hunters came out of it with no wounds worth mentioning, while only two of the savages escaped. These plunged into the woods, and disappeared with the speed of the wind, and the whites were left undisputed masters of the field. This was by no means the first outrage which had been committed by similar bands of Indians, and just at this particular time the arm of the General Government was so weakened from the repeated disastrous campaigns against them, that they insulted the whites with impunity, and entertained, in reality, no fear at all of punishment or retribution. This was the subject of conversation with the hunters, and so impressed them, that Lewis Dernor proposed that they should bind themselves together for an indefinite period, (which was not intended to be over a couple of years or so at the most,) to do their utmost to check the monstrous outrages which were becoming so common along the border. The four hunters mentioned were well known to each other, and had the reputation of being the best riflemen and woodmen of any then known. In addition to this, they were all unmarried, and without any prospects of changing their condition; consequently they were at perfect liberty to wander whither they pleased. The proposition was considered, and received a unanimous and enthusiastic response from all. The brothers Dernor, in their hunting expeditions, had spent several nights in a cave along the Miami, which they had discovered by accident, and which afforded them not only a comfortable, but also a perfect concealment. It was agreed that this should be their rendezvous, and in order that all might learn its locality, and the manner of approach to it, the following night was spent within it. Now commences the history of the Riflemen of the Miami, as they were christened by the settlers, to whom their exploits soon became known, and as they were proud to acknowledge themselves. Instead of disbanding at the end of two years, as was originally contemplated, this confederation had an existence for over a dozen years. They participated in Anthony Wayne's great battle with the Indians, in 1794, where two of the members fell, and which concluded their history, as the surviving members retired to private life, and were too old to participate in the Tecumseh's war of 1812. It would require a volume to detail the exploits of these Riflemen. Unlike many other confederations that were formed about this period, their only object was that of self-defense, and of offering protection to the settlers who were constantly penetrating the Great West. No innocent Indians ever suffered at their hands, and many was the one they befriended and assisted in his extremity. But woe betide the offender that fell into their hands. To the cruel they were unsparing; to the merciless they showed no mercy. While their name was loved and revered by the whites, it was feared and execrated by the savages. The Shawnees were unusually active and vindictive at this time, and it was with them that the most frequent encounters took place. The incident detailed in the first chapter was but one among many that were constantly occurring, and it scarcely equaled in importance numerous exploits that they had before performed. There was a fifth member, who joined the Riflemen only a year or two previous to the period in which we design to notice their actions more particularly. He was known as Ferdinand Sego, and became a member from a part which he performed one night on the Ohio, when the Riflemen were attacked by three times their number. He displayed such activity, skill and courage, that he was importuned to unite with them, although, up to this time, they had refused to receive any accessions to their number. He consented, and from that time forward the Riflemen of the Miami numbered five hunters. Sego joined them, however, with the understanding that he should be obliged to absent himself from time to time. At regular intervals he left them, and was gone sometimes for over a week. As he had no rifle, the cause of these excursions remained a mystery to his friends until he chose to reveal it himself. It then turned out that it was nothing less than a female that exercised such a potent influence upon him. Sego, as he became intimately acquainted with his friends, often spoke of this girl, and of the great affection he bore her. One day he gave her name--Edith Sudbury. This excited no unusual interest, until Lewis Dernor learned, on the day that he encountered the emigrants, that he and Sego loved the same girl! This was the cause of his unusual agitation, and the pain he felt at hearing her name pronounced. He entertained the strongest friendship for Sego, but, until he had met Edith, he had never known any thing, by experience, of the divine power of our nature. When he did love, therefore, it was with his whole soul and being. His companions, less sagacious in sentimental affairs than worldly, failed to divine the cause of the singular actions of their leader, who did his utmost to conceal it from them. Little did he dream, as he listened to the enthusiastic praises of Edith by Sego, that it was the being who constantly occupied his thoughts. But the truth had broken upon him like a peal of thunder at midday. On the day succeeding Lewis' departure from the settlers, three of his men, O'Hara, Dernor and Allmat, stood on the banks of the Miami, several hundred yards above their rendezvous. The sky was clear and sunshiny, and they were making ready for a trial of skill with their rifles. From where they stood, the most practiced eye would have failed to discover any spot which could possibly afford shelter for one of their number, much less for them all. But beneath a cluster of bushes, projecting from the upper edge of the bank, was an orifice, barely sufficient to admit the passage of a man's body. Entering this, on his hands and knees, he was ushered into a subterranean cave, dark, but of ample dimensions to accommodate a dozen men. It was furnished with blankets and the skins of different animals, and each of the Riflemen took especial pride in decorating and fixing it up for their convenience. Dick paced off two hundred yards, and then chipped a small piece from the trunk of a beech tree along the river-bank, as a target for their weapons. As he stepped one side, O'Hara raised his piece, and scarcely pausing to take aim, fired. Instead of striking the mark, he missed it by fully two inches. When this was announced, he turned round, and with an impatient exclamation, demanded: "Who fired that gun last?" "I believe I did," replied Dernor. "You just touch it again, and you'll never touch another rifle. Do you know what you have done?" "Know what I've done? Of course I do. I've fired it." "_You've put a spell on it._" "The deuce! Try it again!" O'Hara shook his head. "It would never miss such a mark as that unless it was bewitched. I've got to melt up that money of mine, or the thing will never be worth a half-penny again." When a Kentuckian's gun is bewitched, or has a "spell upon it," the only way in which he can free it of its enchantment, is by firing a silver bullet from it. Unless this is done, they steadfastly believe it can never be relied upon afterward. O'Hara, accordingly, produced his bullet-mould, kindled a fire, which required much more blowing and care to fuse the metal than it did to melt lead or pewter. But he succeeded at last, melting down all his spare change to make the small, shining bullet. This was rammed down his gun, a deliberate aim taken, and Dick announced that it had struck the mark plumb in the center. The charm was gone! It would be uninteresting to narrate the different methods by which each of the three men demonstrated his remarkable skill with his favorite weapon. They fired at different distances, at objects in the air, and in each others' hands, and then discharged their pieces on a run, wheeling as quick as thought. Although the weapon used was the old flint-lock rifle, the dexterity exhibited by each could scarcely be excelled by that of the most famous sharp-shooters of the present day, with their improved guns. The exercise was continued for over two hours, when, as O'Hara was reloading his piece, the report of a rifle was heard upon the opposite side of the Miami, and the bullet whizzed within an inch of O'Hara's face. As all three looked across the river, they saw a faint, bluish wreath rising from the shrubbery, but no signs of the one who had fired the shot. "I guess his gun has had a spell put on it," said O'Hara, sneeringly. "And I guess you'll get a spell put on you, if he tries that again," remarked Dick, carefully scrutinizing the opposite bank. "Why doesn't he show himself, the coward? Like enough there is a whole party of Shawnees----" "Sh! Something moved over there." "He's going to cross, I'll be shot if he isn't." A splash was now heard, as though something had been cast upon the surface of the water, and a moment later, a small Indian canoe, in which was seated a single person, shot from beneath the shrubbery, skimming over the river like a swallow, and headed directly toward the spot where the Riflemen were standing. Dick raised his rifle, but instantly lowered it with a laugh. "It's nobody but Lew himself. He just fired to scare us." Propelled by a single paddle, the frail boat sped onward with great celerity, and its prow, in a few moments, grated lightly against the shingle at the feet of the hunters, and their leader stepped forth. "Been practicing, I see," he remarked. "A little; _you_ tried your hand, also." Lewis smiled, as he replied: "A little fun, of course; but we've got better business on hand." "Let's hear it, for we are ready for any thing." "A lot of settlers are going through the woods, down below, and they need company, for the Shawnees have scented them as sure as the world. I've promised them that we will see them through--where's Sego?" suddenly asked the leader, looking around, as if searching for the one mentioned. "He went off yesterday." "That's unlucky, for we shall need him, too. Will he be back to-day?" "He said he expected to return this afternoon." "We will wait for him, then, though they need us, most certainly." "It's the first time Sego has been off in a good while," said Dick, "and I don't know what started him this time." Lewis thought that he would give a good deal if he knew, although he chose to say nothing about it. An hour or more was spent in conversation, when the four sauntered carelessly toward the cave, the canoe first having been pulled high enough upon the bank to make it secure against being washed away by the current. They did not enter the cave, but passed it, and returned after it was fairly dark, when they were certain that no prying eyes had seen them. When morning dawned, Sego had not returned, and Lewis was undetermined whether to wait longer for him, or to go on at once. The case was urgent, but the need of Sego's arm was also urgent, and he concluded to wait still further. The forenoon, the afternoon, and finally the night came and went, without bringing any signs of the absentee, and at daylight on this day, Lewis and his men made ready to start, resolved not to lose another moment. As they passed down to the river's edge, the delinquent made his appearance and joined them. They crossed the Miami in the canoe--its lightness rendering it necessary to make the passage twice--and plunging in the forest, made all haste toward the settlers. Meanwhile, the prolonged absence of the Riflemen, was the occasion of much speculation and anxiety upon the part of the emigrants. When Lewis had named the period at which he expected to join them with his men, they all knew he had allowed himself the widest limit, and fully intended to return within the time specified. When, therefore, this hour passed, they certainly had sufficient grounds for their anxiety and uneasiness, and some of the men did not hesitate to express their conviction that the Riflemen would not come at all. Not that they would willingly fail to keep their appointment, but it was more than probable that circumstances had arisen which prevented it. The settlers remained encamped until thirty hours beyond the time of the expected arrival of the Riflemen, when every one had given up all hope of seeing them, and it was agreed to move on to the banks of the creek. The scouts, who had been constantly busy, reported that no signs of Indians were visible in the vicinity, and strong hopes were entertained that they would be able to cross without disturbance. "Before venturing into that same piece of water," said Smith, "I propose that another examination of the woods be made, and that some of us wade over first to see how deep the stream is." The latter suggestion had already been acted upon by the scouts several times, but, as all shared the feeling of Smith, the scouts, joined this time by the old man's two sons, set out to act upon his proposal. After examining the bank upon which they stood, with the greatest care, for several hundred yards both above and below, they returned with the report that no signs of danger had been discovered. Two of them now entered the creek in front of the oxen, and commenced wading across. It would be impossible to depict the anxiety, intense apprehension, and almost terror with which they were regarded by their friends upon the shore. One was Laughlin and the other Harry Smith, and mixed with the parents' natural uneasiness, was a pride which glowed upon his face at seeing his son so unhesitatingly facing danger. Had he known that the most imminent peril threatened him, the wealth of the Indias would not have tempted him to call him back. Step by step the two men advanced across the creek, the water in no place being above their knees, until they stepped upon dry land once more. This was the culminating point of anxiety with their friends. This apprehension now became so intense as to be painful and almost unbearable. Some ten or fifteen minutes (which seemed hours to the waiting friends) was spent in reconnoitering the shore, after which the two stepped into the station and set out on their return. They had taken but a step or two, when they suddenly drew back, and Laughlin made a signal of danger to the settlers, the cause of which was instantly seen by all. CHAPTER IV. THE PASSAGE OF THE CREEK. Be set forever in disgrace The glory of the red-man's race, If from the foe we turn our face, Or safety seek in flight!--G. P. MORRIS. Laughlin's signal of danger was accompanied by a meaning motion up the creek, intended to direct the attention of the settlers to that point. Looking in the direction indicated, they saw what at first appeared nothing but a mere log or stump floating on the water, but what, upon a closer inspection, it was evident, had a deeper significance than that. It was near the center of the current, drifting slowly downward, impelled certainly by nothing more than the force of the stream itself. As it came nearer, it proved to be three trees, partly trimmed of their branches, and secured together, a contrivance in the formation of which the hand of man most surely must have been concerned. "Some Injin deviltry!" muttered the older Smith, as he lay on his face with the other settlers. "It'll be dangerous to be too curious. Jest keep an eye on the concern, from where you lie, and if you see a top-knot, blaze away." At this moment, a low whistle from the scouts on the opposite bank warned all that this was no time for carelessness; and ceasing their whispered remarks, the men turned their whole attention toward the object in question. The children were all lying down in the wagon, and the women crouched so low that no stray shot could reach them. The greatest worriment was over the oxen. As they stood, lazily chewing their cuds, their horns and eyes could be plainly seen from the creek, so that any foes concealed in the raft could shoot one or all of them, and thus inflict an irreparable injury upon the whites. Although it was possible that such an occurrence might take place, yet it was hardly probable the shots would be expended upon such "small" game. When directly opposite the settlers, the logs in question underwent a most searching scrutiny from both shores, the result of which was the conviction that no human being was nearer the suspicious object than those engaged in scrutinizing it. Whatever had been the intention of the Indians--for Indians undoubtedly they were who had formed the raft--they had declined to risk their own persons upon it, as it drifted down the current. This was so plain, that Laughlin called out: "You needn't be skeart, boys, there's no Injin _thar_; so jest drive in and cross." "Take another look first," cried out one of the settlers. "There are Indians _somewhere_ in these parts, for those trees never grew together like that." The advice of the settler was so sensible and timely, that Laughlin and Smith acted upon it at once, withdrawing some yards from the stream and proceeding some distance up it, with the same caution that had characterized all their movements. The result of this reconnoissance was the same as the other. If there were any savages at all in the vicinity, they were so carefully concealed that the skill of the two whites could avail nothing in discovering them. This being reported, preparations were resumed for crossing. It should be remarked, that the creek, a short distance above the fording-place, made a bend, thus limiting the view of the whites considerably. This being the case, the other son of Smith stationed himself at this curve, to give notice of the approach of any danger. Every thing being in readiness, the oxen were driven into the water, which was accomplished very easily, as all four were thirsty. The progress was necessarily slow, the wheels of the wagon sinking so deep in the muddy bottom that the united efforts of the four powerful oxen were barely able to move it. The deepest portion was passed ere one-third of the stream was crossed, the men being compelled to place their hands to the wheels to keep them moving. It was at this moment, and just as the wagon-body raised several inches from the water, that an exclamation from young Smith startled all. Looking toward him, they saw him raise his rifle and fire at something in the creek, and then fall flat on his face. The next moment a raft, precisely similar to the first, came in view, floating somewhat nearer the left bank, so that it would pass between the shore and the wagon, provided the latter remained stationary. "There are Injins on that," called out Smith from his hiding-place. "I seen their top-knots." The whites understood their peril at once. The oxen were lashed and goaded, until they slipped on their faces in their efforts to pull the wagon forward, while the men caught the wheels and turned them round and round without moving the wagon a particle. All depended upon reaching the shore before the Indians could come upon them, for, beyond a doubt, there were Indians concealed upon the raft which was so rapidly nearing them. For a dozen feet or so the wagon moved readily; but at this point it sunk below the hubs, and the united strength of men and oxen utterly failed to move it--this, too, occurring when the position was such that the approaching raft must pass so close as almost to touch it! "No use, boys," called out Mr. Smith. "Get your rifles ready for the imps." Most of the men had placed their guns in the wagon while toiling at the wheels, and they now caught them and stood on the defensive. As yet, nothing could be seen of the savages who were concealed upon the raft, but a moment later, the logs swerved over toward the shore which the settlers had just left. Thus it was plain that the Indians, seeing the true state of affairs, were as anxious to avoid the collision as the whites had been. The water being shallow, they were able to place their feet upon the bottom, and thus move the raft readily. As is generally the case, the courage of the whites increased in proportion as they discovered that of the Indians diminishing, and the proposal was made by one to wade over to the contrivance and demolish it. The better sense of the others, however, prevailed, and they maintained the defensive only. As the raft came down-stream, it continued veering over to the shore so much, that if it passed the wagon at all, it would do so by a safe distance. All at once, as the expectant settlers were looking at it with the most acute attention, some one called out: "Look _under_ the concern." All, of course, did so, and all distinctly saw in the clear water, directly under the raft, some ten or twelve human feet walking along on the bottom. Not only the feet themselves, but the legs, as far up as the knees, could be seen, and they formed a most curious sight mixing promiscuously together, as it seemed, while moving forward. The raft thus had the appearance of some great aquatic monster, whose ridged back floated on the surface, while his feet traversed the bottom. The bodies of the Indians, of course, were above the current; but being prone, the logs being arranged for that especial purpose, they were effectually concealed from view. In a moment, the raft floated over that portion of the river which had been muddied by the passage of the wagon, and the feet of the Indians became invisible. When they had crossed it, they were too far down to be seen, and thus the logs went onward, moving so much faster than the current that they left a wake behind them. "All together now--once more!" said the older Smith, catching hold of one of the wheels. The others did the same, and the oxen having had sufficient rest the combined strength of all started the wagon, and a few moments later it went up the bank on dry land and entered the woods. With a want of foresight that was unaccountable, the settlers had failed to pay any further attention to the raft after it was fairly below them. Perhaps it was the recollection of this that led the elder Smith and one of his friends to walk down to the bank and look for it. They descried it, lying against their own side of the creek, not more than two hundred yards distant, and, at the very moment their eyes rested upon it, they caught a shadowy glimpse of an Indian, as he flitted noiselessly from it into the wood. As they waited and saw no more, they rightly judged that he was the last one, the others having landed entirely unobserved. "That looks bad," said Smith, "we are not done with the rascals yet." At this moment son Jim, who was still on the other side of the creek, called out that eight Indians had landed, and were stealing up the river bank to attack the party. His words were heard, and every man dropped on his face in the wood, and with loaded rifles waited the assault. They had scarcely done so when the sharp explosion of several guns broke the stillness, and the two foremost oxen, with a wild bellow of agony, sunk to the ground and died. The brutes behind them imitated their motion, although operated upon solely by their own sense of weariness. They thus unconsciously did the wisest thing possible under the circumstances, as the shots that were afterward fired passed harmlessly over them. For the space of twenty minutes after this incident, a perfect silence reigned in the wood. These twenty minutes were occupied by the Shawnees in getting in a position to pick off the settlers. The latter could see them dodging from tree to tree, and coming closer and closer every moment. Emboldened by their immunity thus far, they became more incautious, until several exposed themselves so plainly that the elder Smith and one of the settlers fired precisely at the same moment, each one shooting a savage dead. A whole volley was returned, several bullets cutting the shrubbery and bushes over the heads of the settlers, while others passed through the wagon-covering, evidently fired with intent against the women and children in it. These shots accomplished nothing, as the latter kept their heads below the top of the heavy oaken sides, which were proof against the best rifle ever discharged. The two shots of the settlers for a time created a sort of panic with the Indians. They retreated far more rapidly than they had come up, and in a few moments were invisible. The whites were too well versed in Indian ways and strategy to take this as a genuine retreat, knowing that in a few moments they would return more furious than ever. There was an advantage in favor of the settlers of which, up to this moment, they had not been aware. Some fifty yards below them was an open space over forty feet in width, across which the Shawnees hurried pell mell into the cover beyond. Here they were reinforced by some half-dozen Indians of their own tribe, who had been in the vicinity and had been attracted by the sound of firing. The assailants now numbered about a dozen, and confident in their strength, made ready for the final attack. All this time young Smith, upon the opposite side of the creek, was engaged in watching the Shawnees as well as he could from his covert. He now called out to the whites that they were about to advance again, and that he would pick off one at least as they passed across the open space referred to. A moment later, the crack of his rifle showed that he had kept his word and that the crisis of the contest was upon them. Young Smith had fired just at the moment the foremost Indian came in view. The other had advanced to a point about half way across the opening, when five spouts of flame burst from the thick shrubbery upon the opposite side of the creek; there was the simultaneous report of as many rifles, and five messengers of death went tearing among the Shawnees, mangling, killing and scattering them like chaff in the whirlwind. "_The Riflemen of the Miami!_" shouted Laughlin, in a delirium of joy, springing to his feet and swinging his cap over his head. All eyes, in a transport of pleasure, were turned toward the spot where the thin, blueish smoke of their rifles was rising, but for a few moments nothing was seen. At the expiration of that time, the manly form of Lewis Dernor rose to view, and, with a nod of recognition, he stepped into the stream and commenced wading across, closely followed by young Smith, who, up to the moment of the discharge of the rifles, had no more suspicion the hunters were in the vicinity than had the Shawnees themselves. It scarcely need be said that the welcome which the settlers extended to the hunter was of the most hearty and genuine kind. Through his instrumentality they felt they all had been saved from massacre at the hands of the Shawnees. "But where are your men?" asked several. "Upon the opposite side. They will cross over shortly." "And will they accompany us?" "They will not leave you until you have reached your destination." "The Indians will not trouble us again?" "No, I think not; but the boys can go with you as well as not, and I make this arrangement as a sort of compensation for my failure to keep my appointment." "Your absence did excite much wonder, but you came up in the nick of time, most certainly." "Sego, unconsciously, was the cause of our delay. He was absent at the time I reached the Miami. We could have come on without him, of course; but, as I was pretty sure a large body of Indians were going to attack you, I thought it best not to come until we were all together." The Rifleman spoke with such sadness that all noticed it and felt great curiosity to know the cause. There was but one who dared to question him, the elder Smith, and he at once called him aside. "What's the matter, Lew?" he asked. "I never saw you act so odd. Come, out with it." "Oh, there's nothing the matter with me," replied Dernor, his very manner showing an increase of his embarrassment. "Yes, now, I know there is. Let's hear it." The bronzed face of the hunter took a deeper hue as he asked: "Is she--Edith with you?" "Of course she is," laughed Smith, a dim, vague idea of his meaning beginning to make its way through his brain. "To tell the truth, then, Smith, there is one man of ours that I _must_ prevent from seeing her." Smith looked up in amazement. Lewis proceeded: "The distance from here to the settlement toward which you are journeying is not more than forty miles. Let me take Edith and make that journey alone. I have traveled the ground often enough, and I will lead her through the woods safely and much sooner than you can perform the same journey. This is the only favor I have ever asked or expect to ask of you. Don't refuse it. "Why, my heavens! who intended to refuse it? Take her? Of course you may, provided she is willing, for where could she be safer than in the charge of Lew Dernor? Nowhere, I cac'late." "You please tell her that it is _necessary_, then, will you?" Old Smith hastened away, and told Edith Sudbury that her own safety demanded that she should place herself under the care of the hunter, who would conduct her safely to the settlement. She exhibited some natural hesitation at first, but having perfect confidence both in Smith, who so long had acted the part of father toward her, and in Dernor, who had manifested such interest in her welfare, she made her preparations. Smith simply stated to the others that this singular proceeding was imperatively necessary, and requested them not to refer to it in the presence of the other hunters. A few minutes later, the four remaining Riflemen stepped into the stream, and commenced wading across. As they did so, Edith Sudbury and the hunter plunged into the forest, and commenced their eventful journey to the settlement. CHAPTER V. APPREHENSION. They're gone--again the red-men rally With dance and song the woods resound; The hatchet's buried in the valley; No foe profanes our hunting-ground! The green leaves on the blithe boughs quiver, The verdant hills with song-birds ring, While our bark canoes, the river Skim, like swallows on the wing.--G. P. MORRIS. As the Riflemen reached the spot where the settlers were awaiting them, the preparations for resuming the journey were instantly made. The dead oxen were rolled to one side, and on the hardened ground the wagon was easily dragged by the remaining yoke. The hunters and experienced men of the party were certain that the Shawnees had fled, and that, for the present at least, there was no further danger from them; but, in order to quiet the fears of the women, a thorough examination of the surrounding woods was made. This search resulted only in the discovery of the dead bodies of the Indians. As the Riflemen never scalped a savage, the bodies were left undisturbed. "Where the deuce has Lew gone to?" demanded O'Hara, after several times looking around him. Those who were acquainted with the facts of the case looked in each other's face, as if in doubt what to reply. "Don't anybody know? eh? Say!" he repeated, in an angry voice. "He's taken a near cut to the settlement," replied the elder Smith. "_Anybody go with him?_" "He took a female, believing that her safety demanded such a course." "Lew never had more sense than he needed, and it's all gone now. Cutting across through the woods with a gal," repeated O'Hara, in a contemptuous tone. "Just as though she'd be safer with him than with us. I hope the Shawnees will get on his trail and catch both." "What do you want the gal caught for?" demanded Harry Smith, blustering up. "She'd no business to be such a fool as to go with him." "I never allow any one to say any thing against her," added young Smith, growing red in the face. "If you want your head broke, just say so," said O'Hara, savagely. "Come, come," interrupted the elder Smith, "boys should be careful not to get mad. Shut up, each of you, or I'll whip both of you." This ended the high words between the two parties, and five minutes later they were conversing together on as friendly and good terms as it can be possible between two mortals. All things being in readiness, the party resumed their journey, using the same caution that had characterized their march previous to the attack of the Indians. The Riflemen themselves performed the part of scouts, and the progress was uninterrupted by any incident worth mentioning until late in the afternoon. The sky, which had been of a threatening character for several hours, now became overcast, and it was evident that a violent storm was about to break upon them. This being the case, there was nothing to be gained by pressing onward, and the settlers accordingly halted for the night. A sort of barricade was made around the wagon, so that, in case of attack, a good resistance could be made, and the oxen were secured fast to the wagon. Stakes were cut and driven into the ground, and a strong piece of canvas, which had been brought for the purpose, stretched across them in such a manner that a comfortable shelter was afforded those whose duty did not compel them to brave the storm. These arrangements were hardly completed, when a dull, roaring sound, like that of the ocean, was heard in the woods. It came rapidly nearer, and in a few moments the swaying trees showed that it was passing onward over the camp. The frightened and bewildered birds circled screaming overhead, the rotten limbs and twigs went flying through the air, and thick darkness gathered at once over the forest. A moment later, several big drops of water pattered through the leaves like so many bullets and immediately the rain came down in torrents. The thunder booming in the distance, then sharply exploding like a piece of ordnance directly overhead, the crack of the solid oak as the thunderbolt tore it to splinters, the incessant streaming of the lightning across the sky, the soughing of the wind--all these made a scene terrifically grand, and would have induced almost any one to have sought the shelter offered him, convinced that the only danger at such a time was from the elements themselves. But with the Riflemen the case was far different. They well knew that it was just at such times that the wily Indian prowled through the woods in quest of his victims, and that at no other period was his watchfulness so great as at one like the present. Thus it was that three of the Miami Riflemen braved the terrors of the storm on that night, and thus it was that all three were witnesses of the occurrences we are about to narrate. The storm continued without intermission almost the entire night. The only change perceptible was in the thunder and lightning. The flashes of the latter grew less and less, until several minutes frequently elapsed between them; but the rain came down as if the "windows of heaven were opened," and a minute's exposure was sufficient to drench one to the skin, while the wind, soughing through the trees, made the hours as dismal and dreary as it was possible for them to be. The three Riflemen who stood as sentinels, were Dick, George Dernor and O'Hara. No changes were made during the night, as the men would have looked upon such a proceeding as childish and foolish. O'Hara was leaning against a tree, some ten or fifteen yards from the camp, watching that portion of the wood which immediately surrounded him, as well as the occasional gleams of lightning would permit. While doing this, his gaze fell upon a stump, about twenty feet distant. As the lightning flamed out, he saw distinctly a bareheaded man seated upon it! At first sight of this singular apparition, O'Hara started, rubbed his eyes, fixed his gaze upon the spot, believing that he had been deceived. A moment later, as another flash illuminated the wood, he saw the man again. He was seated on the edge of the stump, his feet and arms hanging down, and, as stated before, without any covering for his head. The latter was bullet-shaped, and the view which was afforded of him was so perfect, that the hunter saw he had short, curly hair, of a reddish color. His eyes were small, but sparkling like an Indian's, and, when they could be seen, were fixed with frightful intensity upon the Rifleman. The whole expression of his face was forbidding and repulsive. At the first distinct view of this man, came the conviction to O'Hara that he had seen him before, and he spent a few minutes in endeavoring to remember where and when it was. He was unable to do so, however, although he was positive that he was an enemy to him. "I don't care who he is," muttered O'Hara; "he ought to know better than to squat out there when he knows I have seen him. I say, old chap," he called, in a louder tone, "come down off that stump, or I'll fetch you." Whoever the person addressed might be, it was evident he cared nothing for the command of the hunter, for the latter, the next moment, saw him, not only seated as immobile as ever, but with a sneer of contempt upon his face. This so exasperated O'Hara that he instantly called out: "I'll give you two seconds to get off of that, and if you don't do it in that time, I'll tumble you off." He brought his rifle to his shoulder, so as to be ready to fire if the man remained. He held it thus full a minute, at the end of which he discerned the foolhardy being who had not changed his position in the least. Hesitating no longer, he pointed his piece directly at his heart, and discharged it. "It's your own fault," mused the hunter. "I gave you fair warning and plenty time to get out the way, and in such places as we're in just now, we can't afford to stand on ceremony. You must be careful----" Again the red lightning flamed out, and revealed the man, seated as before, the sneer on his face having increased, and his eyes flaming with more dreadful intensity than ever! "Man or spirit," said O'Hara, now thoroughly startled, "I'll give you another shot at any rate." He reloaded, and, awaiting his opportunity, fired again full at the man's breast. O'Hara's hair nearly lifted the cap from his head, when he saw his foe sitting unharmed, and as scornful as though no bullet could wound him. The bravest man has his weakness, and the greatest weakness of such characters as the man we are dealing with is their superstition. O'Hara verily believed the man at whom he had fired possessed more than mortal attributes, and, far more frightened than he would have been had a score of Shawnees sounded their war-whoop in his ears, he made a low whistle as a signal for Dick and Dernor to come up. In a moment they were beside him, curious to know the cause of his firing. The next flash of lightning showed three hunters intently staring toward a man who was sitting composedly on a stump, and staring back at them with equal intensity. "You all seen him, didn't you?" asked Tom, in a whisper. Receiving an affirmative answer, he added: "Let's all aim square at his breast, and then we'll be sure that one of us at least will hit him. If that doesn't finish him, there's no use of trying." For the third time, the mysterious being braved the deadly bullets, this time from three separate rifles, and for the third time he was seen sitting, unharmed and contemptuous, upon the stump. "It's all a waste of powder," said O'Hara. "We might pour a broadside from a brigade into him without making him wink." "Let's go up and take him," said Dick. "He'll take _us_," said O'Hara, who was not ashamed of his fright in such a case as this. "Fudge! don't be frightened; come along. I'll lead." Thus strengthened, O'Hara moved on behind the two others. Most assuredly the mysterious personage would have been captured, had not the lightning, which continued to act the part of illuminator, discovered their approach to him. His feet were instantly seen to twinkle in the air, and he whisked off the stump as quick as thought, and disappeared. To make sure, however, the Riflemen passed their hands over the stump, but of course found nothing. The booming of the thunder had been so continuous, that the reports of the rifles had not awakened the settlers, and the three hunters conversed together without fear of disturbance. "I don't care what he is," said O'Hara, "I'm sure I've seen him before." "Just what I am sure of," added Dick. "The very second I laid my eyes on him, his face seemed familiar. But it must have been several years ago." "It's queer I can't remember," repeated O'Hara, as if talking with himself. "I remember having seen him, too, I'll be hanged if I don't," added George Dernor, with a dogged decision. O'Hara made a leap fully six feet from the ground, and uttered a half-whistle, indicative of some great discovery. "What's up? what's the matter?" asked Dick, considerably surprised. "Just one of you break my head, will you, for I'm the greatest fool that ever lived. I remember now who that man is." "Who?" O'Hara repeated a name that fairly took the breath away from the others. They had let one of the most inhuman villains of the day escape, and one for whose life either of the Riflemen would have undergone any sacrifice. The mention of his name, too, revealed to them the reason why he had been unharmed by their shots. "We fired at his _breast_ every time," said O'Hara. "If we had only fired at some other part of his body, he would have been riddled. What a precious set of fools we are!" As no one disputed this exclamation, it may be supposed that all agreed to it. At any rate, their vexation was extreme for having failed to remember the man who, at that particular time, was probably more notorious than any other living being in the West. "What's done can't be helped," remarked Dick. "If we ever have the chance to draw bead on him again, we'll _know where to aim_." Nothing further was seen of the man who had braved their utmost through the night. He had taken his departure, and was fated to play an important _rôle_ with a couple of our other friends. The storm abated toward morning, and the settlers were once more under way. Their destination, a small frontier settlement, was reached late in the day, without any further incident, and their dangers for the present were ended. To the unbounded surprise of all, they learned that Lewis Dernor and Edith had not arrived, and there had been nothing heard of them. This caused the most painful apprehension with all, for they knew well enough that they would have been in several hours ahead of them, had not something unusual prevented. They could imagine but one cause--Indians! The settlers commenced their labors at once. Trees were felled, and the foundations of strong, substantial cabins laid, ground was cleared and prepared to receive the seed, while the garrison of the block-house was strengthened, and the condition of the settlement improved by every means at their command. Lewis had left a request with the emigrants, upon taking Edith from them, that the Riflemen should await his return at this settlement, and they accordingly remained. Two days passed without his coming in, when the anxiety of Edith's friends became so great, that it was determined to form a party to go in quest of her; but, upon mentioning the resolve to O'Hara, he strenuously opposed it, affirming that a large party could accomplish nothing at all, save to get themselves in trouble. In this opinion he was joined by several of the more experienced, and as a consequence, the scheme was abandoned. O'Hara then expressed the intention of taking a companion and going in search of them himself. The companion he chose was Dick Allmat. Sego took an active interest in these proceedings, but as yet had not heard the name of Edith Sudbury mentioned. Indeed, none knew that name except her immediate friends, who heeded the request which Lewis had made, that it should be kept a secret. Thus it happened that he entertained not the slightest suspicion of the true state of the case. Had he known it, nothing could have hindered him from hurrying forth at once to the rescue. O'Hara and Dick left the settlement one day about noon, and struck off in the woods toward the creek where the affray with the Shawnees had occurred. It was their design to take the trail, if possible, and follow it up until they discovered a clue to the unaccountable state of affairs. On reaching the creek, however, they were chagrined to find their fears realized. The storm which we have mentioned as succeeding the departure of Lewis and Edith, had completely obliterated all traces of their footsteps, and the Riflemen were left with no dependence except their wood-craft. This, in the end, answered their purpose. Examining the woods with the eye of a true hunter, O'Hara satisfied himself of the course his leader would take, and this he pursued with the dogged persistency of the Indian himself. He was confident that the trail which he and the girl had made subsequent to the storm could be followed without difficulty, if he could only strike it. But just here lay the trouble. "It looks likely," said O'Hara, as he and Dick stood deliberating upon the proper course to pursue, "that he would take the nearest cut to the settlement, and then again it doesn't look so likely. Lew is such a fool, there's no telling what he'd do." "Why do you think he wouldn't take the shortest way home?" "'Cause he wouldn't, that's why. You see, Dick," added Tom, in a more pleasant voice, "Shawnees are in the woods, and it's no ways unpossible that they haven't learned that them two fools are tramping through the country. If they do it, why it looks nateral that they'd s'pose they'd try to reach home just as soon as they could, and would try to head 'em off. Now, if the red-skins know this, Lew knows also that they know it, and I hope, for our own credit, he's got too much sense to walk into any of their traps. That's the reason why I think he may have took a longer way home." "Just exactly what he has done," said Dick in a glow of admiration. "How do you know it is, eh?" "I mean I think so, of course." "Well, say what you mean, next time. And that is what makes all the difficulty. How are we to know where to look for his trail?" "It's pretty certain we won't find it by standing here all day." "You go west and I will follow the creek, and when you stumble on any thing worth looking at, just give the whistle." The two did as proposed. Dick ranged backward and forward until nightfall, while O'Hara examined the banks of the creek, until the gathering darkness made it a hopeless task. Upon coming together, they had nothing favorable to report, and thus ended the first day's search. "You know what I'm certain of?" asked O'Hara, as they were ready to resume the hunt upon the next morning. "No, of course not." "I'm sure that that red-headed villain that we fired at on the stump is mixed up in this affair." Dick opened his eyes at this startling thought, and replied, in a few moments: "I shouldn't wonder at all if he really was. Hang him! it's just the business that suits him. But Lew ought to know enough for him." "Every man is a fool when he is in love," said O'Hara, contemptuously, "and that's the reason why I'm pretty certain both of 'em are in trouble. If he wasn't in love with the gal, he might know what to do; but--oh! heavens," he added, unable to find words to express his disgust at his leader betraying such a weakness. "I s'pose we'll hunt as we did yesterday?" "Of course. Let's go at it at once." O'Hara returned to the creek and resumed his search along the banks, while Dick took to the woods as before. A half-hour later, a whistle from the former called him to the stream, where he found his friend bending over some "sign" that he had discovered in the soft earth of the shore. "It's his," said O'Hara, "as sure as you live. They spent the night on the other side of the creek, and he has carried her across the next morning, and taken to the woods at this point." "We can easily tell the direction he has taken, then." "Not so easy, either; for don't you see he has gone _up_ the creek, which ain't toward home. I tell you what it is, Lew has smelled danger, and if the red-skins have catched him, there's been some splendid fun afore they done it. Lew ain't such a fool, after all." "Do you think," asked Dick, in a low tone, for he entertained a strong affection for his leader, "Do you think it is _certain_ Lew has been catched?" "NO SIR," replied O'Hara, in tones so loud that they woke an echo through the woods. "It ain't certain by no means. He may have thought it best to make a long circle before reaching home, and like enough he is in the settlement this minute, or very near there. But I guess not," he added, after a minute's pause, and in a different voice. "Things look dubious, and we may have a big job before us." "Let's go to work at once." "The first sensible words you've spoken this morning, when it seems we're both doing more talking than is necessary. Come on." The trail was followed with the greatest difficulty, for the time which had elapsed since it was made was almost sufficient to obliterate it entirely. Now and then, where the ground was more favorable, it was easily discernible. After progressing a mile or so, O'Hara exclaimed, with an air of perplexity: "There is something here that I don't understand. I've seen only _the track of one person up to this time_." "She isn't with him, then?" "Yes, but he _appears to be carrying her_; and what that means is more than I can tell. It can't be she's hurt." "Maybe, Tom, we ain't on the track of Lew," said Dick, with a hopeful gleam. "Yes, we are. I could tell his track among a thousand. The mistake isn't _there_. All we've got to do is to follow it." The pursuit was renewed and kept up until the bank of a smaller stream was reached, where the trail was irrecoverably lost. After leading into the water, it failed to come out upon the opposite side, and the utmost skill of the hunters was unable to regain it. The entire day was consumed by them in the search, when it was given up as hopeless. It would have been hard to tell which feeling predominated in the breasts of the two Riflemen--an apprehensive anxiety for the fate of their leader, or a gratifying pride at this evidence which he had given of his consummate knowledge of woodcraft. These two hunters continued their hunt for two days more, when they returned to the settlement and reported their failure to gain any definite knowledge of Dernor and Edith. Neither had the settlers gained any tidings of them. Where were they? CHAPTER VI. A HUNTER'S WOOING. And we knew That this rare sternness had its softness too, That woman's charm and grace upon his being wrought; That underneath the armor of his breast Were springs of tenderness, all quick to flow In sympathy with childhood's joy or woe; That children climbed his knees, and made his arms their rest. LONDON CHARIVARI. It was with a heart beating with more than one excessive emotion, that Lewis Dernor, the Rifleman, plunged into the forest with Edith Sudbury. None knew better than he the perils that threatened them in those dim labyrinths, and none was better prepared to encounter them. Were they twice as many, he would rather have braved them than allowed Edith and Sego to meet before he had declared his love to her. In taking this step, the Rifleman had more than one twinge of conscience, for he could but consider it of questionable propriety in acting his part. Beyond a doubt, Sego and Edith were accepted lovers, who had been separated for months, and it seemed cruel, to say the least, thus to take advantage of their separation. The more he reflected upon it, the more guilty did he feel, until he formed the resolution to acquaint his fair charge with the presence of her lover with the settlers, and then leave her own heart to decide the matter. The instant this resolve was formed, the honest-hearted hunter felt better. What though the judgment should be against him, he had done his duty, and this very fact gave him a pleasure which nothing else could destroy. His great, all-absorbing love for Edith had led him to use the artifice mentioned, in order to defer the interview between her and Sego; but, great as was this master-passion, it could lead him no further in deception than it had already done. More than once he half determined to turn and make his way back to the settlement, and was only prevented by a dread of the speculation and remarks that such a proceeding would occasion upon their part. It must not be supposed that Lewis doubted his ability to reach the settlement in safety, with Edith. Had he known what danger he was doomed to encounter, he would have retraced his steps instantly, although he had commenced them with such a strong determination to keep her and Sego separate for a time. For an hour or so the journey progressed in silence upon the part of the hunter and his charge. While, as might be expected, his passion often led his gaze from the path he was pursuing, still it made him doubly alive to the responsibilities resting upon him, and increased his vigilance and watchfulness to a degree that would have appeared absurd to an ordinary observer. Most of the time, he kept a step or two in advance of Edith, trailing his rifle in his left hand, while his form was half bent, and his head projected forward, giving him the attitude of constant and intense attention. His eyes were flitting constantly from tree-top to ground, from side to side, ahead and behind him, kindling with admiration and fire as they rested upon the form of his companion. The latter was enveloped in a large shawl, a portion of which covered her head, while her arms gathered the rest around her person. Her face was inclined, so that she was not sensible of the many ardent glances to which she was subjected. She stepped lightly forward, her beautifully moccasined feet hardly disturbing the leaves, among which they twinkled like some forest-flower. Lewis had proposed to himself, when starting, to take the nearest route to the settlement; but his apprehension for the safety of Edith led him to change his intention after going a few miles. The Indians which he had assisted so signally to repulse, he believed would hover around the settlers so long as there remained an opportunity to pick off any of them. They would not fail, too, to scour the woods in search of smaller parties, and knowing the destination of the emigrants, would select the very ground over which they too were journeying. The Rifleman took the best course to avoid them. Retracing his steps some distance, he turned off toward the creek, he having concluded to ascend this for several miles, and then take a circuitous route to the settlement, convinced that, in this case, the longest way was the surest. "Why this change of direction?" asked Edith, looking up in alarm, as he turned and commenced retracing his steps. "I think it best," he replied, with a smile. "Have you discovered danger? Are we pursued?" "Not that I know of. But I have been thinking for some time that if there _are_ any Injins in this wood, this is the very ground they will select to cut us off, because they know that it is the one which we would naturally take, in making such a journey as this." "_I have full faith in you._" And the gallant Rifleman felt he would die before any act of his should cause her to lose this faith in him. As she turned her trusting blue eyes up to his, their heavenly light seemed to fill his whole being, and he scarcely was conscious of what he did when he reached out his hand, and said: "Edith, let me take your hand." "Why, what need is there of that?" she coyly asked, with a roguish look, as she half complied and half hesitated. "I shall feel safer--that is, I shall feel more certain of your safety if I lead you." "Oh! well, you may lead me then," and she slid her almost fairy hand into his hard, horny palm, with a charming simplicity, which made the hunter's heart leap with a painful pleasure. That little, white member, as the Rifleman grasped it, was like the poles of a battery. It sent a shock through every part of his system, and gave his arm precisely the same tremor that takes place when a person is charged through this limb with electricity. If Edith had only returned the pressure, Lewis Dernor most assuredly would never have been able to stand it, and, therefore, it was fortunate that she did not. It was this pressure, and the looks accompanying it, that made Edith Sudbury conscious that the hunter loved her. She would have been an exception to her sex had she not suspected this before. The thousand and one acts, and little, airy nothings, had given her a suspicion of the truth long since, but she had never felt certain of it. This knowledge, which must ever be pleasant and flattering to the maiden, caused no unpleasant feelings on her part. If she did not love him, she certainly respected and admired his noble qualities, and the difference between the emotions named and love itself is certainly too faint for recognition. Under almost any circumstances they will grow into the passion, and all be lost in blending. Respect is the scout and guide that leads love to the soul. The tell-tale blush stole on Edith's face, as a realizing sense of her situation came upon her, and, for a long time, she dared not look up, much less speak. Suddenly the Rifleman made a spring in the air, and drew a deep breath, as though seized with a mortal pain. "What's the matter?" asked Edith, in a tremor of apprehension. "Oh! it nearly killed me!" replied the hunter, in a faint voice. "What? Do tell me. Are you hurt? What caused it?" "Why, Edith, _didn't you squeeze my hand_?" "If I did, it was _certainly unintentional_." "Never mind. I thought it was on purpose." The merry, musical laugh of the maiden rung out through the forest-arches, and the Rifleman, for the time, lost all thoughts of Indians and danger; but this delightful forgetfulness could not last long. As the faint rumble of thunder was heard in the distance, he started, as though awakened from a dream, and looked furtively around him, half expecting to see his dread foes start from behind the trees, and rush upon him. "Are you frightened?" asked Edith. "Only for you," he replied, with a natural gallantry. "And why are you alarmed on my account? What has occurred that makes you walk faster, and look so constantly about you?" "Edith," said the hunter, in a low voice of passionate tenderness, "you have lived on the frontier long enough to be familiar with its dangers. When I first saw you, it was in an awful situation for a gal like yourself, but you bore it like a man. I 'spose, therefore, that there's no use in keeping any thing back from you." "Of course not. What good could that possibly do?" "Well, then, it's my opinion that _some one is following us_." "What makes you think so?" asked Edith, in genuine alarm; for there is something startling in the sudden knowledge that a foe is pursuing us, when there is no shelter at hand which can secure us against him. "I can not give you the reason that makes me positive a foe is behind us; but I am so certain of it, that we must hurry forward and take measures to hide our trail." "Why not rejoin our friends?" "I do not think it can be done, as there are plenty Injin between us, and we could not avoid them." "Do what you think best, for surely none can know better than you." "Come on, then." They ascended the creek until the darkening sky, booming thunder, and constant flashing of lightning warned them that the storm was at hand. The hunter then stooped, and, lifting his companion in his arms with the same ease that he would have picked up an infant, stepped into the stream, and waded nearly across, going several hundred yards further up before stepping upon the land. By this time, the swaying of the trees, and the pattering of several large drops of water, told them that they had but a few minutes to spare. The hunter was perfectly acquainted with this section, and made all haste toward a spot which, more than once, had served him as a shelter in such storms as this. It consisted of a number of fallen trees, evidently torn up by some tornado, whose branches were so interlocked and matted that a slight effort of the hand of man had turned into a comfortable security as one need wish who was storm-stayed in the forest. As this was reached, the storm burst upon them in all its grand fury, but their refuge answered every purpose, and not a thread of Edith's clothes was wetted. Darkness came on prematurely, and, as the reader already knows, the storm continued nearly through the entire night. Fully, and almost morbidly alive to the danger that ever menaced them, Lewis kept his station at the mouth or entrance of their shelter until daylight, not willing that for a moment a free entrance to any foe should be offered. When morning dawned, it was clear and beautiful, and the two set out immediately upon their journey. As they had partaken of no food for a considerable time, the Rifleman was on the alert to procure some. The forests of Kentucky and Ohio, at that day, literally swarmed with game, and, in less than a half-hour from starting, he had brought down a wild turkey, which was dressed and cooked with admirable skill, and which afforded them a nourishing and substantial meal. Lewis was fearful that the late storm would cause such a rise in the creek that he would be unable to cross if he waited any longer, and he, therefore, attempted it at once. He found it muddy and rapidly rising, but he carried Edith over without difficulty, and then resumed his journey, taking such a direction that he could only reach the settlement by a wide _détour_ from directness. "At any rate," said Dernor, "if any one attempted to follow us yesterday, he is thrown off the track, and has got to commence again." "Should they accidentally come across our trail, it would be easy enough for them to follow it, would it not?" "Yes, any one could do that, but you see we're so far up the stream that there is little likelihood of that." "I _do_ hope the Indians will not trouble us more," said Edith, in a low, earnest voice. "And so do I," said the Rifleman, in a lower and more earnest voice, and venturing at the same time to press the hand that he held within his own. There certainly was something in the situation of these two calculated to inspire mutual trust. Edith felt that, under the merciful Being who was ever watching her, there was no stronger or more faithful arm upon which she could rely than the one beside her--that there was no heart truer, and no devotion more trustworthy. Under these circumstances, her words were quite unembarrassed and familiar. "Suppose we _are_ overtaken?" she asked, looking up in his face. "_You_ will never be captured while _I_ have strength to defend you," was the fervent reply. "You are too kind and noble." This time Edith impulsively pressed his hand, and, to his dying day, Lewis Dernor affirmed that this was one of the happiest moments of his life. Deeply learned as he was in wood-lore, he was a perfect novice in the subtle mysteries of the tender passion, and the cause of his ecstasy on this occasion was the sudden certainty that his love was returned. Had he been less a novice in such matters, he would have reflected that this slight evidence of regard most probably was but a mere momentary emotion which any man in his situation might have inspired. But, "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise;" and the happy hunter was all unconscious of this disagreeable possibility. He felt an unutterable desire to say something--something grand and terrible--which would give Edith a faint idea of the strength of the passion burning in his breast. Inability to say this something kept him silent for a long period. Several times, indeed, he was on the point of speaking, but the words that came to him were too commonplace and weak to express his tumultuous thoughts. Just as he was on the point of deciding upon something, it came to him with startling suddenness that he was too careless with his charge. For the last hour he had hardly been conscious that he was traveling in the woods, much less that in these same woods lurked the deadly Indian, whose thoughts were constantly bent upon murder and outrage. "Edith," said he, "I would do any thing if it would only place us where we could talk without fear of being disturbed. But it can't be done here. There's Injins in these woods, and I'd never forgive myself if I should forget it agin, and I've already done so several times. Just stop a minute." He took her hand, and the two bent forward in the attitude of intense listening; and listening thus, they heard faintly in the distance the report of a rifle. It was several miles away, and evidently fired by some wandering Indian or hunter. Its only effect upon our friends was that peculiar one of making them more fully sensible that there were other beings in the woods besides themselves. "It means nothing," said Dernor. "Let's go on, but more careful than before." "Do you think there is any one following us?" asked Edith, for this constant renewal of her apprehension made her nervous and unnaturally suspicious. "I have no reason to think so, and I haven't any suspicion that there is. So I guess there's no need of being scared." "I can not help feeling frightened," said Edith, clinging closer to him. "I do wish we were at the settlement. How much longer will it take us to reach it?" "To-morrow, at the very furthest, I hope we shall be there, and perhaps to-night, if we keep up a brisk walk." "I see no reason why we should not hurry." "Nor I, either," laughed Dernor. "So come on." He struck up a brisk walk as he spoke, and continued it for some twenty minutes, when a small creek was reached, the one where O'Hara and Allmat lost the trail. Before wading it, the Rifleman paused on its banks as if in deep thought. This was so marked that Edith questioned him. "I'm thinking whether it wouldn't be best to put this brook to the same use that I did last summer. A half-dozen Miamis got rather closer to me than was pleasant, when I jumped in here and threw them off the scent." "How?" "I will show you." He picked her up as he spoke, and stepped carefully into the water. The center of the stream was sufficiently deep to hide his trail, even had the bottom been less favorable than it was. But this was hard, gravelly and pebbly, and he walked close to the edge without fear of betraying himself. Having gone a considerable distance, he approached the bank, and made a leap which carried him several feet upon it. He alighted upon the face of a large, firmly-fixed stone, where, poising himself for a moment, he sprung to another; and then, making a fourth leap, came down upon the ground. By this artifice he avoided leaving any visible trail until so far from the creek that almost any pursuer would fail to discover it. This explains why his two pursuers did fail in pursuing him. "We're safe again for a while," said the Rifleman. "Any one who comes upon our track must do it between us and the creek." "I feel greatly relieved," said Edith. "And much more comfortable, I suppose?" "Why, of course," she replied, half laughing, as she turned her gleaming, radiant face up to his. The Rifleman hardly knew what he did. A mist seemed to come before his eyes, and he felt as though floating in space, as, acting under an electrifying impulse, he stooped and kissed the warm lips of his fair companion. This transport of bliss was changed to the most utter misery when she answered, with every appearance of anger: "You ought to be ashamed of yourself to take advantage of my helplessness." "Are you offended?" he asked, his very voice showing his wretchedness of feeling. Edith looked up with flashing eyes, crimsoned face, and silent voice, as if she would annihilate him by her very look. Gradually a change, like the sunlight breaking through the storm-clouds, overspread her features. The light of her eyes grew softer, and the expression of her face more merciful, until, as the hunter had paused and scarcely breathed for her reply, she said, with one of her most enchanting smiles: "I am not offended. You may kiss me again if you wish to do so." "If I wish to," said the Rifleman, drawing her to him. "If I wish to----" Here his words became unintelligible. He continued kissing her until she checked him. "Sh!" The crackling of some bushes a few yards away showed that they were no longer alone. The whole aspect of the Rifleman changed. The lover became the ranger instantly. Cocking his rifle, he placed himself in front of Edith so as to confront this unexpected danger. CHAPTER VII. THE COUNTRYMAN. Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time. SHAKSPEARE. The crackling of the bushes continued, while the Rifleman compressed his lips and stood like a tiger at bay. In a moment he saw a man making his way through the tangled shrubbery, and almost immediately he lowered his rifle with an expression of disappointment. The individual before him was so different from what he expected, that a fuller notice of him is necessary, especially as he now takes his place as one of the _dramatis personæ_ of this tale. He appeared to be an awkward countryman, cowardly, ignorant of wood-craft, and completely bewildered by the dangers that beset him. His dress was half-savage and half-civilized, torn and disfigured, as if he had been running at the top of his speed through a thicket of briers and brambles. The only weapon he carried was a large knife firmly grasped in his hand. His face was blank and expressionless, save that it bore the impress of great animal fear, now mingled with surprise at confronting our two friends so unexpectedly. His head was round, bullet-like, with sandy hair, while the face seemed stained and begrimed with dirt and perspiration. He stood a moment with both hands stretched stiffly downward, his mouth wide open, apparently unable to find words to express his astonishment. "Well, young man, good-day to you," said Dernor, advancing toward him. "Good-day--good-day; fine weather for corn," he repeated, as if anxious to gain the good opinion of the hunter. "How came you in these parts, my friend?" "Heaven save you, I _run_ here. The Injins have been after me." "They didn't catch you?" "No, sir," replied the young man, bursting into a loud guffaw. "I run too fast." "What might be your name?" "Zeke Hunt, but I'm derned 'fraid it won't be any name at all if I stay in these parts much longer. Oh, dear," whined the young man, "I wish I was back in Pennsylvany, on the farm." "What made you leave it?" "The old man whipped me, and I run away." "Why don't you go back?" "I'd rather meet all the painted Injins in the woods than him. He'd whip me all through the town." "No doubt you deserve it." "Boo-hoo! you ain't going to lick me too, are you?" plead the man, gouging one eye with his finger. "No, no; don't make a fool of yourself. What would I wish to hurt you for?" "I don't know, I'm sure. I'm 'fraid of everybody." "See here, Zeke, was there any Injins chasing you, just now?" "Yes--no. I've been clear of them a long time, I run so fast; but I'm just as afeard, as I s'pose the Injins are all over the woods." "Not so bad as that, though we'd be willing to get along if there was a few less." "Yes, that's so. Got any thing to eat?" "No, but we'll soon have something." "Can I go 'long with you?" asked the frightened fellow. "If you wish to, provided you do what I want you to." "Oh, I'll do any thing for you. Who's that with you?" he questioned, peering around the hunter, who, although he had advanced a few steps, still stood in front of Edith. "A young friend, Miss Edith Sudbury." "Glad to see you," said the young man, with an awkward bow. "But see here," pursued the Rifleman, "how comes it you are in these woods at all? You didn't come all the way from Pennsylvany alone?" "Oh, no--oh, no. I came down the Ohio in a flat-boat." "How is it that you are here, then?" "The other day we stopped along the shore a while, and I went off in the woods, and got lost. When I found my way back, the flat-boat had gone, and I was left alone. I've been wandering around ever since, and am nearly starved to death. Be you two hunting?" "No, we are making our way to a settlement some miles off. Do you wish to go with us?" "Yes, anywhere to get out of these derned woods. Gracious! what a big job it'll be to cut all these trees down," said young Hunt, looking above and around him, as though absorbed with this new idea. "A big job, certainly; but there'll be a big lot to do it when the time comes. There don't appear to be any reason why we should wait, and so we'll move ahead." "Which way are you going?" "Right ahead." "Over the same ground that I come over?" "I s'pose so." "Oh, heavens! you are lost if you do. Don't do that." "What's the matter? Any danger?" "The woods are chuck full of Injins, I tell you. There must have somebody passed that way and they looking for them, there are so many." Dernor turned and spoke to Edith: "No doubt he is right. It is but what I suspected. What shall I do? Take a longer way home, and a safer one, or the short route?" "Take the _safest_, whichever that may be." "That is the longest. Come on, friend." "I'm follerin'," replied that worthy, striding after him. It was considerably past the hour of noon, and the brisk walk through the woods had given the Rifleman an appetite something akin to that of his new-found companion, so that he did not forget the expressed wish of the latter. He had no difficulty in bringing down another turkey and cooking it. There was one peculiarity which did not escape either Dernor or Edith. On the part of the latter it occasioned no concern, but it was the subject of considerable wonder and speculation with the former. Zeke Hunt, as he called himself, professed to be ravenously hungry; but when the tempting, juicy meat of the turkey was placed before him, he swallowed but a few mouthfuls. This was a small matter, it was true, and with any one except the Rifleman, would have escaped notice but this sagacious hunter considered it of so much importance as to ask an explanation. "You appeared to be dying with hunger, and now, when food is offered, you hardly touch it. What is the meaning of that?" "I don't know," said Zeke, wiping his fingers on the hair of his head. "Yes, you do know. Tell me the meaning of it." "S'pose I ain't hungry." "Isn't the bird cooked well enough?" "Wouldn't hurt if 'twas cooked better." The Rifleman at first was disposed to resent this insult, but, on second thought, he set the man down as a fool, and one unworthy of notice. There is no disguising the fact that his action had given the hunter an unpleasant suspicion, which, however, was dissipated by the perfect coolness with which he met his inquiry. "I guess yer ain't used to cookin', be you?" he asked, perfectly unabashed by the frigid manner of the hunter. "I've done considerable, sir, in the last few years." "Don't say so. Shouldn't have thought it, from the way that thing looks." "What is the matter with this cooking, I should like to know; eh?" "Oh, nothin', as I knows on. The gal appears to like it well enough." "Indeed I do," said Edith, unable to restrain a laugh at the manner of their new companion, who, seeing it, rolled his head back and gave an answering "horse-laugh" that could have been heard a half-mile distant. "Don't let me hear that agin," said the Rifleman, rising to his feet. "Why don't you want to hear it?" asked Zeke, in blank astonishment. "It's no wonder the flat-boat left you, if you were in the habit of making such noises as that. It's enough to wake every sleeping Injin in these woods." "It'll scare 'em, I guess, won't it?" "I should think it would, so don't try it agin." "Done eatin'?" "Yes, of course." "Thought it was about time." "We will not reach home to-night," said the Rifleman, speaking to Edith. "I'm sorry, for they'll be worried about us." "I am sorry, too, for I dislike to remain in the woods so long." "This fellow will be of little use to us, as he doesn't appear to know any thing. I can't understand how he has come this far. He's been lucky, I s'pose, but whether we're going to be, with him along, is more than I can tell." "Of course you won't turn him off. It would be cruel," said Edith, sincerely commiserating the helpless situation of the young man. "As long as he behaves himself, and it doesn't make it any more dangerous for you, he can stay with us; but he mustn't open that big mouth of his as wide as he did just now." "Hello! how long afore you're goin' to start?" called out Zeke, as our two friends stood talking together. "Follow behind us, and make no noise, if you want to save your top-knot." "Hope there ain't no danger of that happening, after I've come as far as this all right." The three moved forward once again, the movements of the Rifleman characterized by his usual caution, while Zeke Hunt straddled along at a most awkward gait, kicking up the leaves, and breaking and bending the undergrowth in such a manner as to make the care of the hunter entirely useless. In this manner they traveled until nightfall, when they reached the banks of a small brook, beside which it was decided to encamp for the night. During the latter part of the day it had been steadily growing colder, so that, after some deliberation, Dernor concluded to start a fire. "You don't s'pose the Injins will see it, do you?" asked Hunt. "I'm sure I can't tell. Why do you ask?" "'Cause, if _they_ are goin' to see it, I want to get out the way. I don't s'pose you've traveled the woods much, have you?" "Probably as much as you have." "You have, eh?" There was something in the tone in which this was uttered that made the hunter turn and look at Zeke Hunt. As he did so, he saw an expression of his greenish, gray goggle-eyes that made him feel certain, for the minute, that he had seen him before. It may have been a fancy, for the expression was gone instantly, and succeeded by the same blank, half-idiotic look. This was the second time the same unpleasant suspicion had entered the mind of the Rifleman, and he was resolved, at the least, to keep an eye upon Zeke Hunt. While it was not at all impossible that the story he had told was true in every particular, still there was an air of improbability about it, which could not escape the notice of so quick-sighted a man as Dernor, and, from this time forward, every action or word of the awkward countryman was watched with a jealous eye. The fire which was kindled was carefully screened, so that it would not be apt to catch the eye of any one in the neighborhood. After some conversation between the hunter and Edith, the latter wrapped his blanket over her own, and, thus protected, lay down upon the ground. The weariness and fatigue brought on by the day's travel soon manifested itself in a deep, dreamless, refreshing sleep. "Are you going to stay up all night?" asked Dernor of the countryman. "I don't know whether I am or not." "Ain't you sleepy?" "Don't feel much so jest now; s'pose I mought after a while." "You have traveled enough. Why don't you feel sleepy?" "Haw! haw! haw! what a question. How do I know why I ain't sleepy? You don't appear so yourself." "I ain't, either." "You've done as much tramping as I have." "That may be; but I'm used to it, and you ain't." "Don't know 'bout that. Used to do good 'eal of it up on the farm. Say, you, did you ever hear of the Riflemen of the Miami?" "Yes, very often. They are sometimes seen in these parts." "I'd like to jine them 'ere fellers." "You jine 'em!" repeated Dernor, contemptuously. "You'd be a pretty chap to go with them. Them chaps, sir, is _hunters_!" he added, in a triumphant tone. "Jest what I s'posed, and that's why I wanted to jine 'em." "Can you shoot?" "Ef you'll lend me your iron there a minute, I'll show you what I can do." "It is dark now. There is no chance to show your skill. Wait till morning." "Very well, don't forget. I've done some shootin', fur all I ain't used to Injins. But, I say, do you know the head feller of them Riflemen?" "I'm very well acquainted with him." "What sort of a chap is he?" "Good deal such a man as I am." "Haw! haw! great man to be the leader. Hope you're never taken for him, be you?" "Very often--because _I am_ the leader of the Riflemen myself." "Get out," said the countryman, as if he expected to be bitten. "You can't make me believe that." "It makes no difference to me whether you believe it or not. If you make much more noise, like enough you'll find out who I am." "Be you really the leader of the Riflemen?" queried Zeke Hunt, not noticing the warning which had just been uttered. "I've told you once, so let's hear no more about it." "My gracious! you don't look much like one. 'Pears to me you and I look a good deal alike. Don't you think so?" "Heaven save me, _I hope_ not." "Oh, I'm willing that it should be so. I ain't offended." The impudence of the countryman was so consummate that Dernor could not restrain a laugh at it. "They always considered me good-looking down hum," he added; "and there wasn't a gal I wasn't able to get if I wanted her." "I should think you would be anxious to get back again." "Would be, if it wasn't for the old man. He was _awful_ on me. Didn't appear to be proud of me at all." "Queer, sure. I don't see how he could help it." "Me neither. Dad was always mad, though, and used to aboose me shameful. The fust thing in my life that I can remember was of gettin' a lickin'." "What was it for?" "Nothin' worth tellin'. I was a little feller then, and one day heated the poker red-hot, and run it down grandmother's back. But there! didn't he lam me for that! Always was whippin' me. School-teacher was just as bad. Licked me like blazes the fust day." "Did he lick you for nothin'?" "Purty near. Didn't do any thing except to put a handful of gunpowder in a dry inkstand, and then touch it off under his chair. Haw! haw! haw! didn't he jump? and oh gracious!" he added, in a solemn tone, "didn't I jump, too, when he fell on me." "You seem to have been about the biggest scamp in the country. Why did he whip you this last time when you run away?" "Hadn't any more reason than he had at other times. I tried to take Ann Parsons home from singing-school, and she wouldn't let me. That was the reason." "He couldn't have whipped you for that." "Well, it all come from that. I followed her home, and jest give her my opinion of her, and when her old man undertook to say any thing, I jest pitched in and walloped him." "You had a sensible father, and it's a pity he hasn't got you now, for I don't care any thing about your company." "You going to turn me off? You said you wouldn't." "And I shan't, I tell you agin, as long as you behave yourself. If you cac'late to go with me to the settlement, you must not have too much to say. Remember that we are still in dangerous territory, and a little foolishness by either of us may bring a pack of the red-skins upon us." "Just what I thought. I'm sleepy." And without further ceremony, he lolled over on the ground, and in a few minutes, to all appearances, was sound asleep. Intently watching his face for a time, the Rifleman now and then saw his eyelids partly unclose, as if he wished to ascertain whether any one was scrutinizing him. The somewhat lengthy conversation which we have taken the pains to record, had about disarmed the hunter of the suspicions which had been lingering with him for a long time. He believed Zeke Hunt an ignorant fellow, who had been left along the Ohio river, as he had related, and who had not yet learned that trait of civilized society, carefully to conceal his thoughts and feelings when in conversation. The impression which he first felt, of having met him before, might easily arise from his resemblance to some former acquaintance. Still, the Rifleman was by no means so forgetful of his charge as to indulge in slumber, when there was the remotest probability of danger threatening her. Inured as he was to all manner of hardships and suffering, it was no difficult matter for him to spend several nights in succession without sleep. He therefore watched over her through the second night, never, for a single moment, allowing himself to become unconscious. Several times he saw the countryman raise his head and change his position, and when spoken to, heard him mutter something about it being "derned hard to sleep with his head on the soft side of a stone, and one side toasted and the other froze." The hours wore away without any incident worth mentioning, and at the first appearance of day Edith was astir and ready to resume the journey. Enough of the turkey, slain on the day before, remained to give each a sufficient meal, and with cheerful spirits upon the part of all, the three again took up their march through the wilderness. The route which the information of the countryman led the hunter to adopt was such that he expected to reach the settlement in the course of the afternoon. It will thus be seen that it was a very circuitous one--they, in fact, being already several miles north of their destination. As yet, the eagle eye of the hunter had discovered no danger, and their march was continued without interruption until noon, when they halted for a few minutes' rest. "If you haint no 'bjection, I'll try a shot with your gun," said Zeke Hunt, "bein' as you thought I couldn't shoot any." "I'd rather not have my rifle fired at present, youngster, as ears that we don't fancy might hear it." "You're only afeard I might beat you, that's all." This remark so nettled the hunter that he resolved to gratify his disagreeable companion. "Put up your mark, then," said he, "and as far off as you choose." The countryman walked to a tree somewhat over a hundred yards distant, and with his knife clipped off a small piece of bark, leaving a gleaming spot, an inch or two in diameter. "You fire first," said he, as he came back. The hunter drew up his rifle, and pausing hardly a second to take aim, buried the bullet fairly in the center of the target. "Whew! that's derned good; don't believe I can beat it much; but I'll try." The gun was quickly reloaded, and, after taking aim and adjusting it nearly a dozen times, Zeke Hunt fired, missing the tree altogether. As he ran to ascertain the result of his shot, instead of handing the rifle to Dernor, he carried it, apparently without thinking, with him. When he had carefully examined the mark, he proceeded to reload it, before returning. This was so natural an occurrence, that the hunter received his weapon without noticing it. "Want to fire again?" asked the countryman. "No, it isn't worth while." "I give in, but think I'll be up to you after a little practice." About half an hour afterward, as they were walking along, Dernor, by a mere accident, happened to look at the pan of his rifle and saw that the priming had been removed. A moment's reflection convinced him that this had been done by Zeke Hunt, not accidentally, but on purpose. The hunter managed to reprime without being noticed, and he made a vow that this apparent lubber should henceforth be watched with a lynx-eye. They had gone scarcely a half-mile further, when the latter came up beside Edith, and remarked that he had been taken sick. "Don't you feel able to walk?" she asked. "I'm dreadful afeard I shall have to ax you to pause for a while," he said, manifesting that peculiar repugnance to receiving kindness, which, singularly enough is manifested more or less by every person in similar circumstances. "What's the matter?" gruffly asked Dernor, who was still meditating upon the incident we have mentioned above. "Sick," groaned Zeke Hunt, apparently in great misery. "What has made you sick?" "I don't know; allers was considered delicate." "How do you feel?" "_Jest as though I wanted to whistle!_" was the curious reply and placing his finger in his mouth, the fellow gave a sound that would have done credit to an ordinary locomotive. "If you make that noise again I'll shoot you," said the Rifleman, now fairly convinced that mischief was intended. Without heeding his threat, the sick man arose to the upright position, and with flashing eyes, repeated the sound. "I gave you warning," said Dernor, raising his gun, pointing it at his breast, and pulling the trigger. It missed fire! "I guess you'll have to fix up that load a little," said Zeke Hunt, "and afore you can do that, you're likely to have visitors." The Rifleman clubbed his gun and advanced toward the man. The latter drew his knife, and said: "Keep off, Lew Dernor; don't you know me?" "I've been a fool," said the hunter. "Yes, I know you through your disguise, _Simon Girty_. I see what you have been trying to do, but you will never take one of us alive. I hear the tramp of the coming Indians that he has signaled," he added, addressing Edith, "and there is not a minute to lose." So saying, he placed his arm around her waist, and started off at a rapid run. CHAPTER VIII. THE FLIGHT. The pass was steep and rugged, The wolves they howled and whined; But he ran like a whirlwind up the pass, And left the wolves behind.--MACAULAY. Moments like these, Rend men's lives into immortalities.--BYRON. For a few minutes, the Rifleman ran "like a whirlwind," supporting entirely the weight of Edith, for none knew better than he the imminent peril that menaced both. The wood was quite open, so that his way was not much impeded, and he went at a terrific rate, well aware that all depended upon gaining an advantage over the Indians at the start. He had gone but a short distance, when he became convinced that his only danger was from falling into the hands of his pursuers, as it was their sole object to make him and Edith prisoners; as a consequence, there was no danger from being fired at by them. When he deemed it prudent, he released his hold upon her, and she, half running and being half carried, flew over the ground at a rate as astonishing to herself as it was to her pursuers. The latter kept up a series of yells and outcries, amid which the discordant screeches of Zeke Hunt, now Simon Girty, the renegade, could be plainly distinguished. Several furtive glances over the shoulder gave him glimpses of some eight or ten savages in pursuit, the renegade being among the foremost. As Dernor was thus hurrying forward, he recalled that, less than half a mile distant, the woods were broken and cut up by ravines and hills, as though an earthquake had passed through that section; and, believing that this would afford him a better opportunity of eluding his foes, he turned in that direction and strained every nerve to reach it. As for Edith herself, she seemed fired with supernatural strength, and sped with a swiftness of which she never dreamed herself capable. Seeing this, the Rifleman attempted to draw the charge out of his gun and reload it. It was a work of great difficulty to do this while running, but he succeeded in accomplishing it at last. Constantly glancing behind him, in order to see his chance, he suddenly whirled and fired with the rapidity of thought. Without pausing to reload, he again placed his arm around Edith, and dashed forward almost at the top of his speed. Finding that the Indians, if gaining at all, were gaining very slowly upon him, he half concluded that it was their intention to run his companion down, well knowing that, although he was fully competent both in speed and in bottom to contest with them, it could not be expected that she could continue the rate at which she was going, for any length of time. "Ain't you tired?" he asked, hurriedly. "Not much; I can run a great deal further," she replied, in the same hurried manner. "Keep your spirits up; we'll soon have different ground to travel over." Almost as he spoke, they came to the edge of a sort of ravine, too broad for either to leap, and too precipitous to admit of an immediate descent by either. Still retaining his hold upon her, Dernor ran rapidly along the edge, until reaching a favorable spot, he lifted her bodily from the ground, and bounded down to a rock over a dozen feet below, and then leaped from this to the bottom of the ravine, Edith sustaining no more of a shock than if she had been a feather. Being now in the bottom of the ravine, where the ground was comparatively even, the hunter placed the girl once more upon her feet, and side by side they continued their flight from their merciless pursuers. Their loud, exultant yells continued reverberating through the woods, and glancing upward, Dernor saw the form of a huge Indian suddenly come to view, on the edge of the ravine, some distance ahead of him, and make some menacing motion toward him. As the ravine at this point was a sheer precipice, the hunter did not believe he would attempt to descend it, and feeling there was no danger of being fired upon, he kept steadily onward. But he was mistaken. Before he was opposite the savage, he came sliding and tumbling down the ravine, as though some one had pushed him from behind. However that may have been, he alighted on his feet without injury, and made directly toward the fugitives, with the manifest intention of checking their flight. Lewis Dernor saw that a collision with the Indian was unavoidable, and without the least hesitation prepared himself for it. The savage was a Miami--a brawny, muscular warrior, fully six feet in height, of matchless symmetry and formidable strength. When the combatants were perhaps a dozen yards apart, he raised his tomahawk over his head, and poising it a moment, hurled it, with a most deadly force, full at the head of the hunter. The latter had not expected such a demonstration as this, but had detected it in time to avoid it. He dropped his head the instant the weapon left the savage's hand, and it whizzed over him, going end over end, until it struck the solid rock, where the terrible force of the concussion shivered it to atoms. Seeing this, the Miami whipped out his knife and stood on the defensive. "Now, my good friend," muttered Dernor, between his clenched teeth, "it is _my_ turn." He handed his rifle to Edith--who had paused, now that they were so close to their enemy--and, drawing his own knife, made a sort of running bound, coming upon the Indian with a panther-like spring, that nearly drove him backward off his feet. There was a clashing of knives, the scintillation of steel against steel, the deadly embrace, and hand-to-hand struggle; and, as the Rifleman recoiled clear of his fallen adversary, he reached out to Edith for his rifle. "Come on," said he, in his ordinary voice; "I guess the way is clear." "I--I am afraid," faltered Edith, "that I can not run much further." "There ain't any need of it," said the hunter. "Lean on me, and we'll walk awhile, if there's a thousand tearing Injins after us." Edith panted and trembled violently from the exhausting efforts she had been compelled to make, while the mortal terror she felt at the Miamis, made her nearly wild with excitement. Their chilling yells, so different from any thing ever heard among civilized beings, would have crazed almost any person, but Dernor listened to them with as much composure as he would to the songs of so many birds. He became aware, shortly after, from the direction of these sounds, that the Indians had entered the ravine, and were now coming along again, at the top of their speed. He paused a moment, to determine precisely the distance of these, and then looked into the gloomy, terror-stricken face of Edith. "I have rested," said he, "and if we don't get over ground faster than this, them red-skins will have us both, in less than ten minutes. Let me carry you." She made no resistance, for she was barely able to stand, and supporting her in such a manner that her feet hardly touched ground, Dernor once more threw all of his astonishing energy into the flight. Fully a quarter of a mile he ran directly through the ravine, and then, reaching a point that would admit of it, he made a running leap, and came up out of it, like a diver emerging from the sea. He was now in the woods again, after having gained a considerable advantage over his pursuers; but the Indians behind him were still uncomfortably close, and he could not hope that all would pass the point where he had left the ravine, without discovering the signs he had left there of his flight. Knowing this, he was aware that the golden moment was the present. The Miamis--to whom most of the pursuers belonged--were "thrown off the scent" for the time. After having gone a considerable distance, and having satisfied himself that they had not yet regained it, Dernor determined to take advantage of this to give Edith a portion of the rest she needed so much. "I am not used to running like this," said she, leaning heavily on him, "and I am afraid I can not bear it." "I ought to be shot and scalped, for making you take this journey," said Dernor. "Why, you did it for the best," she added, in surprise. "Yes, I thought so--perhaps, the best for myself. I had no idea of being pursued in this manner. It seems I have been a fool. I let that Simon Girty make me believe he was an awkward countryman, and lead me into this muss." "You think we can keep out of their hands?" "I trust so; the night ain't many hours away, and if we can only keep clear till then, why, all right. I hain't seen the Injin yet, Miami or Shawnee, that could foller a track in the night-time." "They did not see us come out of the ravine. How will they know enough of our direction to keep up the pursuit?" "Injin is Injin, and the dirt I made in scratching out of there will be seen by a dozen of their snaky eyes." "How far, dear friend, did you say it is to the settlement?" "Full twenty miles." "We can reach it, then, by traveling all night?" "Yes, very easy, if you can hold out till the darkness comes on." "I hope I can, but I am so terribly worn out that I must go very slowly. You said it was the best for _you_ that we should undertake this journey alone, through the woods. What did you mean by saying that?" "I will tell you some other time," replied the hunter, in great embarrassment. "I done so that I might be _alone with you_." Edith looked earnestly at him, as though she would read his very soul. She was about to speak, when the appalling yells of the human bloodhounds sounded so fearfully near, that her very blood seemed to curdle in her veins. "Where shall we fly?" she asked, looking up imploringly in the face of the hunter. "Come on as rapidly as you can," he replied, again supporting her. Great as were the apprehension and terror of Edith, she could but notice the singular conduct of her companion. He kept constantly looking around, not as though he expected danger, but as if searching for something. The cause of this was soon manifest. "Edith," said he, "it will be full two hours afore there'll be enough darkness to do us any good. Can you stand it till then?" "I can _stand_ it," she answered, with a sad laugh, "but I can not _run_ it." "We must either run or be took. Now, _my dearest_ _one_, you've done enough to kill a dozen common women, and you shouldn't try to do more, and I don't intend to let you." "But how can---- Oh, Heavenly Father! hear those shouts--but how can you prevent it?" "I must leave you behind." Edith's eyes dilated with horror, now doubly intensified. "Don't think for a minute," the hunter hastened to say, "that I intend to desart you. No, no; may the lightning strike me down if I could ever do such a thing. What I mean is, that I must hide you till night, when I'll come back, and we'll go on, taking things comfortably." "It must be done quickly. Don't wait a minute." The Rifleman led the way to some thick, dense bushes and without approaching them very closely, signified her to enter them. She did so, with considerable difficulty, and when she had entered and covered away, he could see nothing of her. "Stay there till I come," said he, "and be careful and not put your head out, if you hear any noise." "How shall I know whether it is you or not?" "I'll be around as soon as it is dark enough, and will speak. Don't forget what I said. Don't let any noise make you show yourself. Good-by." "Good-by;" and the hunter turned to attend to his own safety. CHAPTER IX. THE RIFLEMAN AND HURON ON THE TRAIL. The woodcock, in his moist retreat, Heard not the falling of their feet; On his dark roost the gray owl slept, Time, with his drum the partridge kept; Nor left the deer his watering-place, So hushed, so noiseless was their pace. W. H. C. HOSMER. On a fine summer day, the one succeeding that upon which occurred the incident just related, one of the Riflemen of the Miami, was making his way through the dense forests that at that period nearly covered the entire portion of Ohio. His short stature, bowed legs, and round, shining visage, showed unmistakably that he was Tom O'Hara. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, and as he walked leisurely along, he had that easy, saucy air which showed him to be totally unmindful of the opinion of friend or foe. That he had no fears of disturbance was manifest from the carelessness with which he proceeded, constantly kicking the leaves before him, and when a limb brushed his face, suddenly stopping and spitefully wrenching it off with an expression of impatience. He was in a worse temper than usual, and incensed at something that continually occupied his mind. "What can have become of the fools?" he muttered. "He oughter been home two, three days ago, and we hain't seen a sign of him yet. Can't be Lew's such a dunce as to walk into the red-skins' hands. No, no, no." He shook his head as if displeased, and for a time continued his solitary journey in silence. The great question which he was debating was regarding his leader's whereabouts, and his ill-temper arose principally from the fact that he was unable to offer a solution satisfactory to himself. "Let me see," he added. "If Lew is took, why the gal's took, and if the gal's took, Lew must be too; so that p'int is settled. It _might_ be some of the Injins _have_ got him, but somehow or other I can't believe it. Don't look reasonable, although Dick 'peared to think so." Again he bent his head as if in deep thought. Gradually his meditations brought him nearer the truth. "He's found out that the shortest path was the safest one--something a man is pretty apt to think when he is with the gal he loves, and so he has took the roundabout way home. That's it, sure. But hold on a minute," said O'Hara, as a new thought struck him; "I'd like to know the route which it would take them so long to travel over. It's queer, I'll be hanged if it isn't. That gal will be the death of Lew yet. I'd like to see the gal that could pull the wool over _my_ eyes." And, as if alarmed at the thought, he strode rapidly forward, shaking his head, and muttering more savagely than ever to himself. Gradually he regained his natural state of semi-composure, and proceeded in his audible musings: "Whatever is up, I'm bound to find out afore I go back. Not that I care a cent for Lew--not a bit of it. If he don't know any better than to shut his eyes when Injins is about, he oughter suffer. But then I'd like to know _how things is_. Hello!" The Rifleman stopped and commenced snuffing the air, like an animal when it scents danger. "That's smoke, as sure as I live. Who's been kindling a fire at this time of day?" Turning his head in every direction, he, at length, determined the one from which the vapor came. There being scarcely any wind at all, he rightly judged it must be close at hand. Stealing carefully along from tree to tree, he finally detected the faint blue rising through the wood, scarcely fifty yards away. Approaching still closer, he gained a full view of the fire, and also of him who had kindled it. The latter was an Indian warrior, who was seated on the ground with his legs gathered under him, and his head bowed forward as if sleeping. The hunter saw, from the nodding of his head, that such was the case. Occasionally he would incline forward until ready to fall on his face, when he would start up with a jerk, rub his eyes, look about him, and then go to nodding again. "It seems that everybody have lost their senses," muttered O'Hara. "Now just see that Injin wagging his head at the fire, tryin' to sleep here in broad daylight. How easy I could send a bullet through him! But there's no danger of that, as we Riflemen don't fight in that style. Be careful, my fellow." Here the Indian fell over on his face and then scrambled to his feet, looked around, seeking to appear wondrously awake, and then sat down as before. "A Huron, as I live," said O'Hara, in pleased astonishment. "What can _that_ red-skin mean by being in these parts? All alone, too. If he was only Oonamoo, now, I'd feel glad to see him." Oonamoo, to whom the hunter alluded, was a Huron scout, well known along the frontier as one of the best friends the whites possessed. He had the shrewdness, cunning and skill of his people in an astonishing degree, and had many times given evidence of his faithfulness to the settlers. He was well known to the Riflemen of the Miami, having guided them in several expeditions, and with O'Hara especially he was on good terms. The anxiety of the latter, therefore, to meet him can be well understood. "Oonamoo would unravel the whole thing afore noon," said he, "and I'd about as lief see him this minute as I would see Lew. Let me get a better glimpse of his face. I didn't suspect him being a Huron when he jumped up just now, or I'd noticed his features. It don't look like Oonamoo, to see him noddin' in that style." He moved cautiously around, until fairly in front of the savage, when he uttered a low, peculiar whistle. The latter instantly raised his head, his black eyes open to their fullest extent, and gave a look that at once discovered his identity to O'Hara. "Oonamoo, and no mistake," he muttered; and then repeating the whistle as a warning that he was about to approach, he stepped boldly forth and revealed himself. The Huron started with surprise, and then advanced with an expression of pleasure to greet his white brother. "Glad to meet," he said, speaking brokenly. "And I'm derned glad to see you, Oonamoo, for I need your help this minute. What are you doing? Out on a scout?" The Huron shook his head. "No scout--Oonamoo live in woods--like the deer--can't sleep near white men's houses." "'Pears you can sleep here though, the way your head was bobbin' around. Been up late at night, I s'pose?" "No sleep now--meet 'Hara, white brother," said he, with an expression of joy upon his swarthy countenance. "Yes, I smelt the smoke of your fire, and follerin' it up I cone onto you. 'Pears to me it was rather careless kindling your fire here in broad daylight. Ain't there any Injins in the neighborhood?" "Woods full of 'em--Shawnees, Miamis, Delawares, all over, like leaves of trees," replied the savage, sweeping his arm around him. "Ain't you _afeard_ they might come down on you?" The Rifleman indulged in an inward laugh, for he well knew the reply that would be made. The dark face of the Huron assumed an expression of withering scorn as he answered: "Oonamoo don't know _fear_--spit on Shawnee and Miami--he sleeps in their hunting-grounds, and by their wigwams, but they don't touch him. He scalp their warriors--all he meets, but Oonamoo never lose scalp." "Don't be too sure of that; that proud top-knot of yours may be yanked off yet, Mr. Oonamoo. Many a Shawnee would be proud to have that hanging in his lodge." "He never get him though," replied the Huron, with great readiness. "I hope not, for I'd feel sorry to see such a good warrior as you go under when he is needed so much. You ain't on a scout or hunt just now, then?" The savage shook his head from side to side as quick as lightning. "Then you'll take a tramp with me?" It now went up and down with the same celerity. "To sum up then, Oonamoo, Lew, our leader, is in a bad scrape." "Shawnee got him? Miami got him?" "That's what I want to find out. Shouldn't be s'prised if both have nabbed him." "How get him?" There was something curious in the eagerness with which the Huron asked the questions. It was more noticeable from the fact that O'Hara spoke slowly and deliberately, so that the short, broken sentences of the savage seemed all the more short and broken. "That I can't tell, Oonamoo," repeated the hunter, who, it will be noticed, evinced the remarkable fact of being in a good temper with the Indian. "You see, him and the gal----" "Gal with him?" asked the savage, with amazing quickness. "Yes; didn't I tell you that?" "Bad--bad--gal make him blind--see notting, all time--she afore his face." "You've got the idea this time, Oonamoo. Lew's in love, above his head and ears, and can't be to blame so much for what he's done," said O'Hara, a gleam of pity stealing through his rough nature, like a ray of sunshine entering a gloomy cave. "He's made a fool of himself, I'm afeard, 'cause there's a female on his hands." "What want to do? Foller him--catch him?" "That's it. The first thing to be done is to find the trail." "Where lost? Where see him last?" O'Hara proceeded to relate as best he could what is already known to the reader, or more properly that portion of it which was known to him. He stated that he and Dick Allmat had lost the trail in a small brook, and that their most persistent efforts had failed to recover it. Upon speculating further, he learned from Oonamoo that they were in the vicinity of the ravine where Dernor and Edith had so narrowly escaped the Indians, the latter fact of course being unknown to them. The Huron added, that there was "much track" in the woods around them, and O'Hara, thinking that perhaps his leader's might be among them, proposed that they should make an examination of them. To this the savage readily agreed, and the two moved forward through the wood for that purpose. In the course of a few minutes they reached the ravine, and the Indian, pointing down into it, as they stood upon its bank, said: "Full of tracks--many Injin pass there." "Let us go down and take a look at them." A few minutes later, they were following up the ravine, on a sort of half-run, the Huron leading the way, and evincing, at nearly every step, that remarkable quickness of sight and comprehension so characteristic of his race. Suddenly he paused so abruptly that O'Hara ran against him. "What the deuce is the matter?" he asked, rubbing his nose. "Look!" Several dark drops of blood were visible on the ground which was also torn up by the feet of the combatants. As the reader probably suspects, this was the scene of the conflict between Dernor and the Miami Indian. "See," said Oonamoo, walking slowly around, and pointing to the ground. "Track of Injin--track of white man--tear up ground--fight--till Injin killed. White man then run--see him tracks there, there, there," he added, pointing further and further from him as he uttered each of the last three words. "But where's the gal?" The Huron pointed to the spot where Edith had stood spell-bound while the contest was going on. O'Hara, although a skillful backwoodsman, was not equal to his savage companion; but he saw at once, from the dainty impress of the earth, that he was correct in supposing that Edith had stood there. They now resumed their pursuit, the hunter bringing all his wood-craft into play, in order to keep up with his companion. "I can't see her tracks to save my life," said the former, after they had proceeded some distance. "Him carry her," replied the savage, without the least hesitation. "Hang me if you haven't got about as much brains as a person needs in these parts," muttered O'Hara, admiringly, as he imitated the monotonous trot of the savage. A moment later and he paused again. "What's up now?" asked the hunter. "Track gone." "But I see plenty in front of us." "White man's not there--gone." A minute examination revealed the fact that most of the impressions were now made by persons passing _backward_ as well as forward, as though confusion had arisen from some cause. O'Hara suspected the reason of this, but, without venturing an opinion, questioned his dusky friend: "Huntin' for tracks," he answered. "White man gone." The two now walked slowly backward, their gaze wandering along the sides of the ravine instead of the bottom. In a moment the quick eye of the Indian discerned the spot where he judged the exit had been made, and a short examination proved that he was right. The feet of Dernor had sunk deep in the soft earth as he made his Herculean efforts in the ascent, while those of his pursuers were so light that they hardly disturbed them. Up out of the ravine came the Huron and hunter, and into the woods they plunged, following the trail now with the greatest readiness. A short distance further they reached the banks where Edith had concealed herself, and here, for a time, even the red-skin was at fault. He saw that the shrubbery had been passed by most of the pursuers without their having approached closely enough to make an examination. From the circuit which Dernor had made to reach these bushes, the quick-witted Huron rightly suspected that he had turned them to some account. Accordingly, he cautiously parted them and looked in. An immediate "Ugh!" showed O'Hara that he had made some discovery. "Hide gal there--then run on." "Where is she?" "Injin didn't git her in bushes," replied the savage, implying that if she was captured at all it was not done here. "Go on, then," added O'Hara. It was now noticed that the steps of the fugitive had shortened, it following, as a natural consequence, that he had slackened his speed at this point. Several hundred yards further on, another fact was observed. The pursuing Indians, instead of adhering to the trail, as they had done heretofore, separated and left it. This, to both Oonamoo and O'Hara was evidence that they had either come in sight of Dernor, or else were so certain of the direction he was taking that they did not deem it necessary to watch his footsteps. The Rifleman could not believe the former was the case, inasmuch as it was the very thing, above all others, which his leader would seek to avoid; for the most requisite condition to the success of his artifice, was that his pursuers should still think Edith was with him. Be that as it may, one thing was certain. The pursuer and pursued at this point were very close together--closer than the safety of the latter could admit for any length of time. A few hundred yards further, the dark face of the Huron lit up with an expression of admiring pleasure. "Him run agin," said he, glancing to O'Hara, who was now beside him. The steps of the flying Rifleman now lengthened rapidly, as if he had traveled at superhuman speed. As O'Hara saw the remarkable leaps which he must have taken, he could not help exclaiming, in admiration: "Go it, Lew. I'd like to see the red-skin that could overhaul you, when you're a mind to bring your pegs down to it." "Run much--like scar't deer," added Oonamoo. "Yes, _sir_; Lew has been letting out just along here, and I reckon them Injins never seen such steps as he took." It was very evident that the hunter had "let out" to his utmost ability, and with the determination of leaving his pursuers far in the rear. Previous to this he had not called his formidable power into play; but so rapidly had his gait increased that in many places his footsteps were fully ten feet apart! It had not escaped the notice of Oonamoo and O'Hara, that a white man was among the pursuers, and it occasioned considerable speculation upon the part of the latter. The trails of the two were distinguishable, Dernor having a small, well-shaped foot, inclining outward very slightly, while that of the other was large, heavy, turning outward at a very large angle. "Who can this chap be?" asked O'Hara of his companion. "Renegade--bad white man--Girty--white chief." "Whew! I see how it is now. That's the dog that hung around the settlers on the night of the storm, and got fired at a dozen times." "Why no killed--no hurt?" "We didn't know who he was, and all shot at his breast." "Ugh! no hurt him, then." "No, for, they say, the dog often wears a bullet-proof plate over his breast, and his life has, more than once, been saved by it. He's a brave man, for all he's such an inhuman brute; for who would dare to sit and let us fire agin and agin at him, when it was just as likely we'd fire at his head as at his breast? It was more of an accident than any thing else that we didn't kill him." "Bad man--kill women and children," said Oonamoo. "No one disputes that. What a pity we didn't know him when we first set eyes on him. I shouldn't wonder now if he's been fooling Lew, as well as us. My gracious! hasn't the boy used his pegs along here?" exclaimed O'Hara, again looking at the ground. "No catch him," said the Huron. "No Injun run like him. Tracks turn round pretty soon." "What makes you think so?" "Gal bring him back--not leave _her_!" "You're right. He won't forget she is behind him. But how is he going to throw the dogs off the scent?" "How t'row white men off scent, eh?" "I understand--by taking to the water." "Take to water agin." As the Huron spoke, they came upon the edge of a second brook--one, in fact, large enough to be called a creek. The trail led directly into this, it being manifest that Dernor had so shaped his flight as to reach it. "I will cross over and examine the opposite side, while you do the same along this shore." "No, won't," replied Oonamoo, with a decided shake of his head. "White man no cross--gal behind him--come out on this side agin." The savage was so certain of this, that he refused even to allow O'Hara to enter the stream. A moment's reflection convinced him, also, that the supposition was correct, and they commenced their ascent of the bank. They had gone scarcely a dozen steps, when they came upon numerous moccasin-tracks, showing that, if the pursuers had crossed the creek, they had also returned. At this discovery, Oonamoo indulged in a characteristic exclamation: "He hide trail--all safe--no cotch him." "How are _we_ going to find it?" asked O'Hara. Marvelous as was the skill of the Huron, he doubted his own ability to regain the trail in the ordinary manner, and he accordingly had resort to the same means that he used in ascending the ravine. Without attempting to search for the trail itself, he carefully examined the shore in order to find the point at which the fugitive could safely leave the stream. Oonamoo, from his knowledge of the leader of the Riflemen, knew that he would walk for miles in the creek, before he would leave it without the certainty of deceiving his pursuers. The course which Dernor had taken being such that he had entered the water at a point considerably _above_ where Edith had concealed herself, the savages, in case they were aware that the latter was somewhere on the back-trail, would naturally suppose that, if he came out of it on the same side in which he had entered, it would be _below_ this point; which, all being comprehended by the Huron, satisfied him that the fugitive had disappointed these expectations, and gone _up_ the stream. Two things, therefore, were determined with considerable certainty--Dernor had not _crossed_ the creek, but had left at a point either near or above where Oonamoo and O'Hara were standing. Satisfied of this, the two moved along the bank, taking long, leaping steps, treading so lightly as barely to leave the impression of their feet, and scrutinizing each bank with the most jealous eye. They had ascended fully a half-mile without discovering any thing upon which "to hang a suspicion," when O'Hara, who had contrived to get in advance of the Huron, uttered a suppressed exclamation of surprise. "Here's where he could have come out," said he. Oonamoo looked carefully before him, and shook his head. The object in question consisted of a fallen tree, the top of which lay in the edge of the stream, while the upturned roots were nearly a hundred feet distant. It will be seen at once, that the hunter could easily have walked along the trunk of this without leaving a visible footprint, and leaped off into the woods from the base and continued his flight as before. Plain as was this to the Huron, another fact was still plainer--the Rifleman had done no such thing. "Why do you think he hasn't used this tree?" asked O'Hara. "Too plain--_Injin sure to t'ink he do it._" Oonamoo had told the exact truth, for Dernor had really approached the branches of the tree with the intention of using them as we have hinted, when he had seen that his pursuers would be sure to suspect such an artifice, from the ready means afforded him; and he had, therefore, given over his first resolve, and continued his ascent of the creek. All around the base were the imprints of moccasins, showing where the Shawnees and Miamis had searched and failed to find the trail. Oonamoo having noticed all this, in far less time than it has taken us to relate it, walked out on the tree-trunk as far as it would allow him without wetting his feet Standing thus, he leaned over and peered out into the water. "Look dere--knowed it," said he, pointing out a few feet from the shore. The water was semi-translucent, so that it required a keen view to discover the object of the Huron's gaze; but, following the direction of his finger, O'Hara made out to discover on the bottom of the creek the _sign_ left by the passage of a human foot. They were not _impressions_, because there was not a dent visible, the ground being entirely free from any thing like it; but there were two delicate, yet perfect _outlines_ of a moccasin. The hunter had stood a few moments on this spot, and then stepped into deeper water. The tracks thus left by his feet had gradually filled with the muddy sediment composing the bottom of the creek, until, as we have said, there were no _impressions_ left; but, completely around where they had once been, ran a dark line, as if traced by the hand of an artist, a complete outline of the hunter's foot. This faint, almost invisible, evidence of his passage had entirely escaped the eyes of his pursuers. "What I t'ought," said Oonamoo; "knowed dey'd t'ink he'd come out dere--go in water agin--come out furder up-stream." "By thunder," said O'Hara, in amazement, "you make me ashamed of myself, Oonamoo. I believe you could track the gray eagle through air. Come, now, where is Lew? you can tell, if you're a mind to." This extravagant compliment was entirely lost upon the stolid Huron. He appeared not to hear it. He merely repeated, "He come out furder up," and, springing lightly from the tree, continued his cautious ascent of the creek, O'Hara following behind, and occasionally muttering his unbounded admiration of the Indian's astonishing skill. The opposite side of the stream was overhung almost entirely with the heavy undergrowth so characteristic of the western forests. Beneath this it would have been an easy matter for a foe to have concealed himself and to fire upon the hunter and Indian; but the latter scarcely deigned to look across, well knowing that no such a danger threatened them. While the savages were searching for the trail of the fugitive, Oonamoo was certain that, as yet, no one knew that any one was upon theirs. Even had they known it, they would have cared but little, for they were too formidable a body to fear the two men who were following them. All along the shore were numerous moccasin-tracks, showing how persistently the Indians had kept up the pursuit. It struck O'Hara that his leader must have walked pretty rapidly through the creek to keep out of sight of the enemies, for they, being upon the land, had nothing to retard their progress. The causes of his success in this matter were twofold. In the first place, the extraordinary speed at which he had run had placed him far in advance of his pursuers, upon reaching the creek, so that he had ascended it a good distance before they reached it; and, unlike the shrewd Huron, they were deceived by the artifice he had practiced, believing that he had either crossed the stream, or gone down it. In this manner he gained a start sufficient to accomplish all he desired. O'Hara was just on the point of framing his mouth to ask a suppressed question, when Oonamoo, who was several feet in advance, suddenly paused and raised his hand over his head, as a signal that silence and caution were now necessary. CHAPTER X. THE PURSUIT OF THE PURSUERS. The red-breast, perched in arbor green, Sad minstrel of the quiet scene, While hymning, for the dying sun, Strains like a broken-hearted one, Raised not her mottled wings to fly, As swept those silent warriors by.--W. H. C. HOSMER. The Huron stood a moment as motionless as a statue; then, bending slowly forward, still holding one hand partly raised as a signal for the hunter to retain his immobility, he took several steps forward, so lightly and cautiously that there was absolutely no sound at all produced. He then sunk slowly downward, and seemed to concentrate all his faculties into the single one of sight. This lasted but a moment, when he arose to the upright position, and, turning his head, signified to O'Hara that he might approach. The latter did so, and immediately saw the cause of his cautious movements. Drawn up on the bank, so as to be entirely free of the water, with the bottom turned upward, lay an Indian's canoe. It was made of bark, beautifully shaped, and it was evident had not been used for a considerable time. They silently surveyed this object for some time, when Oonamoo, who had also been examining the earth around it gave vent to a chuckling, guttural laugh--a sure sign that he had made some discovery which delighted him hugely. It would have been an amusing sight for any one to have seen this expression of pleasure upon the dark, stoical face of the Huron. There was scarcely a change of his features, but such as was perceptible would have been mistaken by an ordinary observer as an evidence that he was undergoing some physical pain. "What is the matter? what is it that pleases you, Oonamoo?" asked O'Hara, considerably puzzled to understand the cause. "Shawnee fool--Miami fool--don't know notting." "What makes you think so?" "_He come out dere!_" he replied, pointing at the end of the canoe which lay nearest the water, and then indulging his characteristic chuckle again. As we have hinted in the preceding pages, O'Hara was a most skillful backwoodsman, having few superiors among those of his own color. When he chose to exercise his wood-craft, the true cause of his being termed a lucky hunter was apparent, it being nothing more than his wonderful skill and shrewdness. But, remarkable as were those qualities in him, he was by no means equal to the Huron. Those signs, invisible in the deep labyrinths of the woods to common eyes, were as plain to him as the printed pages of the book to the scholar. In the preceding chapter, we have endeavored to give some idea of the skill he displayed when these qualities were called into requisition. O'Hara, understanding perfectly the superior ability of his dusky friend, relied upon him to solve all difficulties that might arise, scarcely making any effort himself to do so. This will account for his apparent ignorance of the secrets of the forest, which, perhaps has been noticed by the reader. "Shawnee fool--Miami fool--don't know notting," repeated the Huron. "They don't know as much as you, that's sartin; but I've found more than once they knowed enough to satisfy me." "_He come out dere_," said Oonamoo, again. Finding there was little chance of gaining what information he wished from the Indian, O'Hara set about solving the difficulty himself. The former having announced that Dernor had left the creek at this point, it now remained for him to determine by what means he had thrown his pursuers off the scent, as it was very manifest he had done. The ground around the canoe was quite wet and spongy, showing the numerous footprints with considerable distinctness. Among these, it was very easy to distinguish that of the leader of the Riflemen. The instant O'Hara saw this, he became aware of the curious fact that it was more _recent than those of the Indian_, proving that Dernor had _followed them_, instead of they having followed him! How this was accomplished, the hunter was at a loss to determine, although, from the expression of the Indian's face, he knew it was all plain to him. "Lew has gone over this ground last," said O'Hara, "but how he has done it, I can't see just now. How was it?" "_Look under canoe_," said Oonamoo. O'Hara's eyes opened, as he began to comprehend matters. He carefully raised one end of the canoe, and saw at once that his leader had lain beneath it, while his enemies were searching for him. A few words more from the Huron, and every thing was explained. Believing the reader will be interested in the description of the ingenious artifice adopted by the hunter, we here give it as briefly as possible. It may seem incredible that Lewis Dernor should have been concealed beneath this Indian canoe, when fully a dozen savages were thirsting for his scalp, and when it would have appeared the height of absurdity to think that they would fail to look beneath it. Nevertheless, such was really the case. It happened in the following manner: When the Rifleman discovered the canoe lying against the bank, he sprung from the water, coming upon the frail barken structure with such force that he perceptibly started the bottom. It thus appeared to have been deserted for its uselessness. Stepping off of this upon the swampy ground, he walked about twenty yards up the bank, when he turned to the left, and approached the water again. The trail which he left was so distinct that no one could fail to see, he having purposely made it thus. Instead of taking to the water again, as it would appear he had done, he merely entered its margin, and then walked backward to the canoe again, stepping so exactly in his own footsteps, that the wily Shawnees and Miamis had no suspicion of the stratagem practiced. Reaching the canoe, he managed to lift it, without changing its position, when he lowered it again, without making any additional footprints. This done, he slipped beneath it, drew up his feet, and confidently awaited the approach of the savages. In about twenty minutes they came up. The foremost paused, upon seeing the canoe with its cracked bottom, and were about to overturn it, when their eyes rested upon the footprints of the fugitive. There was no need of looking beneath it, for they could see the direction he had taken. He was going at such speed that they had no time to pause, and they immediately dashed off in pursuit, the others following suit, like so many hounds. So soon as he was satisfied they were out of sight, the Rifleman came from beneath the canoe, carefully setting it back in its place again, and struck off in the woods at a more leisurely gait. "All safe--nebber git on track agin," said Oonamoo. "Don't believe they will. By gracious! but I should hate to try that trick of Lew's. Just s'pose they had looked under! it would have been all up with him. I daresn't use such means, 'cause I haven't got legs enough, for emergencies. Where does the trail lead to now, Oonamoo?" "Where gal hid--go get her now--Injin know notting about it." "I s'pose Lew will take his time now, as he knows he's got the dogs off his track." "Go slow little ways--then run fast--want to see gal." The Huron certainly displayed some knowledge of the workings of the heart when he remarked, in substance, that, although the lover might proceed at a moderate gait for some distance, it would not be long before the thoughts of Edith would urge him to as great exertions as he had displayed during the height of the chase. True to what he had said, O'Hara noticed that his footsteps gradually lengthened until it was manifest that he had been "letting himself out" again. It was now getting well along in the afternoon. The Huron struck into a sort of a compromise between a walk and a trot, he being anxious to make what progress he could before darkness set in. They had come too far to overtake Dernor and Edith the next day, and O'Hara began really to believe that the two had reached the settlement by this time. Upon mentioning this supposition to Oonamoo, the latter shook his head--meaning that all danger had not been overcome by the fugitives. The woods were too full of Indians, and the settlement was too far away for them to accomplish the rest of their journey without danger. Objects were just growing indistinct, when O'Hara and the Huron came upon the bushes where Edith had been concealed. They saw that Dernor had approached on the opposite side from which he had left it, and that upon being rejoined by his charge, he had once more started northward, as if his desire was still to remain above his enemies, and avoid, as much as lay in his power, all probabilities of encountering them. "I s'pose we've got to lay on our oars, as the sailors say, till daylight," said O'Hara. The Huron looked at him, as if he failed to comprehend him, and he added, in explanation: "There being no light, of course we can't see their tracks, and will have to wait till morning." "No wait--go on all night." "How will you do that?" "Oonamoo know which way dey go." "I don't deny that, but, smart as you are, I don't believe you can see a trail on such a night as this." "Don't want to see trail--know which way go--go up, then go off toward settlement." O'Hara understood that the Huron had formed his idea of the general direction which the Rifleman had taken, and intended to follow him in this manner. Being thoroughly well acquainted with the country, there was no difficulty in doing this; and, without pausing to think of drink or food, the two resumed their pursuit as hopefully and confidently as though the matter were already settled. To follow up thus persistently one of the most skillful border-men of the period, with the desire of assisting him in whatever strait he may have gotten himself, would have been the acme of absurdity upon the part of those undertaking it, and would have gained for them no thanks for attempting it, had the circumstances been difficult. But, incommoded as he was by the charge of Edith, and environed by enemies, it could hardly be expected that he would come through unscathed. His enemies, fully aware of the difficulties of his situation, undoubtedly were using every endeavor to thwart him, it being certain that they were aware of his identity. To have captured the leader of the Riflemen of the Miami would have been a feat of which even a war-party would have been proud, and the Huron well knew they would not give over their efforts until he was absolutely beyond their reach. This was the reason why he was so anxious to press forward as far as it would be prudent to venture during the darkness. By midnight the two had reached a point above which the Huron believed the fugitives would not go; and being unable to determine the precise course which they had taken after this, they concluded to wait until daylight before going further. Accordingly they lay down on the ground, both dropping to sleep immediately, and both waking at precisely the same moment, just as the light of the day was appearing. A half-hour's search discovered the trail of their friends within several hundred yards of where they had slept--thus close and exact had been the calculation of the sagacious Huron. He and O'Hara now began to entertain hopes that, after all, the fugitives had succeeded in reaching the settlement. The latter, at the most, was not more than twenty miles distant; and, had Dernor been allowed the entire night to travel, he could have safely reached it. A critical examination of his footprints, however, revealed the fact that they had not been made more than twenty hours before. If he had reached the settlement, therefore, he must have done it in the latter part of the preceding day. The two now pressed on with all haste. They had gone scarcely a half-mile, when both made a startling discovery. Numerous moccasin-tracks became suddenly visible, and O'Hara needed no prompting to understand that the persistent Indians were again upon the trail of the fugitives. How they had succeeded in regaining it, after being so cleverly misled, was a mystery. The Huron accounted for it only upon the supposition that they had come upon it by accident. A slight comparison of the two trails by Oonamoo showed that the savages were close behind their friends--so close that they could overtake them ere they could reach their destination--the settlement. CHAPTER XI. AT BAY. Like lightning from storm-clouds on high, The hurtling, death-winged arrows fly, And windrows of pale warriors lie! Oh! never has the sun's bright eye Looked from his hill-top in the sky, Upon a field so glorious.--G. P. MORRIS. As Oonamoo and O'Hara pressed forward, they found they were gaining very rapidly upon the pursuers and pursued. As for the Huron, he had an apprehension amounting almost to a certain conviction that the leader of the Riflemen, after all, had committed a sad mistake, in believing that he was safe from his enemies, after being rejoined by Edith. This belief had led him into some trap, and the faithful Indian felt that his services were sorely needed at that very moment. It was yet early in the day, when he and the hunter ascended a sort of ridge, which afforded them quite an extensive view of the surrounding wilderness. Here, carefully protecting their persons from observation, they looked out over the forest in quest of signs of human beings. The unexperienced person might have looked for hours without discovering the slightest evidence of animal life in the vast expanse spread out before him. He would have seen the dark emerald of these western wilds cut by the gleaming silver of many a stream and river; the tree-tops gently bowed, like a field of grain, when the breeze rides over it; and overhead, perhaps, would have been noted the flocks of birds circling in curious figures; but all beneath would have been silent--silent, save in that deep, solemn murmur which comes up perpetually like the voice of the ocean. But the Huron had scarcely glanced over the sylvan scene, when his dark eye rested upon what, to him, was a most palpable evidence of the presence of others in these woods. About a half-mile distant, on the edge of a small clearing, stood the remains of a log fort. This was subjected to a most searching scrutiny by both, but, for a time, O'Hara discovered nothing unusual in its appearance. "He's dere--he and the gal," said Oonamoo, pointing toward the pile of logs. "How do you know that? Have you seen him?" "See now what he done--he's dere. Look agin." "I've looked at them logs ever since we've been standing here, but hain't seen Lew or the gal yet." "Eber seen logs afore?" "Have I ever seen them logs before? Yes, often." "How they look when last see him?" "The same as they do now, I believe." "Sure?" asked Oonamoo, in a tone that revealed all to O'Hara. He now looked again toward the remains of the log-fort, and understood at once the meaning of the Huron's question. He had passed by the spot during the preceding autumn, and noticed that the logs were scattered and thrown down, as if a tornado had passed over the spot. Now, however, there was system in their arrangement--proof sure that the hand of man had been employed upon them. The Huron had seen them scarcely a week before, and knew that all these changes had been made since--that, in fact, Lewis Dernor had made them, and at that moment was standing at bay behind them. While yet they were looking, they saw something gleam for an instant in the sunlight, and then disappear as if drawn behind the logs. "That was Lew's rifle," said O'Hara. "He always keeps the barrel polished up so that it nearly blinds a person to shoot." "'Sh! look." At the point where they had witnessed the movement of this bright object, they now saw a red jet of flame spout out, a wreath of blue smoke arise, and then came the report of a rifle. "There's one red-skin the less," said O'Hara. "When Lew pulls trigger, _something_ is sure to go under." "Want us there," said Oonamoo, starting down the ridge on his peculiar trot, and moving off toward what may now properly be termed a fort. Upon coming in its vicinity, both exercised the greatest caution in their movements, knowing, as they did, that it was besieged by their deadly enemies. A half-hour's reconnoitering by both showed that there were ten Indians, exclusive of one dead one, collected at one end of the clearing, where each, safely ensconced behind a tree, was patiently waiting for a shot at the Rifleman, whom they now at last believed they had fairly cornered. Upon witnessing this condition of affairs, Oonamoo and O'Hara debated a proposition proposed by the latter. It was that the Huron, who was very fleet of foot, should instantly make all haste to the settlement, and return with the Riflemen and a sufficient force to scatter the besieging Indians to the four winds. This undertaking would require more than five hours at the utmost to fulfill it, but those five hours were so precious, that Oonamoo decided not to make the attempt. He felt sure that unless Dernor surrendered, the party of savages would attack the place in a body before two hours elapsed; and, brave and determined as he knew the Rifleman to be, he could see that a resistance upon his part would be useless. He, therefore, acted with his usual wisdom, in deciding to remain upon the ground to render assistance when it would be needed. The first plan adopted by O'Hara and the Huron was to keep their position, remaining carefully concealed, until the savages should move forward to the assault, when, as the former expressed it, they would "wade in promiscuously." This project offered to its originators the great point of excitement and desperate fighting, but was finally rejected by the Huron for the last reason. It is a very pleasant thing for a nation to think itself invincible and able to conquer all others with which it may come in collision. The same sensations, in a smaller degree, no doubt are experienced by two persons when, in the flush of the moment, they feel able to combat with five times their numbers; but, if time be allowed, the "sober second thought" will prevail, and action will be guided more by prudence than madness. The Huron was as brave a man as ever breathed, but he was also as shrewd and cunning. He knew well enough that should he and O'Hara rush in upon ten desperate, well-armed warriors, no matter how fiercely they might fight, the result would be that both would be killed and no one benefited. He, therefore, determined to resort once more to his powers of stratagem. The great point now was to make Dernor aware of the vicinity of his two friends. Without this Oonamoo would be more likely to be shot by him than by the savages. This part of the stratagem was the most difficult to accomplish. The Shawnees and Miamis being collected at one end of the clearing, it could not be expected that any signal, however skillfully or guardedly made, would attract the notice of Dernor. It might possibly be seen by Edith, but would not be understood. This means, therefore, was not even attempted. The besieged Rifleman of course kept himself invisible. He had become aware, when within a mile or so of the present spot, that he was again pursued by his unrelenting enemies, and making all haste thither, had thrown the logs together as compactly and securely as the time allowed him would permit. He had brought down one of his assailants, and they in turn had buried some twenty balls in the logs around him, without inflicting injury upon either Edith or himself. In the hope of giving his leader an inkling of the condition of affairs, O'Hara uttered a whistle, so perfect an imitation of the call of a certain bird, that the suspicious Shawnees and Miamis failed to notice it. Pausing a few moments, he repeated it, and then awaited the action of Oonamoo. Whether Dernor had caught the signal or not, of course his friends had no means of judging; but the Huron, knowing that if he had not his own death was certain, now coolly made the desperate attempt he had decided upon. Securely sheltered behind his log-fort, Dernor stood with cocked rifle awaiting his chance to pick off one of his enemies. Every faculty was absorbed in this, and he scarcely removed his eye once from the spot where he knew they were collected. He was aware of their exact number, as he was also of the fact that Girty, the renegade, was not among them. His lips were compressed, a dark scowl had settled upon his face, and it would have been easy for any one to have read the iron determination of his heart. He was at bay, it was true, and he was not ignorant of the desire of the savages to gain possession of him. He said nothing to Edith of the resolve he had made, but she needed no telling to understand it. So long as life remained, her defender would never desert her. He was standing thus, gazing stealthily out through a loophole, when Edith, who was watching every portion of the clearing, placed her hand on his shoulder and told him that an Indian was stealing toward them from the side opposite to that on which their enemies were collected. As quick as thought Dernor wheeled around, pointed his rifle out and took aim at the approaching savage. The latter saw the movement, understood fully its cause, and yet made no attempt to escape, relying entirely upon the chances of the Rifleman discovering his identity before firing. His faith was rewarded, although Oonamoo came nigher death in that single moment than ever he imagined. Dernor's finger was already pressing the trigger, when he saw directly behind the approaching Indian the barrel of a rifle project from behind a tree and then disappear again. This served to arrest his attention, and before he renewed his aim the round face of O'Hara was thrust forth and disappeared again. This led him to examine the face of the venturesome Indian. A single glance and he recognized Oonamoo, the faithful Huron. He instantly drew his rifle in, and the latter, understanding the meaning of it, sprung nimbly forward, and with one bound cleared the opposing barricades and came down beside the besieged Rifleman. The latter grasped his hand and silently pressed it. "Who is with you?" he asked, after relinquishing it. "'Hara--short feller--legs like bent Injin's bow." "Nobody else?" "Nobody else," replied the Huron. "You watch that side, then, Oonamoo, and I will attend to this." "No watch this side--no Injin come here--all on toder side--me watch with you--come round this side bime-by." "Do as you please; you're an Injin and ought to understand them." Oonamoo had been seen by the besieging savages as he bounded over the logs, and, for a few minutes, they were puzzled to understand the meaning of so singular an occurrence. Their first impression was that one of their number, more daring than the others, had taken this desperate means of getting at the Rifleman, and they listened intently for sounds of combat and struggles between them; but, as moment after moment passed without the silence being disturbed, their eyes were opened to the fact that he had been reinforced by a formidable ally; and this, too, when a little foresight on their part would have prevented it. Having felt certain, previous to this, that the white man had no friends in the vicinity, they had neglected to surround his fort, so as to prevent their approach. To prevent any thing further happening like this, a part of the band now proceeded to get on the opposite side of him. There was but one way in which this could be done without being menaced by the rifles of the besieged party. Several of the Indians, being careful to keep the protecting trees before them, slowly retreated backward until they had gone far enough in the wood to be safe, when they passed around and approached the fort from the opposite side. It was not long before they became aware that the friend of the Rifleman was fully as sagacious as himself, and that, after all, the parties were not so unequally matched. The threatening muzzles were constantly protruding from behind those logs, and it was absolute suicide for any one to attempt to stand before them. Dernor having caught a glimpse of O'Hara, his companion, wondered considerably that he did not follow the example of the Huron, and unite with him in the fort. Thus strengthened, his confidence would have been restored, and he would bid defiance to the Shawnees and Miamis. But, as he waited, and finally saw that a number of Indians had succeeded in getting behind him, he was compelled to give up this hope. This excited speculation the more upon his part, because he was fully aware of O'Hara's defects, and felt that it would have been the most prudent course for him to adopt. At length he questioned the Huron: "Where's Tom?" "Dunno--gone away." "Why didn't he do as you did--come over and join me?" "Tom 'Hara goin' _to do sumkin' else_--_he_ know what." "I expect he does. He'd better move his carcase from where he was a few minutes ago, or them dogs will move it for him." "He know--_dey_ won't move _him_--he get out way soon enough." "He's got too short legs," said Dernor, who, aware of the affection the Huron bore him, and experiencing a sort of reaction of his spirits after their continued depression, was disposed to quiz Oonamoo a little. "Got _long_ eyes, dough," replied he, quickly. "Got long eyes?" laughed Dernor. "I don't know as they're any longer than mine." "Good 'eal longer. Tom 'Hara neber let Shawnee and Miami get him atween the logs--he know too much." Dernor felt the sarcasm of this remark and took it kindly. "Neither would they have got me here, had I been alone." It would be difficult to describe the expression that illuminated the Huron's face at this remark. He turned his dark, basilisk orbs (their fierceness now subdued into a softer light) full upon Edith, who, seated upon a portion of one of the logs, was listening to the conversation. The muscles around the corners of his mouth twitched a little, a wrinkle or two gathered, his beautiful white teeth became visible, but she only half-suspected that he was smiling. "Nice gal," said he, his voice now as soft as a woman's. "White man love her--fight for her--Oonamoo do so too." She did not know whether to be pleased or frightened at the look of the Huron. In her perplexity she turned toward Dernor. "You needn't be alarmed," said he, understanding her embarrassment. "Oonamoo here is an old and tried friend, and will stand by you as long as I will, which," he added, in a lower tone, "will be as long as the One above gives me breath. He is devoted to me if he doesn't love you." "Yes, Oonamoo does--he love all white folks--love the gals--clever to him and feed him when hungry." Dernor merely smiled, believing that the remark of the savage fully explained his passion without any qualifying observation of his own. "Oonamoo love white folks--love missionaries--tell him all about God up dere"--pointing upward--"spirit land--happy place--Oonamoo don't take scalp when Injin sleeping--so he go up dere when he die." "I believe you will, for if there ever was an honorable savage you are one," said Dernor, warmly. The Huron made no reply to this compliment, evidently thinking enough had been said. It must not be supposed that this conversation occurred in the connected form in which we have given it. Several moments sometimes elapsed between the different remarks, and hardly once during its progress did Dernor look at the savage. Once or twice he turned toward Edith, as also did Oonamoo, but the danger that menaced him was too great for either to be diverted from it. Some twenty minutes had elapsed, when an exclamation from the Huron showed that some new scheme was afoot. Immediately after, a blazing arrow came whizzing through the air, and buried itself in the logs. The sharp crackling told that the twist of flame had communicated with the logs and it was burning. "My God! are we to be burnt alive?" exclaimed Dernor, losing his self-possession for a moment. "Ugh--can't burn--logs too wet--go out," replied his unmoved companion. So it proved, although an inch or two of some of the logs were sufficiently seasoned to take fire, they were all too damp and soaked to burn. Oonamoo had hardly spoken when the blaze went out of itself. A perfect storm of arrows, tipped with burning tow, now came sailing in upon them, but the only inconvenience they occasioned was a blinding, suffocating smoke, which lasted, however, but a few moments. "Where the deuce did they get their bows and tow from?" asked Dernor. "Do they carry such articles with them?" "Sent for 'em after git here," replied Oonamoo. "Won't any of these logs burn?" "Too wet--smoke--but won't blaze." The Indians soon found that nothing could be accomplished in the way of burning out the fugitives, so they ceased the attempt only to devise some other expedient. What this was to be, the besieged party for a long time were unable to determine. The first warning they had was a bullet, which grazed the face of Oonamoo, coming in at the _top_ of the fort. "Ugh! Shawnee climb tree--Oonamoo fetch him out dere," said the latter, sheltering himself as quick as lightning, and peering out in the hope of gaining a glimpse of the miscreant who had come so near shooting him. He was disappointed, however, the savage descending the tree with such skill and caution that his person was never once exposed to the eagle eye of the Huron. For an hour succeeding this last attempt nothing further was done by the besieging savages. They carefully kept their bodies concealed, so that the utmost watchfulness on the part of Oonamoo and Dernor failed to get a shot at them. They saw enough, however, to make them certain they were surrounded by their enemies, and that for the present, at least, under Heaven, they had nothing but their own bravery and good rifles to rely upon. There were several means by which the fugitives could be compelled to succumb in the end, if these means were only employed by the savages. The first and obviously safest was to keep up the siege until they were compelled to come to terms. Dernor had not a drop of water nor a particle of food, and consequently this plan on the part of the besiegers would have been only a question of time. Again, a rapid and determined assault could scarcely fail to take the Rifleman and the Huron. There were ten Indians to make the attempt, but those ten knew well enough that two of their number would never live to reach the fort in case the rush was made and that there would be desperate work before the two men could be overcome. During the hour of silence these plans occurred to Dernor, and he mentioned the first to Oonamoo. The cunning savage shook his head. "Won't do that--_afeard_." "Afraid of what?" "Settlement two--t'ree--fifteen mile off--_afeard_ other Long Knives come afore we got starve." "I hope the boys are somewhere in the woods. Why don't the cowardly dogs rush in upon us? They could batter these logs down in five minutes." "_Afeard_ we batter _'em_ down," replied the Huron, with a sparkle of his black eyes. "We would surely knock some of them over, but I don't suppose we could finish up the whole ten." "Finish some--don't know which--dat de reason." "Their heads are so full of their devilish inventions, I should think they could get up some way to attack us without getting a shot at them." "Attack purty soon--keep eye peeled--don't see notting?" "Nothing at all," replied the Rifleman, who, all this time, was peering through a chink in the logs and not looking at the Indian. Taking it for granted that if the Huron saw no danger there could be none, Dernor turned toward Edith, and asked, in that low, passionate tone which he instinctively assumed in addressing her: "And how do you feel, dear Edith, all this time?" "_My_ courage, I think, will bear up as long as _yours_," she answered, with a faint smile. "It will bear up to the end, then," he added. Then looking at her a moment, he continued: "Edith, how you must feel toward me for bringing you into this trouble! I have been thinking of it for the last day or two." "Did you do it on purpose?" she asked. "That is, did you _know_ we should be pursued and persecuted as we have been when we started?" "Know it? of course not. I would have been shot before I would have come." "Then why do you ask me such a question? No, Lewis, I do not blame you in the least. On the contrary, I shall never be able to express the gratitude I feel for what you have done." This was the first time Edith had addressed the Rifleman by his given name, and it gave him a peculiar pleasure which it would be difficult to describe. He was only restrained from approaching by the reflection that he would cut a most ridiculous figure in the presence of the Huron. His feelings were now such that, upon his own account alone, he would have welcomed several days' siege. In fact, he would have cared very little had Oonamoo been a hundred miles distant just then. But these emotions were only temporary. Five minutes later, he felt heartily ashamed that he should have entertained them. "I am certain, Edith----" Further utterance was checked by an exclamation from the Huron. Looking forth, Dernor saw that the crisis of the contest had arrived! CHAPTER XII. CONCLUSION. They come!--be firm--in silence rally! The Long Knives our retreat have found! Hark! their tramp is in the valley, And they hem the forest round! The burthened boughs with pale scouts quiver, The echoing hills tumultuous ring, While, across the eddying river, Their barks, like foaming war-steeds, spring, The bloodhounds darken land and water, They come--like buffaloes for slaughter.--G. P. MORRIS. At that point from which the Huron had advanced to the fort, the Shawnees and Miamis had now collected, preparatory to their final attack upon it. The wood being thick at this spot, they had little difficulty in keeping their bodies out of sight, the besieged being enabled to judge of their position by the points of their rifles and portions of their dress, which they took no pains to conceal. "That means business," said Dernor, loosening his knife, and examining the priming of his rifle. "What's their idea, Oonamoo?" "Run all togedder--make big rush--all come from one side." Being satisfied of this, the Huron crossed over to the side of the hunter, so as to be ready for the assault. He was as cool as if sitting in his own wigwam, although none was more aware than himself of the peril that hung over his head. Could the Shawnees or Miamis once obtain his person, no species of torment that their fiendish minds could invent would be left untried upon him. But he had played hide-and-seek too long with death, to be disconcerted in a moment like this. "What are they waiting for?" asked Dernor, who began to grow impatient at the delay. "Ain't waitin'--here dey come!" As he spoke, ten Indians suddenly appeared to view, from behind as many trees, and, pausing a moment, set up a yell that must have been heard miles distant, and rushed with the speed of the whirlwind toward the fort. Half-way across the clearing they had come, when the sharp crack of two rifles was heard, and the two foremost savages, making a tremendous bound in the air, came down to the ground in their death-struggles. But the others were not checked in the least. On they came, right over the prostrate bodies, and the next minute were tearing at the pile of logs, with the fury of madmen. The Rifleman and the Huron had discharged their rifles together at the savages, as they came pouring forward; then drawing their knives, they awaited the onset. The logs, loosely thrown together, could not long resist the efforts to dislodge them, and, in a few minutes, came tumbling to the ground. The first bronzed skull that appeared above them was shattered like an egg-shell, by the stock of the Huron's rifle; while, as the savages swarmed in, Dernor stooped, and catching Edith round the waist, bounded clear of the logs, and dashed at headlong speed across the clearing. Right behind, like a pack of hounds, poured his relentless enemies, held in check solely by the Huron, who, covering the retreat of his white friends, raged like a tiger with his clubbed rifle; but, powerful and agile as he was, he was finally brought to the earth, and, heedless of him, the savages poured onward, intent only on capturing Dernor and Edith. At this moment the edge of the clearing was reached; the fugitive had dashed into the wood, and his enemies were just following, when several flashes illuminated the edge of the forest, and simultaneous with the report, the remaining Riflemen of the Miami, with one exception, burst into the clearing and shot forward like a tornado toward the savages. The number of the whites was increased by Harry and Jim Smith, but half of the Indians had already gone to the earth, and the remaining ones broke and scattered as if a mine had exploded beneath their feet. "Hello! anybody hurt?" demanded Harry Smith. "Come back here, Lew, and let us see you." The fugitive had run quite a distance; but, recognizing the voice of a friend, he halted, looked back, and then returned. In the clearing, he saw standing the panting, excited forms of the brothers Smith, Allmat, George Dernor and Ferdinand Sego! The latter was leaning on his rifle, and looked up as Lewis and Edith came to view. He instantly started, as if struck by a bullet, and gazed at her as though he doubted the evidence of his own eyes. Edith, on her part, was hardly less agitated. She trembled and leaned heavily a moment on the hunter's arm, and then, relinquishing her hold, bounded forward and was clasped in the arms of Sego. Neither spoke until they had partly recovered from their emotions; then they conversed in tones so low, that the bystanders, had they wished, could not have overheard the words that were said. All this time, as may well be supposed, Lewis Dernor was tortured by the most agonizing emotions. The beautiful dreams and air-castles which he had been continually forming and building during the past few days, now dissolved like mist in the air, and left nothing but the cold, cheerless reality, far colder and more cheerless than had ever before impressed him. Sego and Edith were reunited, and although there appeared to have been some mystery and misunderstanding between them, it was now cleared up, and their happiness seemed complete. The Rifleman drew a deep sigh and looked up. "I say, Lew," said his brother, "I've asked yer half a dozen times, whether there's any thing that need keep us here any longer?" "The Huron--Oonamoo?" asked the hunter, looking around him. "Was Oonamoo with you?--I recollect, now, Tom said he was. Well, that must be him, then, stretched out yonder." The two moved toward the prostrate form of the Indian, which lay upon its face. They rolled him over on his back, but he was limp and nerveless as a rag. His body was still warm, but to all appearance he was entirely lifeless--a gash on the side of his face, from which a great quantity of blood had streamed over his person, adding to the ghastly appearance of the body. "Poor fellow! he's dead," said Lewis, with a saddened feeling, as he looked down upon him. "He was a faithful fellow, and had few equals. I'm sorry he's dead." "Oonamoo ain't dead," said the prostrate individual, opening his eyes, and getting upon his feet with some difficulty. "Play 'possum--dat all." "You're a good one," said George Dernor, admiringly, as he supported him. "You've had considerable of a hurt though, along side of your noddle." "Hit purty hard--hurt a _leetle_," said the Huron. "We'll dress your wounds as soon as we reach the brook out in the woods. What did you play 'possum for?" "Fool Shawnee--fool Miami--t'ink dey cotch Lew and gal, den come and git Oonamoo scalp. If t'ink he ain't dead, kill him; wait till get out of sight, den run." The meaning of which was, that the Huron, upon being felled to the earth, concluded it best to feign death until his enemies were out of sight, when he would have risen to his feet and fled. The wound he had received was so severe, that he knew his flight would be difficult and tardy, and he, therefore, avoided giving any signs of life as long as he had reason to believe the savages were in the vicinity. Of course he was perfectly conscious when the two Riflemen stood over him, and heard their words. Understanding at once from these the changed condition of affairs, he arose to his feet, as we have mentioned. A few minutes later, the party was moving slowly through the wood. The brothers Smith led the way; behind them came Sego and Edith far more affectionate and loving than she and Dernor had ever been. The latter, with his brother, and Allmat and Oonamoo, brought up the rear. In a few minutes they reached the brook, where the party halted. The stoical Huron had borne up like a martyr thus far; but the precipitation with which he sought a seat the moment a pause was made, showed that he had taxed nature to the utmost. The cool fluid was taken from the brook in the canteens of the hunters, all the blood thoroughly washed from the Indian, and then the wound was carefully bandaged by Edith, from pieces of her own dress. This done, the savage rose to his feet--his head being so swathed and bundled up that it was nearly thrice its ordinary size--and looked about him with an air that was truly amusing. "You'll be all right agin in a few days," said Harry Smith. "Let's move on, as the day is getting well along." "Oonamoo don't go furder--leave you here," said the savage. "How is this? Come, go with us to the settlement and stay till your wound gets better," said Lewis. All joined their entreaties, but it availed nothing. The savage had made up his mind, and it could not be changed. "Can't stay--Shawnees, Delawares, all round--git much scalp in woods," and waving them an adieu, he plunged into the forest. "Injin is Injin!" said Jim Smith; "you can't change his nature. The missionaries have had a hold of him, and made him an honorable red-skin, but they can't get that hankering after scalps out of him. Shall I tell you where he's going? He's going back: to the clearin' where them dead Injins are stretched, and intends to get their top-knots. I seen him look at 'em very wishful-like when we started away. He was too weak, and he didn't want to do it afore Edith, or he'd 've had 'em afore we left that place." [The next time the Riflemen encountered the Huron, it was upon the war-trail, and full a dozen more scalp-locks hung at his girdle!] Again the party moved forward, now with considerable briskness, there being no cause for tardiness or delay. Sego and Edith conversed in low tones, every look and action showing their perfect happiness, while the hardy leader of the Riflemen was as wretched an object as it is possible to imagine. They had progressed several miles, when, as they descended a sort of hollow, they encountered O'Hara, hurrying along as fast as the shortness of his legs would permit. "Hello!" he exclaimed, suddenly halting. "Is the row done with?" "Of course it is," replied Harry Smith. "Who finished it?" "We all had a hand in it, I reckon." "It's an all-fired shame. As soon as--where's Oonamoo?" he abruptly demanded, looking around him. "Gone off in the woods for scalps." "Didn't lose his?" "No; although he come mighty nigh losing his head." "It's an all-fired shame," resumed O'Hara. "As soon as he got inside the fort there with Lew, I streaked it for the settlement to get the boys. I told you to hurry, but after you got to the clearin', I wanted you to wait so that I could jine in the fun, and pitch in promiscuously. Why didn't you do it?" "Matters were mixed up a little too much to allow us to wait," replied Lewis Dernor. "S'pose they was, but I'm mad and want to lick somebody. Won't you fight, Lew?" The latter merely smiled, and the party moved on, O'Hara being forced to bottle his wrath, as he could find no one upon whom to expend it. Occasionally, however, he and the brothers Smith had a war of words, but it amounted to nothing, being attended by no real ill-feeling upon either side. It was just growing dark when the party reached the settlement. The delight with which the fugitives were welcomed by the settlers need not be described. Many had had the most painful apprehensions regarding Edith, and nearly every family felt as if one of its members had been restored, upon her return. And the confidence which they reposed in the gallant-hearted Rifleman, the reliance which they placed upon his prowess and bravery, were such that all felt his death would have been a public calamity. The Riflemen remained several days in the settlement, there being no special cause for hurrying their departure. While the members of this small party enjoyed themselves to the utmost, the sadness and dejection of their leader was remarked by all. He was often seen wandering in the woods, silent and moody, resolutely refusing communication with any one. He carefully avoided Sego and Edith, until the latter, wondering more than the others at the cause of his changed behavior, sent word to him that she wished him to spend an evening with her. Dernor's first impulse was to refuse the invitation; but, on second thought, he concluded to accept it, and he returned a reply promising to call upon her on the following evening. Edith was living with Smith, where Sego was also spending his time, and, from the wording of her invitation, he confidently expected to meet her alone. He was considerably disappointed and chagrined, therefore, on entering the room, to find Sego seated within a few feet of her, the expression of both faces showing that each was full of happiness and utterly delighted with each other. Both welcomed him, and when he had been seated, Edith asked, rather abruptly: "Now, Lewis, what is the matter with you?" "Nothing," he replied, looking at the toe of his moccasin, and feeling a little stubborn and ugly simply because his fair questioner was just the opposite. "Now you needn't tell me that," she persisted. "What makes you act so strangely--and keep away from me as though you hated me?" "_You_ ought to know," replied the hunter, more sullenly than before. "I? I am sure I do not. Pray, what is it?" The hunter, who was acting much like a pouting child, refused to make answer. Edith laughingly repeated her question several times, but it was not replied to. Still laughing and blushing, she arose, and moved her chair close beside him; then, sitting down, placed one of her warm hands in his. Gently patting his embrowned cheek with the other hand, she asked, in that voice which none but the maiden can assume who is conscious of her power: "_Won't_ you tell Edith what troubles you?" Matters were getting decidedly dangerous. There sat the sullen hunter, his head bent, his lips closed, and his eyes fixed resolutely upon the toe of his moccasin. Right before these eyes, so directly before them that the view of his foot was almost hid, was the beaming, laughing, radiant face of Edith, looking right up in his own, her eyes sparkling, and her countenance a thousand times more lovely than ever. Several times Dernor felt like catching her to his bosom, and kissing her lips again and again; but, as he was on the very point of doing so, he remembered that Sego was in the room, and felt more angered than ever, and gazed harder than ever at his moccasin. "Won't you even look at me?" asked Edith, putting her open hand over his eyes, as if to pull his gaze down. He instantly looked her steadily in the face, without changing a muscle of his countenance, while she, folding her hands, returned the gaze with equal steadiness. Her lips, too, were resolutely closed, but her eyes fairly scintillated with mischief, and she seemed just able to prevent herself from laughing outright. How long this _oculistic_ contest would have continued we can not pretend to say, but it was ended by Edith asking: "What makes you look so troubled, Lewis?" "Because I am," he replied, curtly. "Tell me the cause, and I will do all I can to help it." "It's _you_ that have done it!" He spoke with deep feeling. "I that have done it!" repeated the girl, in consternation. "Why, how did I do it?" "Edith!" His words were ringingly clear. They were winged with reproof. "Do you want me to tell you?" "Of course I do." "When we were alone, you led me to believe that you loved me. As soon as you saw Sego you went right into his arms, and I was forgotten." The lurking mirth and mischief in her face grew more perceptible each moment, while he was certain, although he did not look in that direction, that Sego was doing his best to smother a laugh. "Well, what of that?" she asked, looking down from his face and toying with a button at his waist. "_What of that?_" he exclaimed, indignantly. "It is the meanest thing a person could do." The reader must be indulgent, and consider the circumstances in which the hunter was placed. The mischievous Edith was tormenting him. How could she, being a woman, help it? "Don't you believe I love you?" she asked, after a moment's pause. "Believe it? To my sorrow and mortification, _I know_ you don't." "Lewis!" "You love Sego, and I can be nothing to you but one of many friends," he added. "Yes, dearly do I love Sego!" the maiden replied, with the old roguishness in her eyes. "Fudge!" he exclaimed, impatiently, and making a movement as if to move away. "Edith"--he spoke earnestly--"I can not bear this trifling. I am sorry you have treated me thus. I must leave you----" "No, you must not leave me!" she as earnestly answered. "Do you wish to keep me here longer, to mortify me?" "I have something more to say to you." "Say it quickly, then." "In the first place, look straight into my eyes, as you did a few minutes ago." The hunter did as requested, although it was a harder task than he suspected. "Now," said Edith, "in the first place, _I love you_; and, in the second place, I love him (pointing to Sego); but (here a pause) I do not feel the same toward each of you." "I shouldn't think you did, the way things looked in the clearing!" Edith laughed outright, and then said: "Lewis, let me tell you something. The man sitting there, whom you know as Ferdinand Sego, _is my own father_!" "Is that so?" demanded Dernor, almost springing off his seat, "Then, by thunder, if you ain't the most noble gal in the wide creation, and I the biggest fool." And he embraced her, unmindful of the presence of Sego, who seemed in danger of an epileptic fit from his excessive laughter. "How is this? Let's understand matters," said the Rifleman, a few minutes later. "I can soon explain," said Sego. "To commence at the beginning, my name is Ferdinand Sego Sudbury. I emigrated out in this western country some years since, with my wife, and only daughter, Edith, here. Shortly after, my wife died; and, feeling lonely and dejected, I took to wandering in the woods, making long hunts, to while away the time. You remember when I encountered you, and received an invitation to make one of your number. I accepted it, with the understanding that I could not spend my entire time with you. When not with you, I was at my own cabin, with my daughter. I joined under the simple name which you have known me by, for no reason at all save that it was a mere notion, I having used that name in the East on more than one occasion. I kept my relations with your band secret from Edith, as I did not wish to alarm her by letting her know that I took part in your desperate expeditions. "It happened on one occasion, when wandering along the Ohio, on my return to my cabin, that I encountered a flat-boat, in which were several of my acquaintances. At their urgent request, I waded out, was taken on board, and accompanied them to their destination, down the river. Here I left them, and several days after reached my cabin. I found Edith gone. The undisturbed condition of the furniture forbade the supposition that she had been carried off by the savages. I endeavored to find her trail, but a storm obliterated all traces, and I was compelled to give her up as lost. "It was quite a while before I rejoined you. When I did, I said nothing of my loss, not believing that you knew any thing about it. It seems singular that I should have omitted to mention it; but, I will not deny I had a lingering suspicion that Edith had eloped with some young hunter, whose acquaintance she had formed during my absence. After I had been with you some time, I mentioned her name, but, you not having heard it, I gained no satisfaction by doing so. "What happened after this is known, perhaps, better to you than to me. If you love Edith, as I rather suspect you do, from all I have heard and seen, you are welcome to her. I know she has a strong affection for you." It is wonderful how a matter like the one in question will become known in a small community. The next day there was not a person in the whole settlement who was not aware of what has been related in the last few pages, and there was not one who did not rejoice in the happiness of the noble-hearted leader of the Riflemen of the Miami. -------------------- As we have hinted in the commencement of this work, the organization known by the name last mentioned, kept up its existence several years longer. Lewis Dernor remained its nominal leader, but, after his marriage, the exploits of its members became less frequent and noted. All, however, joined in the great border war which raged for several years previous to 1794. In Anthony Wayne's great battle of this year, Tom O'Hara and Allmat fell, and, as has been said in another place, the organization was broken up, never again to be revived. Lewis Dernor and Edith lived to a ripe old age, and their descendants at this day are among the most respectable and widely-known of the inhabitants of Southern Ohio. 
15581	----	LIFE OF TECUMSEH, AND OF HIS BROTHER THE PROPHET; With a Historical Sketch of the Shawanoe Indians by BENJAMIN DRAKE Author of _The Life of Black Hawk_, _Tales from the Queen City_, &c. &c. Cincinnati: Printed and Published by E. Morgan & Co. Stereotyped by J.A. James, Cincinnati. 1841 PREFACE Many years have elapsed since the author of this volume determined to write the life of TECUMSEH and of his brother the PROPHET, and actually commenced the collection of the materials for its accomplishment. From various causes, the completion of the task has been postponed until the present time. This delay, however, has probably proved beneficial to the work, as many interesting incidents in the lives of these individuals are now embraced in its pages, which could not have been included had it been put to press at an earlier period. In the preparation of this volume, the author's attention was drawn, to some extent, to the history of the Shawanoe tribe of Indians: and he has accordingly prefixed to the main work, a brief historical narrative of this wandering and warlike nation, with biographical sketches of several of its most distinguished chiefs. The author is under lasting obligations to a number of gentlemen residing in different sections of the country, for the substantial assistance which they have kindly afforded him in the collection of the matter embraced in this volume. Other sources of information have not, however, been neglected. All the histories, magazines and journals within the reach of the author, containing notices of the subjects of this memoir, have been carefully consulted. By application at the proper department at Washington, copies of the numerous letters written by general Harrison to the Secretary of War in the years 1808, '9, '10, '11, '12 and '13, were obtained, and have been found of much value in the preparation of this work. As governor of Indiana territory, superintendant of Indian affairs, and afterwards commander-in-chief of the north-western army, the writer of those letters possessed opportunities of knowing Tecumseh and the Prophet enjoyed by no other individuals. In addition to these several sources of information, the author has personally, at different times, visited the frontiers of Ohio and Indiana, for the purpose of conversing with the Indians and the pioneers of that region, who happened to be acquainted with Tecumseh and his brother; and by these visits, has been enabled to enrich his narrative with some amusing and valuable anecdotes. In the general accuracy of his work the author feels considerable confidence: in its merit, as a literary production, very little. Every line of it having been written while suffering under the depressing influence of ill health, he has only aimed at a simple narrative style, without any reference to the graces of a polished composition. B.D. Cincinnati, 1841. CONTENTS. HISTORY OF THE SHAWANOE INDIANS CATAHECASSA, or BLACK-HOOF CORNSTALK SPEMICA-LAWBA, the HIGH HORN; or, CAPTAIN LOGAN THE LIFE OF TECUMSEH. CHAPTER I. Parentage of Tecumseh--his sister Tecumapease--his brother Cheeseekan, Sauweeseekau, Nehasseemo, Tenskwautawa or the Prophet, and Kumakauka CHAPTER II. Birth place of Tecumseh--destruction of the Piqua village--early habits of Tecumseh--his first battle--effort to abolish the burning of prisoners--visits the Cherokees in the south--engages in several battles--returns to Ohio in the autumn of 1790 CHAPTER III. Tecumseh attacked near Big Rock by some whites under Robert M'Clelland--severe battle with some Kentuckians on the East Fork of the Little Miami--attack upon Tecumseh in 1793, on the waters of Paint creek--Tecumseh present at the attack on fort Recovery in 1794--participates in the battle of the Rapids of the Maumee, in 1794 CHAPTER IV. Tecumseh's skill as a hunter--declines attending the treaty of Greenville in 1796--in 1796 removed to Great Miami--in 1798 joined a party of Delawares on White river, Indiana--in 1799 attended a council between the whites and Indians near Urbana--another at Chillicothe in 1803--makes an able speech--removes with the Prophet to Greenville, in 1805--the latter commences prophecying--causes the death of Teteboxti, Patterson, Coltos, and Joshua--governor Harrison's speech to the Prophet to arrest these murderers--effort of Wells the U.S. Indian agent to prevent Tecumseh and the Prophet from assembling the Indians at Greenville--Tecumseh's speech in reply--he attends a council at Chillicothe--speech on that occasion--council at Springfield--Tecumseh principal speaker and actor CHAPTER V. Governor Harrison's address to the Shawanoe chiefs at Greenville--the Prophet's reply--his influence felt among the remote tribes--he is visited in 1808 by great numbers of Indians--Tecumseh and the Prophet remove to Tippecanoe--the latter sends a speech to governor Harrison--makes him a visit at Vincennes CHAPTER VI. Tecumseh visits the Wyandots--governor Harrison's letter about the Prophet to the Secretary of War--British influence over the Indians--Tecumseh burns governor Harrison's letter to the chiefs--great alarm in Indiana, in consequence of the assemblage of the Indians at Tippecanoe--death of Leatherlips, a Wyandot chief, on a charge of witchcraft CHAPTER VII. Governor Harrison makes another effort to ascertain the designs of Tecumseh and the Prophet--Tecumseh visits the governor at Vincennes, attended by four hundred warriors--a council is held--Tecumseh becomes deeply excited, and charges governor Harrison with falsehood--council broken up in disorder--renewed the next day CHAPTER VIII. Alarm on the frontier continues--a Muskoe Indian killed at Vincennes--governor Harrison sends a pacific speech to Tecumseh and the Prophet--the former replies to it--in July Tecumseh visits governor Harrison at Vincennes--disavows any intention of making war upon the whites--explains his object in forming a union among the tribes--governor Harrison's opinion of Tecumseh and the Prophet--murder of the Deaf Chief--Tecumseh visits the southern Indians CHAPTER IX. Governor Harrison applies to the War Department for troops to maintain peace on the frontiers--battle of Tippecanoe on the 7th of November--its influence on the Prophet and his followers CHAPTER X. Tecumseh returns from the south--proposes to visit the President, but declines, because not permitted to go to Washington at the head of a party--attends a council at fort Wayne--proceeds to Malden and joins the British--governor Harrison's letter to the War Department relative to the north-west tribes CHAPTER XI. Tecumseh participates in the battle of Brownstown--commands the Indians in the action near Maguaga--present at Hull's surrender--general Brock presents him his military sash--attack on Chicago brought about by Tecumseh CHAPTER XII. Siege of fort Meigs--Tecumseh commands the Indians--acts with intrepidity--rescues the American prisoners from the tomahawk and scalping knife, after Dudley's defeat--reported agreement between Proctor and Tecumseh, that general Harrison, if taken prisoner, should be delivered to the latter to be burned CHAPTER XIII. Tecumseh present at the second attack on fort Meigs--his stratagem of a sham-battle to draw out general Clay--is posted in the Black Swamp with two thousand warriors at the time of the attack on fort Stephenson--from thence passes by land to Malden--compels general Proctor to release an American prisoner--threatens to desert the British cause--urges an attack upon the American fleet--opposes Proctor's retreat from Malden--delivers a speech to him on that occasion CHAPTER XIV. Retreat of the combined British and Indian army to the river Thames--skirmish at Chatham with the troops under general Harrison--Tecumseh slightly wounded in the arm--battle on the Thames on the 5th of October--Tecumseh's death CHAPTER XV. Critical examination of the question "who killed Tecumseh?"--colonel R.M. Johnson's claim considered CHAPTER XVI. Mr. Jefferson's opinion of the Prophet--brief sketch of his character--anecdotes of Tecumseh--a review of the great principles of his plan of union among the tribes--general summary of his life and character HISTORY OF THE SHAWANOE INDIANS. There is a tradition among the Shawanoes, in regard to their origin, which is said to be peculiar to that tribe. While most of the aborigines of this country believe that their respective races came out of holes in the earth at different places on this continent, the Shawanoes alone claim, that their ancestors once inhabited a foreign land; but having determined to leave it, they assembled their people and marched to the sea shore. Here, under the guidance of a leader of the Turtle tribe, one of their twelve original subdivisions, they walked into the sea, the waters of which immediately parted, and they passed in safety along the bottom of the ocean, until they reached this island.[A] [Footnote A: History of the Indian Tribes of North America, by James Hall and J. L. McKinney, a valuable work, containing one hundred and twenty richly colored portraits of Indian chiefs.] The Shawanoes have been known by different names. The Iroquois, according to Colden's history of the "Five Nations," gave them the appellation of Satanas. The Delawares, says Gallatin, in his synopsis of the Indian tribes, call them Shawaneu, which means _southern_. The French writers mention them under the name of Chaouanons; and occasionally they are denominated Massawomees. The orthography of the word by which they are generally designated, is not very well settled. It has been written Shawanos, Sawanos, Shawaneu, Shawnees and Shawanoes, which last method of spelling the word, will be followed in the pages of this work. The original seats of the Shawanoes have been placed in different sections of the country. This has doubtless been owing to their very erratic disposition. Of their history, prior to the year 1680, but little is known. The earliest mention of them by any writer whose work has fallen under our observation, was in the beginning of the seventeenth century. Mr. Jefferson, in his "Notes on Virginia," says that when captain John Smith first arrived in America a fierce war was raging against the allied Mohicans, residing on Long Island, and the Shawanoes on the Susquehanna, and to the westward of that river, by the Iroquois. Captain Smith first landed on this continent in April, 1607. In the following year, 1608, he penetrated down the Susquehanna to the mouth of it, where he met six or seven of their canoes, filled with warriors, about to attack their enemy in the rear. De Laet, in 1632, in his enumeration of the different tribes, on either side of the Delaware river, mentions the Shawanoes.--Charlevoix speaks of them under the name of Chaouanons, as neighbors and allies in 1672, of the Andastes, an Iroquois tribe, living south of the Senecas. Whether any of the Shawanoes were present at the treaty[A] made in 1682, under the celebrated Kensington elm, between William Penn and the Indians, does not positively appear from any authorities before us; that such, however, was the fact, may be fairly inferred, from the circumstance that at a conference between the Indians and governor Keith, in 1722, the Shawanoes exhibited a copy of this treaty written on parchment. [Footnote A: "This treaty," says Voltaire, "was the first made between those people (the Indians) and the Christians, that was not ratified with an oath, and that was never broken."] To the succeeding one made at Philadelphia, in February, 1701, the Shawanoes were parties, being represented on that occasion, by their chiefs, Wopatha, Lemoytungh and Pemoyajagh.[A] More than fifty years afterward, a manuscript copy of this treaty of commerce and friendship, was in the possession of the Shawanoes of Ohio, and was exhibited by them. In 1684, the Iroquois, when complained of by the French for having attacked the Miamis, justified their conduct on the-ground, that they had invited the Santanas (Shawanoes) into the country, for the purpose of making war upon them.[B] The Sauks and Foxes, whose residence was originally on the St. Lawrence, claim the Shawanoes as belonging to the same stock with themselves, and retain traditional accounts of their emigration to the south.[C] In the "History of the Indian Tribes of North America," when speaking of the Shawanoes, the authors say, "their manners, customs and language indicate a northern origin; and, upwards of two centuries ago, they held the country south of Lake Erie. They were the first tribe which felt the force and yielded to the superiority of the Iroquois. Conquered by these, they migrated to the south, and from fear or favor, were allowed to take possession of a region upon the Savannah river; but what part of that stream, whether in Georgia or Florida, is not known; it is presumed the former." Mr. Gallatin speaks of the final defeat of the Shawanoes and their allies, in a war with the Five Nations, as having taken place in the year 1672. This same writer, who has carefully studied the language of the aborigines, considers the Shawanoes as belonging to the Lenape tribes of the north. From these various authorities, it is apparent that the Shawanoes belonged originally to the Algonkin-Lenape nation; and that during the three first quarters of the seventeenth century, they were found in eastern Pennsylvania, on the St. Lawrence, and the southern shore of Lake Erie; and generally at war with some of the neighboring tribes. Whether their dispersion, which is supposed to have taken place about the year 1672, drove them all to the south side of the Ohio, does not very satisfactorily appear. [Footnote A: Proud's History of Pennsylvania.] [Footnote B: Colden.] [Footnote C: Morse's Report.] Subsequently to this period, the Shawanoes were found on the Ohio river below the Wabash, in Kentucky, Georgia and the Carolinas. Lawson, in his history of Carolina in 1708, speaks of the Savanoes, removing from the Mississippi to one of the rivers of South Carolina. Gallatin quotes an authority which sustains Lawson, and which establishes the fact that at a very early period in the history of the south, there was a Shawanoe settlement on the head waters of the Catawba or Santee, and probably of the Yadkin. From another authority it appears, that for a time the Shawanoes had a station on the Savannah river, above Augusta; and Adair, who refers to the war between the Shawanoes and Cherokees, saw a body of the former in the wilderness, who, after having wandered for some time in the woods, were then returning to the Creek country. According to John Johnston,[A] a large party of the Shawanoes, who originally lived north of the Ohio, had for some cause emigrated as far south as the Suwanoe river, which empties into the Gulf of Mexico. From thence they returned, under the direction of a chief named Black Hoof, about the middle of the last century, to Ohio. It is supposed that this tribe gave name to the Suwanoe river, in 1750, by which name the Cumberland was also known, when Doctor Walker, (of Virginia) visited Kentucky. [Footnote A: I Vol. Trans. Amer. Antiquarian Society.] Of the causes which led the Shawanoes to abandon the south, but little is known beyond what may be gleaned from their traditions. Heckewelder, in his contributions to the American Philosophical Society, says, "they were a restless people, delighting in wars, in which they were constantly engaged with some of the surrounding nations. At last their neighbors, tired of being continually harassed by them, formed a league for their destruction. The Shawanoes finding themselves thus dangerously situated, asked to be permitted to leave the country, which was granted to them; and they immediately removed to the Ohio. Here their main body settled, and then sent messengers to their elder brother,[A] the Mohicans, requesting them to intercede for them with their grandfather, the Lenni Lenape, to take them under his protection. This the Mohicans willingly did, and even sent a body of their own people to conduct their younger brother into the country of the Delawares. The Shawanoes finding themselves safe under the protection of their grandfather, did not choose to proceed to the eastward, but many of them remained on the Ohio, some of whom settled as far up that river as the long island, above which the French afterwards built fort Duquesne, on the spot where Pittsburg now stands. Those who proceeded farther, were accompanied by their chief, named Gachgawatschiqua, and settled principally at and about the forks of the Delaware, between that and the confluence of the Delaware and Schuylkill; and some, even on the spot where Philadelphia now stands; others were conducted by the Mohicans into their own country, where they intermarried with them and became one people. When those settled near the Delaware had multiplied, they returned to Wyoming on the Susquehannah, where they resided for a great number of years." [Footnote A: The Shawanoes call the Mohicans their _elder brother_, and the Delawares their _grandfather_.] Chapman, in his history of Wyoming, states, that after the Shawanoes were driven from Georgia and Florida, they built a town at the mouth of the Wabash, and established themselves in it. They then applied to the Delawares for some territory on which to reside. When granted, a council was held to consider the propriety of accepting the offer of the Delawares. On this question the Shawanoes divided--part of them remained on the Wabash,--the others, composing chiefly the Piqua tribe, formed a settlement in the forks of the Delaware. Alter a time, a disagreement arose between them and the Delawares, which induced the former to remove to the valley of the Wyoming, on the Susquehannah, on the west bank of which they built a town, and lived in repose many years. Subsequently to the treaty held at Philadelphia, in 1742, between the governor and the Six Nations, the Delawares were driven from that part of Pennsylvania; and a portion of them also removed to the Wyoming valley, then in possession of the Shawanoes, and secured the quiet occupancy of a part of it; built a town on the east bank of the river, which they called Waughwauwame, where they lived for some time, on terms of amity with their new neighbors. During the summer of 1742, count Zinzendorf of Saxony, came to America on a religious mission, connected with the ancient church of the United Brethren. Having heard of the Shawanoes at Wyoming, he determined to make an effort to introduce Christianity among them. He accordingly made them a visit, but did not meet with a cordial reception. The Shawanoes supposed that the missionary was in pursuit of their lands; and a party of them determined to assassinate him privately, for fear of exciting other Indians to hostility. The attempt upon his life was made, but strangely defeated. Chapman relates the manner of it, which he obtained from a companion of the count, who did not publish it in his memoirs, lest the United Brethren might suppose that the subsequent conversion of the Shawanoes was the result of their superstition. It is as follows: "Zinzendorf was alone in his tent, seated upon a bundle of dry weeds, which composed his bed, and engaged in writing, when the assassins approached to execute their bloody commission. It was night, and the cool air of September had rendered a small fire necessary for his comfort and convenience. A curtain, formed of a blanket, and hung upon pins, was the only guard to his tent. The heat of this small fire had aroused a large rattlesnake, which lay in the weeds not far from it; and the reptile, to enjoy it the more effectually, had crawled slowly into the tent, and passed over one of his legs, undiscovered. Without, all was still and quiet, except the gentle murmur of the river, at the rapids about a mile below. At this moment, the Indians softly approached the door of his tent and slightly removing the curtain, contemplated the venerable man, too deeply engaged in the subject of his thoughts to notice either their approach, or the snake which lay before him. At a sight like this, even the heart of the savages shrunk from the idea of committing so horrid an act; and, quitting the spot, they hastily returned to the town, and informed their companions, that the Great Spirit protected the white man, for they had found him with no door but a blanket, and had seen a large rattlesnake crawl over his legs without attempting to injure him. This circumstance, together with the arrival soon afterwards of Conrad Weizer, the interpreter, procured the count the friendship of the Indians, and probably induced some of them to embrace Christianity." When the war between the French and the English occurred in 1754, the Shawanoes on the Ohio took sides with the former; but the appeal to those residing at Wyoming to do the same, was ineffectual. The influence of the count's missionary efforts had made them averse to war. But an event which happened soon afterward, disturbed the peace of their settlement, and finally led to their removal from the valley. Occasional difficulties of a transient nature, had arisen between the Delawares and the Shawanoes at Wyoming. An unkind feeling, produced by trifling local causes, had grown up between the two tribes. At length a childish dispute about the possession of a harmless grasshopper, brought on a bloody battle; and a final separation of the two parties soon followed. One day, while most of the Delaware men were absent on a hunting excursion, the women of that tribe went out to gather wild fruits on the margin of the river, below their village. Here they met a number of Shawanoe women and their children, who had crossed the stream in their canoes, and were similarly engaged. One of the Shawanoe children having caught a large grasshopper, a dispute arose with some of the Delaware children, in regard to the possession of it. In this quarrel, as was natural, the mothers soon became involved. The Delaware women contended for the possession of the grasshopper on the ground that the Shawanoes possessed no privileges on that side of the river. A resort to violence ensued, and the Shawanoe women being in the minority, were speedily driven to their canoes, and compelled to seek safety by flight to their own bank of the stream. Here the matter rested until the return of the hunters, when the Shawanoes, in order to avenge the indignity offered to their women, armed themselves for battle. When they attempted to cross the river, they found the Delawares duly prepared to receive them and oppose their landing. The battle commenced while the Shawanoes were still in their canoes, but they at length effected a landing, which was followed by a general and destructive engagement. The Shawanoes having lost a number of their warriors before reaching the shore, were too much weakened to sustain the battle for any length of time. After the loss of nearly one half their party, they were compelled to fly to their own side of the river. Many of the Delawares were killed. Shortly after this disastrous contest, the Shawanoes quietly abandoned their village, and removed westward to the banks of the Ohio.[A] [Footnote A: Chapman] After the Shawanoes of Pennsylvania had fallen back upon the waters of the Ohio, they spread themselves from the Alleghenies as far westward as the Big Miami. One of their villages was seventeen miles below Pittsburg: it was called Log's Town, and was visited by Croghan, in 1765. Another, named Lowertown, also visited by the same traveler, stood just below the mouth of the Scioto. It was subsequently carried away by a great flood in that river, which overflowed the site of the town, and compelled the Indians to escape in their canoes. They afterwards built a new town on the opposite side of the river, but soon abandoned it, and removed to the plains of the Scioto and Paint creek, where they established themselves, on the north fork of the latter stream. They had also several other villages of considerable size in the Miami valley. One was "Chillicothe," standing near the mouth of Massie's creek, three miles north of Xenia. Another, called Piqua, and memorable as the birth place of TECUMSEH, the subject of our present narrative, stands upon the north-west side of Mad river, about seven miles below Springfield, in Clark county. Both of these villages were destroyed in 1780, by an expedition from Kentucky, under the command of general George Rogers Clark. After the peace of 1763, the Miamis having removed from the Big Miami river, a body of Shawanoes established themselves at Lower and Upper Piqua, in Miami county, which places, being near together, became their great head-quarters in Ohio. Here they remained until driven off by the Kentuckians; when they crossed over to the St. Mary's and to Wapakanotta. The Upper Piqua is said to have contained, at one period, near four thousand Shawanoes.[A] [Footnote A: John Johnston.] From the geographical location of the Shawanoes, it will be perceived that they were placed under circumstances which enabled them, with great facility, to annoy the early settlements in Kentucky; and to attack the emigrants descending the Ohio. In this fierce border war, which was waged upon the whites for a number of years, and oftentimes with extreme cruelty, the Delawares, Wyandots, Mingoes and Miamis, united: the Shawanoes, however, were by far the most warlike and troublesome. The Shawanoes were originally divided into twelve tribes or bands, each of which was sub-divided into families, known as the Eagle, the Turtle, the Panther, &c., these animals constituting their _totems_. Of these twelve, the names of but four tribes are preserved, the rest having become extinct, or incorporated with them. They are, 1st. the Mequachake,--2d. the Chillicothe,--3d. the Kiskapocoke,--4th. the Piqua. When in council, one of these tribes is assigned to each of the four sides of the council-house, and during the continuance of the deliberations, the tribes retain their respective places. They claim to have the power of distinguishing, at sight, to which tribe an individual belongs; but to the casual observer, there are no visible shades of difference. In each of the four tribes, except the Mequachake, the chiefs owe their authority to merit, but in the last named, the office is hereditary. Of the origin of the Piqua tribe, the following tradition has been recited:[A] "In ancient times, the Shawanoes had occasion to build a large fire, and after it was burned down, a great puffing and blowing was heard, when up rose a man from the ashes!--hence the name Piqua, which means a man coming out of the ashes." Mequachake, signifies a perfect man. To this tribe the priesthood is confided. The members, or rather certain individuals of it, are alone permitted to perform the sacrifices and other religious ceremonies of the tribe.[B] The division of the tribe into bands or totems, is not peculiar to the Shawanoes, but is common to several other nations. One of the leading causes of its institution, was the prohibition of marriage between those related in a remote degree of consanguinity. Individuals are not at liberty to change their totems, or disregard the restraint imposed by it on intermarriages. It is stated in Tanner's narrative, that the Indians hold it to be criminal for a man to marry a woman whose totem is the same as his own; and they relate instances where young men, for a violation of this rule, have been put to death by their nearest relatives. Loskiel, in his history of the Moravian missions, says, the Delawares and Iroquois never marry near relatives. According to their own account, the Indian nations were divided into tribes for the sole purpose, that no one might, either through temptation or mistake, marry a near relation, which is now scarcely possible, for whoever intends to marry must take a person of a different totem. Another reason for the institution of these totems, may be found in their influence on the social relations of the tribe, in softening private revenge, and preserving peace. Gallatin, on the information derived from a former Indian agent[C] among the Creeks, says, "according to the ancient custom, if an offence was committed by one or another member of the same clan, the compensation to be made, on account of the injury, was regulated in an amicable way by the other members of the clan. Murder was rarely expiated in any other way than by the death of the murderer; the nearest male relative of the deceased was the executioner; but this being done, as under the authority of the clan, there was no further retaliation. If the injury was committed by some one of another clan, it was not the injured party, but the clan to which he belonged, that asked for reparation. This was rarely refused by the clan of the offender; but in case of refusal, the injured clan had a right to do itself justice, either by killing the offender, in case of murder, or inflicting some other punishment for lesser offences. This species of private war, was, by the Creeks, called, 'to take up the sticks;' because, the punishment generally consisted in beating the offender. At the time of the annual corn-feast, the sticks were laid down, and could not be again taken up for the same offence. But it seems that originally there had been a superiority among some of the clans. That of the Wind, had the right to take up the sticks four times, that of the Bear twice, for the same offence; whilst those of the Tiger, of the Wolf, of the Bird, of the Root, and of two more whose names I do not know, could raise them but once. It is obvious that the object of the unknown legislation, was to prevent or soften the effects of private revenge, by transferring the power and duty from the blood relatives to a more impartial body. The father and his brothers, by the same mother, never could belong to the same clan, as their son or nephew, whilst the perpetual changes, arising from intermarriages with women of a different clan, prevented their degenerating into distinct tribes; and checked the natural tendency towards a subdivision of the nation into independent communities. The institution may be considered as the foundation of the internal policy, and the basis of the social state of the Indians." [Footnote A: Stephen Ruddell's manuscript account of the Shawanoes, in possession of the author.] [Footnote B: John Johnston.] [Footnote C: Mitchell.] One mode of ascertaining the origin of the Indian tribes, and of determining their relation to each other, as well as to other races of mankind, is the study of their language. This has, at different times, engaged the attention of several able philologists, who have done much to analyze the Indian languages, and to arrange in systematic order, the numerous dialects of this erratic people. The results of the investigation of one[A] of the most learned and profound of these individuals, may be summed up in the three following propositions: 1. "That the American languages in general, are rich in words and in grammatical forms, and that in their complicated construction, the greatest order, method and regularity prevail. 2. "That these complicated forms, which I call _poly synthetic,_ appear to exist in all those languages, from Greenland to Cape Horn. 3. "That these forms appear to differ essentially from those of the ancient and modern languages of the old hemisphere." [Footnote A: Mr. Duponceau.] In a late learned dissertation[A] on this subject, it is stated that in nearly the whole territory contained in the United States, and in British and Russian America, there are only eight great families, each speaking a distinct language, subdivided in many instances, into a number of dialects belonging to the same stock. These are the Eskimaux, the Athapascas (or Cheppeyans,) the Black Feet, the Sioux, the Algonkin-Lenape, the Iroquois, the Cherokee, and the Mobilian or Chahta-Muskhog. The Shawanoes belong to the Algonkin-Lenape family, and speak a dialect of that language. It bears a strong affinity to the Mohican and the Chippeway, but more especially the Kickapoo. Valuable vocabularies of the Shawanoe language have been given by Johnston and by Gallatin in their contributions to the American Antiquarian Society, which may be consulted by those disposed to prosecute the study of this subject. [Footnote A: Mr. Gallatin.] The Shawanoes have been known since the first discovery of this country, as a restless, wandering people, averse to the pursuits of agriculture, prone to war and the chase. They have, within that period, successively occupied the southern shore of lake Erie, the banks of the Ohio and Mississippi, portions of Georgia, Florida, Tennessee, Kentucky, and eastern Pennsylvania; then again the plains of Ohio, and now the small remnant of them that remains, are established west of Missouri and Arkansas. They have been involved in numerous bloody wars with other tribes; and for near half a century, resisted with a bold, ferocious spirit, and an indomitable hatred, the progress of the white settlements in Pennsylvania, western Virginia, and especially Kentucky. The Shawanoes have declined more rapidly in numbers[A] than any other tribe of Indians known to the whites. This has been, and we suppose justly, attributed to their wandering habits and their continual wars. Although one of their villages is said once to have contained four thousand souls, their present number does not exceed eighteen hundred. They have ever been considered a courageous, powerful and faithless race; who hare claimed for themselves a pre-eminence not only over other tribes, but also over the whites.[B] Their views in regard to this superiority were briefly set forth by one of their chiefs at a convention held at fort Wayne, in 1803. [Footnote A: John Johnston.] [Footnote B: General Harrison considers the Shawanoes, Delawares and Miamis, as much superior to the other tribes of the west.] "The Master of Life," said he, "who was himself an Indian, made the Shawanoes before any other of the human race; and they sprang from his brain: he gave them all the knowledge he himself possessed, and placed them upon the great island, and all the other red people are descended from the Shawanoes. After he had made the Shawanoes, he made the French and English out of his breast, the Dutch out of his feet, and the long-knives out of his hands. All these inferior races of men he made white and placed them beyond the stinking lake.[A] "The Shawanoes for many ages continued to be masters of the continent, using the knowledge they had received from the Great Spirit in such a manner as to be pleasing to him, and to secure their own happiness. In a great length of time, however, they became corrupt, and the Master of Life told them that he would take away from them the knowledge which they possessed, and give it to the white people, to be restored, when by a return to good principles they would deserve it. Many ages after that, they saw something white approaching their shores; at first they took it for a great bird, but they soon found it to be a monstrous canoe filled with the very people who had got the knowledge which belonged to the Shawanoes. After these white people landed, they were not content with having the knowledge which belonged to the Shawanoes, but they usurped their lands also; they pretended, indeed, to have purchased these lands; but the very goods they gave for them, were more the property of the Indians than the white people, because the knowledge which enabled them to manufacture these goods actually belonged to the Shawanoes: but these things will soon have an end. The Master of Life is about to restore to the Shawanoes both their knowledge and their rights, and he will trample the long knives under his feet." [Footnote A: Atlantic Ocean.] It has been already stated that, for a series of years, the several tribes of Indians residing in the territory now forming the state of Ohio, made violent opposition to the settlement of the whites, west of the Alleghanies. Among the most formidable of these were the Shawanoes. The emigrants, whether male or female, old or young, were every where met by the torch, the tomahawk and the scalping-knife. The war-cry of the savage was echoed from shore to shore of the beautiful Ohio, whose waters were but too often reddened with the blood of women and children. Many of those who escaped the perils of the river, and had reared their log-cabins amid the cane-brakes of Kentucky, were doomed to encounter the same ruthless foe, and fell victims to the same unrelenting cruelty. While the feelings are shocked at these dreadful scenes of blood and carnage, and the Indian character rises in hideous deformity before the mind, it is not to be forgotten that there are many mitigating circumstances to be pleaded in behalf of the aborigines. They were an ignorant people, educated alone for war, without the lights of civilization, without the attributes of mercy shed abroad by the spirit of christianity. They were contending for their homes and their hunting grounds--the tombs of their forefathers--the graves of their children. They saw the gradual, but certain, encroachments of the whites upon their lands; and they had the sagacity to perceive, that unless this mighty wave of emigration was arrested, it would overwhelm them. They fought as savage nature will fight, with unflinching courage and unrelenting cruelty. But it was not alone this encroachment upon their lands, which roused their savage passions. The wanton aggressions of the whites oftentimes provoked the fearful retaliation of the red-man. The policy of the United States towards the Indians has generally been of a pacific and benevolent character; but, in carrying out that policy, there have been many signal and inexcusable failures. The laws enacted by congress for the protection of the rights of the Indians, and to promote their comfort and civilization, have, in a great variety of cases, remained a dead letter upon the statute book. The agents of the government have often proved unfaithful, and have looked much more to their own pecuniary interests, than to the honest execution of the public trusts confided to them. Nor is this all. There has ever been found upon the western frontiers, a band of unprincipled men who have set at defiance the laws of the United States, debauched the Indians with ardent spirits, cheated them of their property, and then committed upon them aggressions marked with all the cruelty and wanton bloodshed which have distinguished the career of the savage. The history of these aggressions would fill a volume. It is only necessary to recall to the mind of the reader, the horrible murder of the Conestoga Indians, in December 1763, by some Pennsylvanians; the dark tragedy enacted on the banks of he Muskingum, at a later period, when the Moravian Indians, at the three villages of Schoenbrun, Salem, and Gnadenhuetten, were first disarmed and then deliberately tomahawked by Williamson and his associates; the unprovoked murder of the family of Logan; the assassination of Bald Eagle, of the gallant and high-souled Cornstalk, and his son Elinipsico: we need but recall these, from the long catalogue of similar cases, to satisfy every candid mind, that rapine, cruelty and a thirst for human blood are not peculiarly the attributes of the American Indian. But there are still other causes which have aroused and kept in activity, the warlike passions of the Indians. They have been successively subjected to English, Dutch, French and Spanish influence. The agents of these different powers, as well as the emigrants from them, either from interest or a spirit of mischievous hostility, have repeatedly prompted the Indians to arm themselves against the United States. The great principle of the Indian wars, for the last seventy years, has been the preservation of their lands. On this, the French, English and Spanish have in turn excited them to active resistance against the expanding settlements of the whites. It was on the principle of recovering their lands, that the French were their allies between the commencement of hostilities with the colonies, in 1754, and the peace of 1762; and subsequently kept up an excitement among them until the beginning of the revolution. From this period, the English took the place of the French, and instigated them in a similar manner. Their views and feelings on this point, may be gathered from their own words: "It was we," say the Delawares, Mohicans and their kindred tribes, "who so kindly received the Europeans on their first arrival into our own country. We took them by the hand and bid them welcome to sit down by our side, and live with us as brothers; but how did they requite our kindness? They at first asked only for a little land, on which to raise bread for their families, and pasture for their cattle, which we freely gave them. They saw the game in the woods, which the Great Spirit had given us for our subsistence, and they wanted it too. They penetrated into the woods in quest of game, they discovered spots of land they also wanted, and because we were loth to part with it, as we saw they had already more than they had need of, they took it from us by force, and drove us to a great distance from our homes."[A] [Footnote A: Heckewelder's historical account of the Indians.] It is matter of history, that for a period of near seventy years after it was planted, the colony of William Penn lived in peace and harmony with the neighboring Indians, among whom were bands of the warlike Shawanoes. It was an observation of this venerable and worthy man, when speaking of the Indians, that "if you do not abuse them, but let them have justice, you will win them, when there is such a knowledge of good and evil." His kind treatment to them was repaid by friendly offices, both to himself and his followers. The Indians became indeed the benefactors of the colonists. When the latter were scattered in 1682, and without shelter or food, they were kind and attentive, and treated them as brothers.[A] [Footnote A: Clarkson's Life of Penn.] Proud, in his History of Pennsylvania, when explaining the aversion of the Indians to christianity, attributes it to the character and conduct of the whites residing near or among them, "many of whom were of the lowest rank and least informed of mankind, who flowed in from Germany, Ireland and the jails of Great Britain, or who had fled from the better inhabited parts of the colony, to escape from justice." The proceedings of the assembly of Pennsylvania show that, as early as 1722, an Indian was barbarously killed by some whites, within the limits of the province. The assembly proposed some measures for the governor's consideration in regard to the affair; and mentioned the repeated requests of the Indians, that strong liquors should not be carried nor sold among them. In a treatise published in London, in 1759, on the cause of the then existing difficulties between the Indians and the colonists, we find this paragraph. "It would be too shocking to describe the conduct and behavior of the traders, when among the Indians; and endless to enumerate the abuses the Indians received and bore from them, for a series of years. Suffice it to say, that several of the tribes were, at last, weary of bearing; and, as these traders were the persons who were, in some part, the representatives of the English among the Indians, and by whom they were to judge of our manners and religion, they conceived such invincible prejudices against both, particularly our holy religion, that when Mr. Sargeant, a gentleman in New England, took a journey in 1741, to the Shawanoes and some other tribes living on the Susquehanna, and offered to instruct them in the christian religion, they rejected his offer with disdain. They reproached Christianity. They told him the traders would lie and cheat." In 1744, governor Thomas, in a message to the assembly of Pennsylvania, says, "I cannot but be apprehensive that the Indian trade, as it is now carried on, will involve us in some fatal quarrel with the Indians. Our traders, in defiance of the laws, carry spirituous liquors among them, and take advantage of their inordinate appetite for it, to cheat them of their skins, and their wampum, which is their money." In 1753 governor Hamilton appointed Richard Peters, Isaac Norris and Benjamin Franklin, to hold a treaty with the Indians at Carlisle, Pennsylvania. In the report of these commissioners they say: "But in justice to these Indians, and the promises we made them, we cannot close our report, without taking notice, that the quantity of strong liquors sold to these Indians, in the places of their residence, and during their hunting season, have increased to an inconceivable degree, so as to keep these poor creatures continually under the force of liquors, that they are thereby become dissolute, enfeebled and indolent when sober; and untractable and mischievous in their liquor, always quarreling, and often murdering one another." Some of the chiefs at this treaty said, "these wicked whisky-sellers, when they have once got the Indians in liquor, make them sell their very clothes from their backs. In short, if this practice is continued, we must be inevitably ruined; we most earnestly, therefore, beseech you to remedy it."[A] [Footnote A: Proud's History of Pennsylvania.] This brief sketch of the early intercourse between the colonists and the aborigines of this country, is not over-drawn, nor is it at all inapplicable to the period which has elapsed since the formation of the federal government. With an insatiable cupidity and a wanton disregard of justice, have the lands and property of the Indians been sought by citizens of the United States. The great agent of success in this unholy business, has been ardent spirits, by means of which their savage reason has been overthrown, and their bad passions called into action. The class of reckless and desperate characters, described by Proud, have hung upon the western frontiers, for the purpose of preying upon the Indians. If government itself be not to blame, for want of good faith towards this miserable race, is it not highly culpable for not having, by the strong arm of physical power, enforced the salutary laws, which from time to time, have been enacted for their protection? Impartial posterity will, we apprehend, answer this question in the affirmative. The Shawanoes engaged in the war between the French and English, which commenced in 1755, and was terminated by the peace of 10th February, 1763. In this contest they took sides with the former, and rendered them essential service. They committed many depredations on the frontier settlements of Pennsylvania and Virginia. The peace of 1763, between France and England, did not terminate the Indian war against the colonies. The Indians were displeased with the provisions of this treaty, especially that which ceded the provinces of Canada to Great Britain. This dissatisfaction was increased when the British government began to build forts on the Susquehanna, and to repair or erect those of Bedford, Ligonier, Pittsburg, Detroit, Presque Isle, St. Joseph and Michilimakinac. By this movement the Indians found themselves surrounded, on two sides, by a cordon of forts, and were threatened with an extension of them into the very heart of their country. They had now to choose whether they would remove to the north and west, negociate with the British government for the possession of their own land, or take up arms for its defence. They chose the last alternative; and, a war of extermination against the English residents in the western country, and even those on the Susquehanna, was agreed upon and speedily commenced. Many of the British traders living among the Indians were murdered; the forts of Presque Isle, St. Joseph and Mackinac, were taken, with a general slaughter of their garrisons; while the forts of Bedford, Ligonier, Niagara, Detroit and Pitt, were barely preserved from falling into their hands. The contest was continued with resolute and daring spirit, and with much destruction of life and property, until December, 1764, when the war was brought to a close by a treaty at the German Flats, made between Sir William Johnston and the hostile Indians. Soon after the conclusion of this peace the Shawanoes became involved in a war with the Cherokees, which continued until 1768, when, pressed hard by the united force of the former tribe and the Delawares, the southern Indians solicited and obtained a peace.[A] For the ensuing six years, the Shawanoes remained quiet, living on amicable terms with the whites on the frontiers: in April, 1774, however, hostilities between these parties were renewed. [Footnote A: Thatcher's Indian Biography.] It is not our purpose in the present sketch of this tribe, to present a detail of all their conflicts with the whites; but the "Dunmore war," (as it is generally called,) of 1774, having been mainly prosecuted by Shawanoes, one of their distinguished chiefs having commanded in the battle of Point Pleasant, and another, Puckecheno, (the father of Tecumseh,) having fallen in this engagement, would seem to render a full account of the border feuds of this year, not out of place in the present narrative. In the latter part of April, 1774, a report that the Indians had stolen some horses, from the vicinity of Wheeling, alarmed the whites who were making settlements on the Ohio below that place. For greater safety they immediately assembled on Wheeling creek, and learning that two Indians were with some traders above the town, they went up the river, and without stopping to enquire as to their guilt, deliberately put them to death. On the afternoon of the same day, they found a party of Indians on the Ohio, below Wheeling creek, on whom they fired, and killed several. The Indians returned the fire and wounded one of the assailing party. It is admitted by all the authorities on this subject, that the two Indians killed above Wheeling, were shot by men under the command of colonel Michael Cresap. Mr. Jefferson, in his Notes on Virginia, states that the second attack, in which one of Logan's family is alleged to have been killed, was also headed by Cresap; and, in this he is sustained by Doddridge, Heckewelder and others; but it is denied by Jacob. "Pursuing these examples," says Mr. Jefferson, "Daniel Greathouse and one Tomlinson, who lived on the opposite side of the river from the Indians, and were in habits of friendship with them, collected at the house of Polk, on Cross creek, about sixteen miles from Baker's bottom, a party of thirty-two men. Their object was to attack a hunting party of Indians, consisting of men, women and children, at the mouth of Yellow creek, some distance above Wheeling. They proceeded, and when arrived near Baker's bottom they concealed themselves, and Greathouse crossed the river to the Indian camp. Being among them as a friend, he counted them and found them too strong for an open attack with his force. While here, he was cautioned by one of the women not to stay, for that the Indian men were drinking; and having heard of Cresap's murder of their relatives at Grave creek, were angry; and she pressed him in a friendly manner to go home; whereupon, after inviting them to come over and drink, he returned to Baker's, which was a tavern, and desired that when any of them should come to his house, he would give them as much rum as they could drink. When this plot was ripe, and a sufficient number of them had collected at Baker's and become intoxicated, he and his party fell on them and massacred the whole except a little girl, whom they preserved as a prisoner. Among them was the very woman who had saved his life by pressing him to retire from the drunken wrath of her friends, when he was playing the spy in their camp at Yellow creek. Either she herself or some other one of the murdered women was the sister of Logan; there were others of his relations who fell at the same time. The party on the opposite side of the river, upon hearing the report of the guns, became alarmed for their friends at Baker's house, immediately manned two canoes and sent them over. They were met by a fire from Greathouse's party, as they approached the shore, which killed some, wounded others, and obliged the remainder to return. Baker subsequently stated, that six or eight were wounded and twelve killed." The settlers along the frontier, satisfied that the Indians would retaliate upon them, for these unprovoked aggressions, either returned to the interior of the country, or gathered in forts, and made preparation for resistance. The assembly of the colony of Virginia being then in session, an express was sent to the seat of government, announcing the commencement of hostilities with the Indians, and asking assistance. In the month of May, the excitement among the Indians was still further increased by the murder of the Delaware sachem, "Bald Eagle," and the wounding of "Silver Heels," a popular chief of the Shawanoe tribe. Bald Eagle was an aged, harmless man, who was in the habit of visiting the whites on the most friendly terms. At the period of his death, he was returning alone, in his canoe, from a visit to the fort at the mouth of the Kanawha. The individual who committed the murder, having scalped him, placed the body in a sitting posture in the canoe and suffered it to float down the stream, in which condition it was found by the Indians. Silver Heels was returning from Albany to the Ohio, having been to that city as the voluntary escort of some white traders, who were fleeing from the frontiers. He was fired upon and dangerously wounded while crossing Big Beaver in a canoe. Such were some of the causes which called into action the vindictive feelings of the Indians. The distinguished Mingo chief, Logan, was roused to action by the murder of his relatives at Yellow creek; and in the course of the summer, led some war parties against the whites, and destroyed several families. The Earl of Dunmore, then governor of the colony of Virginia, made arrangements for a campaign against the Indians, but it was not until September, that his forces were brought into the field. He ordered three regiments to be raised west of the Blue Ridge, the command of which was given to general Andrew Lewis. A similar army was assembled from the interior, the command of which the Earl assumed in person. The mouth of the Great Kanawha was the point at which two divisions of the army were to meet; from whence, under the command of governor Dunmore, they were to march against the Indian towns on the north side of the Ohio. General Lewis' division amounted to eleven hundred men, most of whom were accustomed to danger, and with their officers, familiar with the modes of Indian warfare. On the eleventh of September, general Lewis moved from his camp, in the vicinity of Lewisburg, and after a march of nineteen days, traversing a wilderness through the distance of one hundred and sixty-five-miles, he reached the mouth of the Kanawha, and made an encampment at that point. Here he waited several days for the arrival of governor Dunmore, who, with the division under his command, was to have met him at this place. Disappointed in not hearing from Dunmore, general Lewis despatched some scouts, over land to Pittsburg, to obtain intelligence of him. On the ninth of October, and before the return of these scouts, an express from Dunmore arrived in camp, with information that he had changed his plan of operations; and intended to march directly against the Indian towns on the Scioto; and directing general Lewis to cross the Ohio and join him. Preparations were making to obey this order, when, about sunrise, on the morning of the tenth, a large body of Indians was discovered within a mile of the camp. Two detachments were ordered out by general Lewis, to meet the enemy, one under the command of colonel Charles Lewis, the other under colonel Fleming. The former marched to the right, some distance from the Ohio, the latter to the left, on the bank of that stream. Colonel Lewis had not proceeded half a mile from the camp, when, soon after sunrise, his front line was vigorously attacked by the united tribes of the Shawanoes, Delawares, Mingoes, Ioways, and some others, in number between eight hundred and one thousand. At the commencement of the attack, colonel Lewis received a wound, which in the course of a few hours proved fatal: several of his men were killed at the same time, and his division was forced to fall back. In about a minute after the attack upon Lewis, the enemy engaged the front of the other division, on the bank of the Ohio, and in a short time, colonel Fleming, the leader of it, was severely wounded, and compelled to retire to the camp. Colonel Lewis' division having now been reinforced from the camp, pressed upon the Indians until they had fallen back in a line with Fleming's division. During this time, it being now twelve o'clock, the action continued with unabated severity. The close underwood, the ravines and fallen trees, favored the Indians; and while the bravest of their warriors fought from behind these coverts, others were throwing their dead into the Ohio, and carrying off their wounded. In their slow retreat, the Indians, about one o'clock, gained a very advantageous position, from which it appeared to our officers so difficult to dislodge them, that it was deemed advisable to maintain the line as then formed, which was about a mile and a quarter in length. In this position, the action was continued, with more or less severity, until sundown, when, night coming on, the Indians effected a safe retreat.[A] [Footnote A: Official Report, xii. vol., Niles Register.] McClung, in his valuable Sketches of Western Adventure, in describing this sanguinary battle, speaks of the Indians fighting from behind a breastwork; Stone, in his Life of Brant, says the Indians were forced to avail themselves of a rude breastwork of logs and brushwood, which they had taken the precaution to construct for the occasion. There must be some mistake in regard to this breastwork, as it is evident from the circumstances of the case, that the Indians could not, before the battle, have erected one so near the camp without discovery; and after the action commenced, it was too fiercely prosecuted for a rampart of this kind to have been thrown up. In regard to the number killed on either side, there is no very certain information. Doddridge, in his Notes on the Indian wars, places the number of whites killed in this action at seventy-five, and the wounded at one hundred and forty. Campbell, in his History of Virginia, says the number of whites who were killed was upwards of fifty, and that ninety were wounded, which is probably near the truth. The Indian force engaged in this action has been estimated by different writers, at from eight hundred to fifteen hundred men. It is probable that the number did not exceed eight hundred. They were led on by some bold and warlike chiefs, among them Cornstalk, Logan, Elenipsico, Red Eagle, and Packishenoah, the last of whom was killed. Cornstalk, the chief in command, was conspicuous for his bravery, and animated his followers in tones which rose above the clash of arms; and when a retreat became necessary, conducted it so successfully and with so much delay, as to give his men an opportunity of bearing off all their wounded and many of the killed, whose bodies were thrown into the river. The loss of the Indians was never ascertained. One of the historians already quoted, speaks of it as "comparatively trifling." The character of our troops, many of whom were experienced woods-men, familiar with Indian fighting, the long continuance of the action--from the rising to the going down of the sun--the equality in numbers and position of the contending parties, the known usage of the Indians in hiding their dead and carrying off the wounded, the number of killed found on the battle ground the following day, and the severe loss of the Virginians, all forbid the idea that the loss of the enemy could have been trifling. The Ohio and Kanawha rivers afforded them opportunities for concealing their dead, while the plan of retreat,--alternately giving ground and renewing the attack,--was no doubt adopted for the purpose of gaining time to remove the wounded across the Ohio. It is fair to assume that the loss of the Indians was not far short of that sustained by the whites. All circumstances considered, this battle may be ranked among the most memorable, and well contested, that has been fought on this continent. The leaders, on either side, were experienced and able, the soldiers skilful and brave. The victorious party, if either could be so called, had as little to boast of as the vanquished. It was alike creditable to the Anglo-Saxon and the aboriginal arms. After the Indians had recrossed the Ohio, they marched to the valley of the Scioto, and encamped on the east side of that stream, about eight miles north of where Chillicothe now stands. Here a council was held to decide upon their future movements. Cornstalk, although true to the interests of the Shawanoes, was the friend of peace, and had been opposed to making the attack on the troops of general Lewis. Being overruled, he entered into the action determined to do his duty. He now rose in the council and demanded, "_What shall we do now? The Long Knives are coming upon us by two routes. Shall we turn out and fight them_?" No reply being made to his questions, he continued, "shall we kill all our women and children, and then fight until we are all killed ourselves?" The chiefs were still silent. Cornstalk turned round, and striking his tomahawk into the war-post standing in the midst of the council, said with his characteristic energy of manner, "_Since you are not inclined to fight, I will go and make peace_." In the meantime the earl of Dunmore, having procured boats at fort Pitt, descended the river to Wheeling, where the army halted for a few days, and then proceeded down the river in about one hundred canoes, a few keel boats and perogues, to the mouth of Hockhocking, and from thence over land, until the army had got within a few miles of the Shawanoe camp. Here the army halted, and made a breastwork of fallen trees, and entrenchments of such extent as to include about twelve acres of ground, with an enclosure in the centre containing about one acre. This was the citadel, which contained the markees of the earl and his superior officers.[A] Before the army of Dunmore had reached this point, he had been met by messengers from the Indians suing for peace. General Lewis, in the meantime, did not remain inactive. The day after the battle he proceeded to bury his dead, and to throw up a rude entrenchment around his camp, and appoint a guard for the protection of the sick and wounded. On the succeeding day he crossed the Ohio with his army, and commenced his march through a trackless desert, for the Shawanoe towns on the Scioto. Governor Dunmore, having determined to make peace with the Indians, sent an express to general Lewis, ordering him to retreat across the Ohio. The order was disregarded, and the march continued until the governor in person, met the general and peremptorily repeated it. General Lewis and his troops, burning with a desire of avenging the Indian massacres, and the loss of their brave companions in the late battle, reluctantly obeyed the command of Dunmore; and turned their faces homewards. When the governor and his officers had returned to their camp, on the following day, the treaty with the Indians was opened. For fear of treachery, only eighteen Indians were permitted to attend their chiefs within the encampment, and they were required to leave their arms behind them. The conference was commenced by Cornstalk, in a long, bold and spirited speech, in which the white people were charged with being the authors of the war, by their aggressions upon the Indians at Captina and Yellow creek. Logan, the celebrated Mingo chief, refused to attend, although willing to make peace. His influence with the Indians made it important to secure his concurrence in the proposed treaty. Dunmore sent a special messenger, (colonel John Gibson,) to him. They met alone in the woods, where Logan delivered to him his celebrated speech. Colonel Gibson wrote it down, returned to Dunmore's camp, read the speech in the council, and the terms of the peace were then agreed on. What those terms were, is not fully known. No copy of the treaty can now be found, although diligent enquiry has been made for it. Burk, in his History of Virginia, says, that the peace was on "condition that the lands on _this side of the Ohio_ should be for ever ceded to the whites; that their prisoners should be delivered up, and that four hostages should be immediately given for the faithful performance of these conditions." Campbell, in his History of Virginia, says, the Indians "agreed to give up their lands on this side of the Ohio, and set at liberty their prisoners." Butler, in his History of Kentucky, remarks that, "such a treaty appears at this day, to be utterly beyond the advantages which could have been claimed from Dunmore's expedition?" This is undoubtedly a reasonable conclusion. The statement in Doddridge, that "on our part we obtained at the treaty a cessation of hostilities and a surrender of prisoners, and nothing more," is most probably the true version of the terms of this peace. If an important grant of land had been obtained by this treaty, copies of it would have been preserved in the public archives, and references in subsequent treaties, would have been made to it; but such seems not to have been the case. The conclusion most be, that it was only a treaty for the cessation of hostilities and the surrender of prisoners. [Footnote A: Doddridge's Indian Wars.] There have been various speculations as to the causes which induced governor Dunmore to order the retreat of the army under general Lewis, before the treaty was concluded. However desirous of a peace, the presence of an additional force would only have rendered that result more certain. It was believed by some of the officers of the army, and the opinion has been held by several writers since, that after governor Dunmore started on this expedition, he was advised of the strong probability of a war between Great Britain and her colonies; and that all his subsequent measures were shaped with a reference to making the Indians the allies of England in the expected contest. On this supposition, his conduct in not joining general Lewis at the mouth of the Kanawha, in risking his own detachment in the enemy's country, and in positively forbidding the other wing of the army from uniting with his, at camp Charlotte, has been explained. There are certainly plausible grounds for believing that governor Dunmore at this time, had more at heart the interests of Great Britain than of the colonies. Soon after the conclusion of this war, the Shawanoes, with other tribes of the north-western Indians, took part with England in the war with the colonies; nor did the peace of 1783 put an end to these hostilities. The settlement of the valley of the Ohio by the whites, was boldly and perseveringly resisted; nor was the tomahawk buried by the Indians, until after the decisive battle at the rapids of the Miami of the lakes, on the 20th of August, 1794. The proximity of the Shawanoe towns to the Ohio river--the great highway of emigration to the west--and the facility with which the infant settlements in Kentucky could be reached, rendered this warlike tribe an annoying and dangerous neighbor. Led on by some daring chiefs; fighting for their favorite hunting-grounds, and stimulated to action by British agents, the Shawanoes, for a series of years, pressed sorely upon the new settlements; and are supposed to have caused the destruction of more property and a greater number of lives, than all the other tribes of the north-west united. They participated in most of the predatory excursions into Kentucky. They were present at the celebrated attack on Bryant's station; they fought with their characteristic bravery in the battle of the Blue Licks, and participated in colonel Byrd's hostile excursion up Licking river, and the destruction of Martin's and Riddle's stations. In turn, they were compelled to stand on the defensive, and to encounter the gallant Kentuckians on the north side of the Ohio. Bowman's expedition in 1779, to the waters of Mad river; Clark's in 1780 and 1782, and Logan's in 1786, to the same point; Edwards' in 1787, to the head waters of the Big Miami; and Todd's in 1788, into the Scioto valley--not to name several minor ones--were chiefly directed against the Shawanoes; and resulted in the destruction of two or three of their principal villages, but not without a fierce and bloody resistance. The Shawanoes were likewise found in hostility to the United States, in the campaigns of Harmar, St. Clair and Wayne. They united in the treaty of Greenville, in 1795; and with the exception of a few who fought at Tippecanoe, remained at peace with this government until the war with Great Britain, in 1812, in which a considerable body of them became the allies of the latter power. Some of the tribe, however, remained neutral in that contest, and others joined the United States, and continued faithful until the peace of 1815. WEYAPIERSENWAH, OR BLUE JACKET. In the campaign of general Harmar, in the year 1790, Blue Jacket--an influential Shawanoe chief--was associated with the Miami chief, Little Turtle, in the command of the Indians. In the battle of the 20th of August 1794, when the combined army of the Indians was defeated by general Wayne, Blue Jacket had the chief control. The flight previous to the battle, while the Indians were posted at Presque Isle, a council was held, composed of chiefs from the Miamis, Potawatimies, Delawares, Shawanoes, Chippewas, Ottawas and Senecas--the seven nations engaged in the action. They decided against the proposition to attack general Wayne that night in his encampment. The expediency of meeting him the next day then came up for consideration. Little Turtle was opposed to this measure, but being warmly supported by Blue Jacket, it was finally agreed upon. The former was strongly inclined to peace, and decidedly opposed to risking a battle under the circumstances in which the Indians were then placed. "We have beaten the enemy," said he, "twice, under separate commanders. We cannot expect the same good fortune always to attend us. The Americans are now led by a chief who never sleeps. The night and the day are alike to him; and, during all the time that he has been marching upon our villages, notwithstanding the watchfulness of our young men, we have never been able to surprise him. Think well of it. There is something whispers me, it would be prudent to listen to his offers of peace." The councils of Blue Jacket, however, prevailed over the better judgment of Little Turtle. The battle was fought and the Indians defeated. In the month of October following this defeat, Blue Jacket concurred in the expediency of sueing for peace, and at the head of a deputation of chiefs, was about to bear a flag to general Wayne, then at Greenville, when the mission was arrested by foreign influence. Governor Simcoe, colonel McKee and the Mohawk chief, captain John Brant, having in charge one hundred and fifty Mohawks and Messasagoes, arrived at the rapids of the Maumee, and invited the chiefs of the combined army to meet them at the mouth of the Detroit river, on the 10th of October. To this Blue Jacket assented, for the purpose of hearing what the British officers had to propose. Governor Simcoe urged the Indians to retain their hostile attitude towards the United States. In referring to the encroachments of the people of this country on the Indian lands, he said, "Children: I am still of the opinion that the Ohio is your right and title. I have given orders to the commandant of fort Miami to fire on the Americans whenever they make their appearance again. I will go down to Quebec, and lay your grievances before the great man. From thence they will be forwarded to the king, your father. Next spring you will know the result of every thing what you and I will do." He urged the Indians to obtain a cessation of hostilities, until the following spring, when the English would be ready to attack the Americans, and by driving them back across the Ohio, restore their lands to the Indians.[A] These counsels delayed the conclusion of peace until the following summer. [Footnote A: Amer. State Papers, vol. 5, p. 529. Stone's Life of Brant, vol. 2, p.392.] Blue Jacket was present at the treaty of Greenville in 1795, and conducted himself with moderation and dignity. Upon his arrival at that place, in excuse for not having met general Wayne at an earlier period, he said, "Brother, when I came here last winter, I did not mean to deceive you. What I promised you I did intend to perform. My wish to conclude a firm peace with you being sincere, my uneasiness has been great that my people have not come forward so soon as you could wish, or might expect. But you must not be discouraged by these unfavorable appearances. Some of our chiefs and warriors are here; more will arrive in a few days. You must not, however, expect to see a great number. Yet, notwithstanding, our nation will be well represented. Our hearts are open and void of deceit." On the second day of the council, Blue Jacket made a remark, showing the relation subsisting between the Shawanoes and some other tribes, to which allusion has been made already. "Brothers: I hope you will not take amiss my changing my seat in this council. You all know the Wyandots are our uncles, and the Delawares our grandfathers, and that the Shawanoes are the elder brothers of the other nations present. It is, therefore, proper that I should sit next my grandfathers and uncles. I hope, younger brothers, you are all satisfied with what your uncles said yesterday, and that I have done every thing in my power to advise and support you." At the conclusion of the treaty Blue Jacket rose and said: "Elder Brother, and you, my brothers, present: you see me now present myself as a war-chief to lay down that commission, and place myself in the rear of my village chiefs, who for the future will command me. Remember, brother's, you have all buried your war hatchet. Your brothers, the Shawanoes, now do the same good act. We must think of war no more. "Elder Brother: you see now all the chiefs and warriors around you, have joined in the good work of peace, which is now accomplished. We now request you to inform our elder brother, general Washington, of it; and of the cheerful unanimity which has marked their determination. We wish you to enquire of him if it would be agreeable that two chiefs from each nation should pay him a visit, and take him by the hand; for your younger brothers have a strong desire to see that great man and to enjoy the pleasure of conversing with him." We are indebted to major Galloway of Xenia, for the following anecdote of this chief: "In the spring of 1800, Blue Jacket and another chief, whose name I have forgotten, boarded for several weeks at my father's, in Green county, at the expense of a company of Kentuckians, who engaged Blue Jacket, for a valuable consideration, to show them a great silver mine, which tradition said was known to the Indians, as existing on Red river, one of the head branches of the Kentucky. A Mr. Jonathan Flack, agent of this company, had previously spent several months among the Shawanoes, at their towns and hunting camps, in order to induce this chief to show this great treasure. At the time agreed on, ten or twelve of the company came from Kentucky to meet Blue Jacket at my father's, where a day or two was spent in settling the terms upon which he would accompany them; the crafty chief taking his own time to deliberate on the offers made him, and rising in his demands in proportion to their growing eagerness to possess the knowledge which was to bring untold wealth to all the company. At length the bargain was made; horses, goods and money were given as presents, and the two chiefs with their squaws, were escorted in triumph to Kentucky, where they were feasted and caressed in the most flattering manner, and all their wants anticipated and liberally supplied. In due time and with all possible secrecy, they visited the region where this great mine was said to be emboweled in the earth. Here the wily Shawanoe spent some time in seclusion, in order to humble himself by fastings, purifications and _pow-wowings_, with a view to propitiate the Great Spirit; and to get His permission to disclose the grand secret of the mine. An equivocal answer was all the response that was given to him in his dreams; and, after many days of fruitless toil and careful research, the mine, the great object so devoutly sought and wished for, could not be found. The cunning Blue Jacket, however, extricated himself with much address from the anticipated vengeance of the disappointed worshippers of Plutus, by charging his want of success to his eyes, which were dimmed by reason of his old age; and by promising to send his son on his return home, whose eyes were young and good, and who knew the desired spot and would show it. The son, however, never visited the scene of his father's failure; and thus ended the adventures of the celebrated mining company of Kentucky." CATAHECASSA, OR BLACK-HOOF. Among the celebrated chiefs of the Shawanoes, Black Hoof is entitled to a high rank. He was born in Florida, and at the period of the removal of a portion of that tribe to Ohio and Pennsylvania, was old enough to recollect having bathed in the salt water. He was present with others of his tribe, at the defeat of Braddock, near Pittsburg, in 1755, and was engaged in all the wars in Ohio from that time until the treaty of Greenville, in 1795. Such was the sagacity of Black Hoof in planning his military expeditions, and such the energy with which he executed them, that he won the confidence of his whole nation, and was never at a loss for _braves_ to fight under his banner. "He was known far and wide, as the great Shawanoe warrior, whose cunning, sagacity and experience were only equalled by the fierce and desperate bravery with which he carried into operation his military plans. Like the other Shawanoe chiefs, he was the inveterate foe of the white man, and held that no peace should be made, nor any negotiation attempted, except on the condition that the whites should repass the mountains, and leave the great plains of the west to the sole occupancy of the native tribes. "He was the orator of his tribe during the greater part of his long life, and was an excellent speaker. The venerable colonel Johnston of Piqua, to whom we are indebted for much valuable information, describes him as the most graceful Indian he had ever seen, and as possessing the most natural and happy faculty of expressing his ideas. He was well versed in the traditions of his people; no one understood better their peculiar relations to the whites, whose settlements were gradually encroaching on them, or could detail with more minuteness the wrongs with which his nation was afflicted. But although a stern and uncompromising opposition to the whites had marked his policy through a series of forty years, and nerved his arm in a hundred battles, he became at length convinced of the madness of an ineffectual struggle against a vastly superior and hourly increasing foe. No sooner had he satisfied himself of this truth, than he acted upon it with the decision which formed a prominent trait in his character. The temporary success of the Indians in several engagements previous to the campaign of general Wayne, had kept alive their expiring hopes; but their signal defeat by that gallant officer, convinced the more reflecting of their leaders of the desperate character of the conflict. Black Hoof was among those who decided upon making terms with the victorious American commander; and having signed the treaty of 1795, at Greenville, he continued faithful to his stipulations during the remainder of his life. From that day he ceased to be the enemy of the white man; and as he was not one who could act a negative part, he became the firm ally and friend of those against whom his tomahawk had been so long raised in vindictive animosity. He was their friend, not from sympathy or conviction, but in obedience to a necessity which left no middle course, and under a belief that submission alone could save his tribe from destruction; and having adopted this policy, his sagacity and sense of honor, alike forbade a recurrence either to open war or secret hostility. "Black Hoof was the principal chief of the Shawanoe nation, and possessed all the influence and authority which are usually attached to that office, at the period when Tecumseh and his brother the Prophet commenced their hostile operations against the United States. Tecumseh had never been reconciled to the whites. As sagacious and as brave as Black Hoof, and resembling him in all the better traits of savage character, he differed widely from that respectable chief in his political opinions. They were both patriotic in the proper sense of the word, and earnestly desired to preserve the remnant of their tribe from the destruction that threatened the whole Indian race. Black Hoof, whose long and victorious career as a warrior placed his courage far above suspicion, submitted to what he believed inevitable, and endeavoured to evade the effects of the storm by bending beneath its fury; while Tecumseh, a younger man, an influential warrior, but not a chief, with motives equally public spirited, was, no doubt, unconsciously biassed by personal ambition, and suffered his hatred to the white man to master every other feeling and consideration. The one was a leader of ripened fame, who had reached the highest place in his nation, and could afford to retire from the active scenes of warfare; the other was a candidate for higher honors than he had yet achieved; and both might have been actuated by a common impulse of rivalry, which induced them to espouse different opinions in opposition to each other."[A] [Footnote A: History of the Indian Tribes of N. America.] When Tecumseh and the Prophet embarked in their scheme for the recovery of the lands as far south as the Ohio river, it became their interest as well as policy to enlist Black Hoof in the enterprise; and every effort which the genius of the one and the cunning of the other, could devise, was brought to bear upon him. But Black Hoof continued faithful to the treaty which he had signed at Greenville, in 1795, and by prudence and influence kept the greater part of his tribe from joining the standard of Tecumseh or engaging on the side of the British in the late war with England. In that contest he became the ally of the United States, and although he took no active part in it, he exerted a very salutary influence over his tribe. In January, 1813, he visited general Tapper's camp, at fort McArthur, and while there, about ten o'clock one night, when sitting by the fire in company with the general and several other officers, some one fired a pistol through a hole in the wall of the hut, and shot Black Hoof in the face: the ball entered the cheek, glanced against the bone, and finally lodged in his neck: he fell, and for some time was supposed to be dead, but revived, and afterwards recovered from this severe wound. The most prompt and diligent enquiry as to the author of this cruel and dastardly act, failed to lead to his detection. No doubt was entertained that this attempt at assassination was made by a white man, stimulated perhaps by no better excuse than the memory of some actual or ideal wrong, inflicted on some of his own race by an unknown hand of kindred colour with that of his intended victim.[A] [Footnote A: James Galloway.] Black Hoof was opposed to polygamy, and to the practice of burning prisoners. He is reported to have lived forty years with one wife, and to have reared a numerous family of children, who both loved and esteemed him. His disposition was cheerful, and his conversation sprightly and agreeable. In stature he was small, being not more than five feet eight inches in height. He was favored with good health, and unimpaired eye sight to the period of his death, which occurred at Wapakonatta, in the year 1831, at the age of one hundred and ten years. CORNSTALK. The reader of these pages is already familiar with the name of Cornstalk, "the mighty Cornstalk, sachem of the Shawanoes, and king of the Northern Confederacy." His conduct in the memorable battle of Point Pleasant establishes his fame as an able and gallant warrior. He carried into that action the skill of an accomplished general, and the heroism of a dauntless brave. Neither a thirst for blood, nor the love of renown, ever prompted him to arms. He was the open advocate for honorable peace--the avowed and devoted friend of the whites. But he loved his own people and the hunting grounds in which they roamed; and, when his country's wrongs demanded redress, he became the "thunderbolt of war," and avenged the aggressions upon his tribe with energy and power. He fought, however, that peace might reign; and, after the battle in which he so highly distinguished himself, was the first among his associated chiefs to propose a cessation of hostilities. While he mourned over the inevitable doom of the Indians, he had the sagacity to perceive that all efforts to avert it, were not only useless, but, in the end, reacted upon them with withering influence. He has been justly called a great and a good man. He was the zealous friend of the Moravian missions; and warmly encouraged every effort to ameliorate the moral and physical condition of his people. "His noble bearing," says Mr. Withers, "his generous and disinterested attachment to the colonies, when the thunder of British cannon was reverberating through the land, his anxiety to preserve the frontier of Virginia from desolation and death, (the object of his visit to Point Pleasant,) all conspired to win for him the esteem and respect of others; while the untimely and perfidious manner of his death, caused a deep and lasting regret to pervade the bosoms even of those who were enemies to his nation; and excited the just indignation of all towards his inhuman and barbarous murderers." The strong native powers of his mind had been more enriched by observation, travel and intercourse with the whites, than is usual among the Indian chiefs. He was familiarly acquainted with the topography and geography of the north-west, even beyond the Mississippi river, and possessed an accurate knowledge of the various treaties between the whites and the Indian tribes of this region, and the relative rights of each party. At the treaty with Dunmore, he made a speech alike creditable to his love of country and his sense of justice. He pourtrayed, in living colors, the wrongs inflicted upon the Indians by the colonists, and placed in strong contrast the former and present condition of his nation, the one being happy and prosperous, the other degraded and oppressed. He spoke in a strain of manly boldness of the repeated perfidy of the white people; and especially, of the unblushing dishonesty of the traders; and, finally concluded by proposing as one of the fundamental provisions of the treaty, that no commerce with the Indians should be carried on for individual profit, but that honest men should be sent among them by their white brother, with such things as they needed, to be exchanged, at a fair price, for their skins and furs: and still further, that no "fire-water," of any kind, should be introduced among them, inasmuch as it depraved his people and stimulated them to aggressions upon their white brethren. As an orator, the fame of Cornstalk stands high. Colonel Benjamin Wilson, an officer in Dunmore's campaign, in 1774, who was present at the interview (at camp Charlotte) between the chiefs and the governor, in speaking of Cornstalk, says, "when he arose, he was in no wise confused or daunted, but spoke in a distinct and audible voice, without stammering or repetition, and with peculiar emphasis. His looks, while addressing Dunmore, were truly grand and majestic, yet graceful and attractive. I have heard the first orators in Virginia,--Patrick Henry and Richard Henry Lee,--but never have I heard one whose powers of delivery surpassed those of Cornstalk." The treaty at camp Charlotte did not bring much repose to the frontier. In the course of the two years succeeding it, new difficulties arose between the Indians and the inhabitants of western Virginia. Early in the spring of 1777, several tribes joined in an offensive alliance against the latter. Cornstalk exerted all his influence to arrest it, but in vain. Sincerely desirous of averting war, he resolved to communicate this condition of affairs to the Virginians, in the hope that they might dissipate the impending war-cloud. This information he determined to give in person. Taking with him Red Hawk, and one other Indian, he went secretly to the fort at Point Pleasant, with a flag of peace, and presented himself to the commander of that post. After stating to him the object of the mission, and fully explaining the situation of the confederate tribes and their contemplated attack upon the whites, he remarked, in regard to his own, "the current sets (with the Indians,) so strong against the Americans, in consequence of the agency of the British, that they (the Shawanoes) will float with it, I fear, in spite of all my exertions." No sooner had this information been given to the commander, captain Matthew Arbuckle, than he decided, in violation of all good faith, to detain the two chiefs as hostages, to prevent the meditated attack on the settlements. This he did; and immediately gave information to the executive of Virginia, who ordered additional troops to the frontier. In the mean time, the officers in the fort held frequent conversations with Cornstalk, whose intelligence equally surprised and pleased them. He took pleasure in giving them minute descriptions of his country, its rivers, prairies and lakes, its game and other productions. One day, as he was drawing a rude map on the floor, for the gratification of those present, a call was heard from the opposite shore of the Ohio, which he at once recognized as the voice of his favorite son, Elenipsico, a noble minded youth, who had fought by his father's side in the battle of Point Pleasant. At the request of Cornstalk, Elenipsico crossed over the river, and joined him in the fort, where they had an affectionate and touching meeting. The son had become uneasy at his father's long absence; and regardless of danger, had visited this place in search of him. It happened on the following day that two white men, belonging to the fort, crossed over the Kanawha, upon a hunting excursion; as they were returning to their boat, they were fired upon by some Indians in ambush, and one of the hunters, named Gilmore, was killed, the other making his escape. The news of this murder having reached the fort, a party of captain Hall's men crossed the river and brought in the body of Gilmore; whereupon the cry was raised, "let us go and kill the Indians in the fort." An infuriated gang, with captain Hall at their head, instantly started, and in despite of all remonstrance, and the most solemn assurances that the murderers of Gilmore had no connection whatever with the imprisoned chiefs, they persisted in their cruel and bloody purpose, swearing, with guns in their hands, that they would shoot any one who attempted to oppose them. In the mean time, the interpreter's wife, who had been a captive among the Indians, and had a feeling of regard for Cornstalk and his companions, perceiving their danger, ran to the cabin to tell them of it; and to let them know that Hall and his party charged Elenipsico with having brought with him the Indians who had killed Gilmore. This, however, the youthful chief denied most positively, asserting that he came unattended by any one, and for the single purpose of learning the fate of his father. At this time captain Hall and his followers, in despite of the remonstance and command of captain Arbuckle, were approaching the cabin of the prisoners. For a moment, Elenipsico manifested some agitation. His father spoke and encouraged him to be calm, saying, "my son, the Great Spirit has seen fit that we should die together, and has sent you here to that end. It is his will, and let us submit; it is all for the best;" and turning round to meet the assassins at the door, was shot with seven bullets, and expired without a groan. The momentary agitation of Elenipsico passed off, and keeping his seat, he met his death with stern and heroic apathy. Red Hawk manifested less resolution, and made a fruitless effort to conceal himself in the chimney of the cabin. He was discovered and instantly shot. The fourth Indian was then slowly and cruelly put to death. Thus terminated this dark and fearful tragedy--leaving a foul blot on the page of history, which all the waters of the beautiful Ohio, on whose banks it was perpetrated, can never wash out, and the remembrance of which will long outlive the heroic and hapless nation which gave birth to the noble Cornstalk. SPEMICA-LAWBA--THE HIGH HORN, generally known as CAPTAIN LOGAN In September, 1786, captain Benjamin Logan, of Kentucky, led an expedition of mounted men from that state against the Shawanoes, on the north side of the Ohio, and destroyed the Machachac towns on the waters of Mad river. Most of the warriors happened to be absent from the villages when the invading army reached them. About thirty persons were captured, chiefly women and children. After the slight resistance which was made by the Indians had ceased, captain Logan's men were both annoyed and endangered by some arrows, shot among them by an invisible but not unpractised hand. After considerable search, in the tall grass around the camp, an Indian youth was discovered, who with his bow and a quiver of arrows, had concealed himself in a position from which he could successfully throw his darts against the enemy: that intrepid boy was Logan, the subject of the present biographical sketch. He likewise was made prisoner, and with the others carried to Kentucky. The commander of the expedition was so much pleased with the bold conduct of this boy, that upon returning home, he made him a member of his own family, in which he resided some years, until at length, at a council for the exchange of prisoners, held on the bank of the Ohio, opposite to Maysville, between some Shawanoe chiefs and a deputation of citizens from Kentucky, our young hero was permitted to return to his native land. He was ever afterwards known by the name of Logan. Of the family of this distinguished individual, we have been enabled to glean but few particulars. In M'Afee's History of the Late War, and in Butler's History of Kentucky, he is represented to have been the son of Tecumseh's sister: this is manifestly an error; there was no relationship between them, either by blood or marriage. Logan was a member of the Machachac tribe of the Shawanoes, and was elevated to the rank of a civil chief on account of his many estimable qualities, both intellectual and moral. He was a married man, and left behind him a wife and several children--requesting on his death bed that they might be sent into Kentucky, and placed under the patronage of his friend, colonel Hardin, who had married the daughter of his early patron, captain Logan. This, however, was not done, owing to objections interposed by the wife. The personal appearance of Logan was remarkably good, being six feet in height, finely formed and weighing near two hundred pounds. From the period of his residence in Kentucky, to that of his death, Logan was the unwavering friend of the United States. He was extensively and favorably known on the frontier of Ohio, and the Indiana territory; and, immediately after the declaration of war against England in 1812, he joined the American service. He acted as one of the guides of general Hull's army to Detroit; and, prior to the actual investment of fort Wayne,--an account of which will be presently given--he was employed by the Indian agent at Piqua, on an important and delicate mission. The Indians around fort Wayne were giving indications of a disposition to abandon their neutrality. This rendered it expedient that the women and children then at that point, should be removed within the inhabited portions of Ohio. John Johnston, the Indian agent at Piqua, knowing Logan intimately, and having great confidence in his judgment as well as his fidelity, selected him to perform this duty. He was accordingly furnished with a letter to the commandant of that fort, in which assurances were given, that the persons about to be removed might confidently rely upon the discretion and enterprise of Logan. He proceeded on his mission, and executed it successfully: bringing into Piqua--near one hundred miles distant from fort Wayne--twenty-five women and children; the former, without an exception, bearing testimony to the uniform delicacy and kindness with which he treated them. Deeply impressed with the dangerous responsibility of the office he had assumed, he is said not to have slept from the time the party left fort Wayne, until it reached Piqua. We next hear of Logan, in connection with the memorable siege of fort Wayne. This post, which was erected in 1794, stood at the junction of the St. Joseph's and St. Mary's rivers, and, although not within the limits of Ohio, its preservation was all-important to the peace and safety of our north-western frontier. Having been built of wood, it was, in 1812, a pile of combustible matter. Immediately after the surrender of general Hull, in August, 1812, the Indians, to the number of four or five hundred, closely invested this place. The garrison at that time, including every description of persons, amounted to less than one hundred persons, of whom not more than sixty or seventy were capable of performing military duty. These were commanded by captain Rhea, an officer who, from several causes, was but ill qualified for the Station. His lieutenants were Philip Ostrander and Daniel Curtis, both of whom, throughout the siege, discharged their duty in a gallant manner. At the time of the investment of this place, there was a considerable body of Ohio troops in the neighborhood of Piqua. These had been ordered out by governor Meigs, for the relief of Detroit; but, upon hearing of the surrender of that place, their course was directed towards fort Wayne. They were, however, almost in a state of disorganization, and manifested but little ardor in entering upon this new duty. Perceiving this state of things, and aware that the fort was in imminent danger, a young man, now major William Oliver, of Cincinnati, determined upon making an effort to reach the garrison. Young Oliver was a resident of fort Wayne, and was on his return from a visit to Cincinnati when, at Piqua, he learned that the place was besieged. He immediately joined a rifle company of the Ohio militia; but seeing the tardy movements of the troops, in advancing to the relief of the fort, he resolved in the first place to return with all possible expedition, to Cincinnati, for the purpose of inducing colonel Wells, of the 17th U.S. infantry, to march his regiment to the relief of the fort; and, in the second place, to make an effort to reach it in person, that the garrison might be encouraged to hold out until reinforcements should arrive. When Oliver arrived in Cincinnati, he found that general Harrison had just crossed the Ohio, from Kentucky, and assumed the command of the troops composing the north-western army. He called upon the general, stated the condition of things on the frontier, and avowed his intention of passing into the fort in advance of the reinforcements. The general informed him that the troops then at Cincinnati would be put in motion that day, and marched with all practicable expedition to the invested point. This was on the 27th of August; on the 31st Oliver overtook the Ohio militia at the St. Mary's river. Here he learned that Adrian and Shane, two experienced scouts, had been sent in the direction of fort Wayne, and had returned with information that the hostile Indians were in great force on the route to that place. On the next day, general Thomas Worthington, of Chillicothe, who was then on the frontier as Indian commissioner, seeing the great importance of communicating with the garrison, determined to unite with Oliver in the attempt to reach it. These two enterprising individuals induced sixty-eight of the Ohio troops and sixteen Shawanoe Indians, among whom was Logan, to accompany them. They marched eighteen miles that day, and camped for the night at Shane's crossing. Next morning they again moved forward, but in the course of the day, some thirty-six of their party abandoned the hazardous enterprise, and returned to the main army. The remainder pursued their route, and encamped that evening within twenty-four miles of fort Wayne. As the party was not strong enough in its present condition to encounter the besieging enemy, general Worthington was very reluctantly induced to remain at this point, while Oliver, with Logan, captain Johnny and Brighthorn, should make an effort to reach the fort. Being well armed and mounted, they started at daybreak next morning upon this daring adventure. Proceeding with great caution, they came within five miles of the fort, before they observed any fresh Indian signs. At this point the keen eye of Logan discovered the cunning strategy of the enemy: for the purpose of concealing their bodies, they had dug holes on either side of the road, alternately, at such distances as to secure them from their own fire: these were intended for night watching, in order to cut off all communication with the fort. Here the party deemed it advisable to leave the main road, and strike across the country to the Maumee river, which was reached in safety at a point one and a half miles below the fort. Having tied their horses in a thicket, the party proceeded cautiously on foot, to ascertain whether our troops or the Indians were in possession of the fort. Having satisfied themselves on this point, they returned, remounted their horses, and taking the main road, moved rapidly to the fort. Upon reaching the gate of the esplanade, they found it locked, and were thus compelled to pass down the river bank, and then ascend it at the northern gate. They were favored in doing so by the withdrawal of the hostile Indians from this point, in carrying out a plan, then on the point of consummation, for taking the fort by an ingenious stratagem. For several days previous to this time, the hostile chiefs under a flag of truce, had been holding intercourse with the garrison; and had, it is supposed, discovered the unsoldier-like condition of the commander. They had accordingly arranged their warriors in a semicircle, on the west and south sides of the fort, and at no great distance from it. Five of the chiefs, under pretence of treating with the officers of the garrison, were to pass into the fort, and when in council were to assassinate the subaltern officers with pistols and knives, concealed under their blankets; and then to seize captain Rhea, who, in his trepidation, and under a promise of personal safety, would, they anticipated, order the gates of the fort to be thrown open for the admission of the besiegers. The plan, thus arranged, was in the act of being carried into execution at the moment when Oliver and his companions reached the gate. In speaking of the opportune approach of this party, lieutenant Curtis says, "the safe arrival of Mr. Oliver at that particular juncture, may justly be considered most miraculous. One hour sooner or one later, would no doubt have been inevitable destruction both to himself and escort: the parties of Indians who had been detached to guard the roads and passes in different directions, having all at that moment been called in, to aid in carrying the fort. It is generally believed by those acquainted with the circumstances, that not one hour, for eight days and nights preceding or following the hour in which Mr. Oliver arrived, would have afforded an opportunity of any probable safety." Winnemac, Five Medals, and three other hostile chiefs, bearing the flag under which they were to gain admittance to the fort to carry out their treacherous intentions, were surprised by suddenly meeting at the gate, Oliver and his companions. Coming from different directions and screened by the angles of the fort, the parties were not visible to each other until both were near the gate. On meeting, they shook hands, but it was apparent that Winnemac was greatly disconcerted; he immediately wheeled and returned to his camp, satisfied that this accession of strength to the garrison--the forerunner, in all probability, of a much larger force--had defeated his scheme. The others of his party entered the fort, and remained some little time, during which they were given to understand that Logan and his two Indian companions were to remain with the garrison. Oliver, in the mean time, having written a hasty letter, describing the condition of the fort, to general Worthington; and the Indians being equipped with new rifles from the public stores, they prepared to leave the fort without delay. Fortunately their movements were not observed by the enemy, until they had actually started from the garrison gate. They now put spurs to their horses and dashed off at full speed. The hostile Indians were instantly in motion to intercept them; the race was a severe and perilous one, but Logan and his companions cleared the enemy's line in safety, and this accomplished, his loud shout of triumph rose high in the air, and fell like music upon the ears of the beleaguered garrison. The party reached general Worthington's camp early the next morning, and delivered Oliver's letter to him. Notwithstanding the perilous condition of the garrison, however, the Ohio troops delayed moving for its relief, until they were overtaken by general Harrison, who, with his reinforcements, was unable to reach the fort until the twelfth. In the mean time the Indians kept up an incessant firing, day and night, upon the fort, killing on one occasion, two of the garrison who passed out of the gate on police duty. Several times the buildings of the fort were set on fire by the burning arrows which were shot upon them, but by the vigilance of the garrison in extinguishing the flames, a general conflagration was prevented. Some days after the arrival of Oliver, the Indians appeared to be making preparations for some uncommon movement, and one afternoon, just before night-fall, succeeded in getting possession of one of the trading houses standing near the fort. From this point they demanded a surrender of the garrison, under a promise of protection; and with a threat of extermination if they were compelled to carry the fort by storm: they alleged, further, that they had just been reinforced by a large number of warriors, some pieces of British cannon, and artillerists to man them. Their demand being promptly refused, they immediately closed in upon the fort, yelling hideously, firing their guns and also a couple of cannon. Every man in the fort capable of doing duty, now stood at his post, having several stands of loaded arms by his side. They were directed by the acting lieutenant, Curtis,[A] not to fire until the Indians had approached within twenty-five paces of the fort: the fire was at length opened upon the entire Indian lines, and in a manner so destructive, that in twenty minutes the enemy retreated with the loss of eighteen of their warriors, killed. It was discovered, subsequently, that the cannon used on this occasion by the Indians, had been made of wood by some British traders who were with them; one of the pieces burst upon the first, and the other on the second, fire. [Footnote A: Captain Rhea, by common consent, was suspended for incapacity, and lieutenant Ostrander was on the sick list.] The day before general Harrison reached this place, the Indians concentrated at a swamp, five miles south of the fort, for the purpose of giving him battle; but after reconnoitering his force, and finding it too strong for them, they fell back, passing by the fort in great disorder, in the hope, it is supposed, of drawing out the garrison, under a belief that they, (the Indians,) had been defeated by general Harrison's army. To promote this idea, they had, while lying at the swamp, kindled extensive fires, that the rising volume of smoke might be mistaken for that which usually overhangs the field of battle. This device proving unavailing, the Indians, after a vigorous investment, running through more than twenty days, withdrew forever from the siege of fort Wayne. The enterprise of young Oliver, just related, reflected the highest credit on his bravery and patriotism: being wholly voluntary on his part, the moral heroism of the act was only surpassed by its fortunate results; as it prevented, in all probability, the fall of an important frontier post, and saved its garrison from the tomahawk and scalping knife. So hazardous was the effort deemed, indeed, that experienced frontier's-men endeavored to dissuade him from the undertaking; and even Logan considered it one of great peril; but when once resolved upon, he gallantly incurred the hazard of the deed, and showed himself worthy of the trust reposed in him. In November of this year, general Harrison directed Logan to take a small party of his tribe, and reconnoitre the country in the direction of the Rapids of the Maumee. When near this point, they were met by a body of the enemy, superior to their own in number, and compelled to retreat. Logan, captain Johnny and Bright-horn, who composed the party, effected their escape, to the left wing of the army, then under the command of general Winchester, who was duly informed of the circumstances of their adventure. An officer of the Kentucky troops, general P., the second in command, without the slightest ground for such a charge, accused Logan of infidelity to our cause, and of giving intelligence to the enemy. Indignant at this foul accusation, the noble chief at once resolved to meet it in a manner that would leave no doubt as to his faithfulness to the United States. He called on his friend Oliver, and having told him of the imputation that had been cast upon his reputation, said that he would start from the camp next morning, and either leave his body bleaching in the woods, or return with such trophies from the enemy, as would relieve his character from the suspicion that had been wantonly cast upon it by an American officer. Accordingly, on the morning of the 22d he started down the Maumee, attended by his two faithful companions, captain Johnny and Bright-horn. About noon, having stopped for the purpose of taking rest, they were suddenly surprised by a party of seven of the enemy, amongst whom were young Elliott, a half-breed, holding a commission in the British service, and the celebrated Potawatamie chief, Winnemac. Logan made no resistance, but with great presence of mind, extending his hand to Winnemac, who was an old acquaintance, proceeded to inform him, that he and his two companions, tired of the American service, were just leaving general Winchester's army, for the purpose of joining the British. Winnemac, being familiar with Indian strategy, was not satisfied with this declaration, but proceeded to disarm Logan and his comrades, and placing his party around them, so as to prevent their escape, started for the British camp at the foot of the Rapids. In the course of the afternoon, Logan's address was such as to inspire confidence in his sincerity, and induce Winnemac to restore to him and his companions their arms. Logan now formed the plan of attacking his captors on the first favorable opportunity; and whilst marching along, succeeded in communicating the substance of it to captain Johnny and Bright-horn. Their guns being already loaded, they had little further preparation to make, than to put bullets into their mouths, to facilitate the reloading of their arms. In carrying on this process, captain Johnny, as he afterwards related, fearing that the man marching by his side had observed the operation, adroitly did away the impression by remarking, "me chaw heap tobac." The evening being now at hand, the British Indians determined to encamp on the bank of Turkeyfoot creek, about twenty miles from fort Winchester. Confiding in the idea that Logan had really deserted the American service, a part of his captors rambled around the place of their encampment, in search of blackhaws. They were no sooner out of sight, than Logan gave the signal of attack upon those who remained behind; they fired and two of the enemy fell dead--the third, being only wounded, required a second shot to despatch him; and in the mean time, the remainder of the party, who were near by, returned the fire, and all of them "treed." There being four of the enemy, and only three of Logan's party, the latter could not watch all the movements of their antagonists. Thus circumstanced, and during an active fight, the fourth man of the enemy passed round until Logan was uncovered by his tree, and shot him through the body. By this time Logan's party had wounded two of the surviving four, which caused them to fall back. Taking advantage of this state of things, captain Johnny mounted Logan--now suffering the pain of a mortal wound--and Bright-horn--also wounded--on two of the enemy's horses, and started them for Winchester's camp, which they reached about midnight. Captain Johnny, having already secured the scalp of Winnemac, followed immediately on foot, and gained the same point early on the following morning. It was subsequently ascertained that the two Indians of the British party, who were last wounded, died of their wounds, making in all five out of the seven, who were slain by Logan and his companions. When the news of this gallant affair had spread through the camp, and especially after it was known that Logan was mortally wounded, it created a deep and mournful sensation. No one, it is believed, more deeply regretted the fatal catastrophe, than the author of the charge upon Logan's integrity, which had led to this unhappy result. Logan's popularity was very great; indeed he was almost universally esteemed in the army, for his fidelity to our cause, his unquestioned bravery, and the nobleness of his nature. He lived two or three days after reaching the camp, but in extreme bodily agony; he was buried by the officers of the army, at fort Winchester, with the honors of war. Previous to his death, he related the particulars of this fatal enterprise to his friend Oliver, declaring to him that he prized his honor more than life; and, having now vindicated his reputation from the imputation cast upon it, he died satisfied. In the course of this interview, and while writhing with pain, he was observed to smile; upon being questioned as to the cause, he replied, that when he recalled to his mind the manner in which captain Johnny took off the scalp of Winnemac, while at the same time dexterously watching the movements of the enemy, he could not refrain from laughing--an incident in savage life, which shows the "ruling passion strong in death." It would perhaps be difficult in the history of savage warfare, to point out an enterprise the execution of which reflects higher credit upon the address and daring conduct of its authors, than this does upon Logan and his two companions. Indeed a spirit even less indomitable, a sense of honor less acute, and a patriotic devotion to a good cause less active, than were manifested by this gallant chieftain of the woods, might, under other circumstances, have well conferred immortality upon his name. The Shawanoe nation has produced a number of distinguished individuals, besides those who have been noticed in this brief sketch of that people. The plan of our work does not permit a more extended enumeration of them. When a full and faithful history of this tribe shall be written, it will be found, we think, that no tribe of aborigines on this continent, has given birth to so many men, remarkable for their talents, energy of character, and military prowess, as the Shawanoe. Under a treaty held at the rapids of the Miami of the lakes, in 1817, by Duncan McArthur and Lewis Cass, commissioners on the part of the United States, for extinguishing Indian titles to lands in Ohio, the Shawanoes ceded to the government the principal portion of their lands within the limits of this state. After this period they resided principally on the reserve made by them at and around Wapakanotta, on the Auglaize river. Here the greater part of them remained, until within a few years past, when, yielding to the pressing appeals of the government, they sold their reserved lands to the United States, and removed west of the Mississippi. For a number of years prior to their final departure from Ohio, the society of Friends, with their characteristic philanthropy towards the Indians, maintained a mission at Wapakanotta, for the purpose of giving instruction to the Shawanoe children, and inducing the adults to turn their attention to agricultural pursuits. Notwithstanding the wandering and warlike character of this tribe, such was the success attending this effort of active benevolence, that the Friends composing the Yearly Meetings of Baltimore, Ohio and Indiana, still continue a similar agency among the Shawanoes, although they are now the occupants of the territory lying beyond the distant Arkansas. Whether the new position west of the Mississippi, in which the Indian tribes have been placed, will tend to promote their civilization, arrest their deterioration in morals, or their decline in numbers, we think extremely problematical. Should such, however, be the happy result, it may be anticipated that the tribe which has produced a Logan, a Cornstalk and a Tecumseh, will be among the first to rise above the moral degradation in which it is shrouded, and foremost to exhibit the renovating influences of Christian civilization. THE LIFE OF TECUMSEH. CHAPTER I. Parentage of Tecumseh--his sister Tecumapease--his brothers Cheeseekau, Sauweeseekau, Nehasseemo, Tenskwautawa or the Prophet, and Kumskaukau. There are not wanting authorities for the assertion that both the Anglo-Saxon and Creek blood ran in the veins of TECUMSEH.[A] It has been stated that his paternal grandfather was a white man, and that his mother was a Creek. The better opinion, however, seems to be, that he was wholly a Shawanoe. On this point we have the concurrent authority of John Johnston, late Indian agent at Piqua; and of Stephen Ruddell, formerly of Kentucky, who for near twenty years was a prisoner among the Shawanoes. They both possessed ample opportunities for ascertaining the fact, and unite in asserting that Puckeshinwa, the father of Tecumseh, was a member of the Kiscopoke, and Methoataske, the mother, of the Turtle tribe of the Shawanoe nation. [Footnote A: The Indian orthography of this name is Tecumthà, but the public have been so long under a different impression, that no attempt has been made in this work to restore the original reading.] The parents of Tecumseh removed from Florida to the north side of the Ohio, about the middle of the eighteenth century. The father rose to the rank of a chief, and fell in the celebrated battle of the Kanawha, in 1774, leaving six sons and one daughter. Of these, one or two were born at the south, the others within what now constitutes the state of Ohio. They will be briefly noticed in the order of their birth. Cheeseekau, the eldest, is represented to have taken great pains with his brother Tecumseh, laboring not only to make him a distinguished warrior, but to instil into his mind a love of truth, and a contempt for every thing mean and sordid. Cheeseekau fought by the side of his father in the battle of Kanawha; and, some years afterwards, led a small band of Shawanoes on a predatory expedition to the south, Tecumseh being one of the party. While there, they joined some Cherokees, in an attack upon a fort, garrisoned by white men. A day or two before the attack, Cheeseekau made a speech to his followers, and predicted that at such an hour, on a certain morning, they would reach the fort, and that he should be shot in the forehead and killed; but that the fort would be taken, if the party persevered in the assault, which he urged them to do. An effort was made by his followers to induce him to turn back, but he refused. The attack took place at the time predicted, and Cheeseekau fell. His last words expressed the joy he felt at dying in battle; he did not wish, he said, to be buried at home, like an old woman, but preferred that the fowls of the air should pick his bones. The fall of their leader created a panic among the assaulting party, and they suddenly retreated.[A] [Footnote A: Stephen Ruddell's manuscript narrative.] Tecumapease, known also by the name of Menewaulakoosee, was a sister worthy of her distinguished brother Tecumseh, with whom, up to the period of his death, she was a great favorite. Sensible, kind hearted, and uniformly exemplary in her conduct, she obtained and exercised a remarkable degree of influence over the females of her tribe. She was united in marriage to a _brave_, called Wasegoboah, (stand firm,) who fell in the battle of the Thames, fighting courageously by the side of his brother-in-law, Tecumseh. In 1814, Tecumapease visited Quebec, in company with some other members of her tribe, from whence, after the close of the war between this country and England, she returned to the neighborhood of Detroit, where, not long afterwards, she died. Tecumseh is represented to have entertained for her a warm affection, and to have treated her, uniformly, with respect. He was in the habit of making her many valuable presents. Sauwaseekau, is supposed to have been born while his parents were removing from the south to the Ohio. Concerning him few particulars have been preserved. He stood well as a warrior, and was killed in battle during Wayne's campaign in 1794. The fourth child, TECUMSEH, or the Shooting Star, is the subject of this biography. Of the fifth, Nehaseemo, no information has been obtained. The two remaining children, Laulewasikaw, called after he became a prophet Tenskwautawa, and Kumskaukau, were twins. Such is understood to have been the statement of the former, in giving the family pedigree. Other authorities[A] say that Tecumseh, Laulewasikaw, and Kumskaukau were all three born at the same time. The last named lived to be an old man, and died without distinction. [Footnote A: John Johnston and Anthony Shane.] Laulewasikaw, as will appear in the course of this work, lived to attain an extraordinary degree of notoriety. He became, under the influence of his brother Tecumseh, a powerful agent in arousing the superstitious feelings of the north-western Indians, in that memorable period of their history, between the year 1805, and the battle of Tippecanoe, in 1811, which dissolved, in a great measure, the charm by which he had successfully played upon their passions and excited them to action. The character and prophetical career of this individual will necessarily be fully displayed in the progress of this work. There is, however, one trait of his character which may be appropriately mentioned in this place--his disposition to boast, not only of his own standing and importance, but also of the rank and respectability of the family to which he belonged. As an instance of this peculiarity, and of his tact in telling a plausible tale, the following narration may be cited. It is an ingenious mixture of truth and fiction; and was written down by the gentleman to whom it was related by Laulewasikaw. The language is that of the individual to whom the narrative was made. "His paternal grandfather, (according to his statement of the family pedigree) was a Creek, who, at a period which is not defined in the manuscript before us, went to one of the southern cities, either Savannah or Charleston, to hold a council with the English governor, whose daughter was present at some of the interviews. This young lady had conceived a violent admiration for the Indian character; and, having determined to bestow herself upon some 'warlike lord' of the forest, she took this occasion to communicate her partiality to her father. The next morning, in the council, the governor enquired of the Indians which of them was the most expert hunter; and the grandfather of Tecumseh, then a young and handsome man, who sat modestly in a retired part of the room, was pointed out to him. When the council broke up for the day, the governor asked his daughter if she was really so partial to the Indians, as to prefer selecting a husband from them, and finding that she persisted in this singular predilection, he directed her attention to the young Creek warrior, for whom, at first sight, she avowed a decided attachment. On the following morning the governor announced to the Creeks that his daughter was disposed to marry one of their number; and, having pointed out the individual, added, that his own consent would be given. The chiefs at first very naturally doubted whether the governor was in earnest; but upon assuring them that he was sincere, they advised the young man to embrace the lady and her offer. He was not so ungallant as to refuse; and having consented to the fortune that was thus buckled on him, was immediately taken to another apartment, where he was disrobed of his Indian costume by a train of black servants, washed, and clad in a new suit, and the marriage ceremony was immediately performed. "At the close of the council the Creeks returned home, but the young hunter remained with his wife. He amused himself in hunting, in which he was very successful, and was accustomed to take a couple of black servants with him, who seldom failed to bring in large quantities of game. He lived among the whites until his wife had borne him two daughters and a son. Upon the birth of the latter, the governor went to see his grandson, and was so well pleased, that he called his friends together, and caused thirty guns to be fired. When the boy was seven or eight years old his father died, and the governor took charge of the child, who was often visited by the Creeks. At the age of ten or twelve, he was permitted to accompany the Indians to their nation, where he spent some time; and two years after, he again made a long visit to the Creeks, who then, with a few Shawanoes, lived on a river called Pauseekoalaakee, and began to adopt their dress and customs. They gave him an Indian name, Puckeshinwau, which means _something that drops_; and after learning their language, he became so much attached to the Indian life, that when the governor sent for him he refused to return." Such is the pleasant and artful story, narrated with solemn gravity by Laulewasikaw, to emblazon the family pedigree by connecting it with the governor of one of the provinces: and here, for the present, we take our leave of the "Open Door." The band of Shawanoes with whom Puckeshinwau and his family emigrated to the Ohio, established themselves, in the first place, in the valley of the Scioto, from whence they subsequently removed to the waters of Mad River, one of the tributaries of the Great Miami. After the death of Puckeshinwau, his wife Methoataaskee, returned to the south, where she died at an advanced age, among the Cherokees. She belonged to the Turtle tribe of the Shawanoes, and her name signifies, _a turtle laying eggs in the sand_. That she was a respectable woman, is the testimony of those who knew her personally: that she was naturally a superior one, may be fairly inferred from the character of at least a part of her children. With this brief account of an aboriginal family, highly reputable in itself, but on which the name of Tecumseh has conferred no small degree of distinction, we now proceed to the immediate subject of this memoir. CHAPTER II. Birth place of Tecumseh--destruction of the Piqua village--early habits of Tecumseh--his first battle--effort to abolish the burning of prisoners--visits the Cherokees in the south--engages in several battles--returns to Ohio in the autumn of 1790. Some diversity of opinion has prevailed as to the birth place of Tecumseh. It is generally supposed, and indeed is stated by several historians to have been in the Scioto valley, near the place where Chillicothe now stands. Such, however, is not the fact. He was born in the valley of the Miamis, on the bank of Mad River, a few miles below Springfield, and within the limits of Clark county. Of this there is the most satisfactory evidence. In the year 1805, when the Indians were assembling at Greenville, as it was feared with some hostile intention against the frontiers, the governor of Ohio sent Duncan McArthur and Thomas Worthington to that place, to ascertain the object and disposition of these Indians. Tecumseh and three other chiefs agreed to return with these messengers to Chillicothe, then the seat of government, for the purpose of holding a "talk" with the governor. General McArthur, in a letter to the author of this work, under date of 19th November, 1821, says, "When on the way from Greenville to Chillicothe, Tecumseh pointed out to us the place where he was born. It was in an old Shawanoe town, on the north-west side of Mad River, about six miles below Springfield." This fact is corroborated by Stephen Ruddell, the early and intimate associate of Tecumseh, who states that he was "born in the neighborhood of 'old Chillicothe,' in the year 1768." The "old Chillicothe" here spoken of was a Shawanoe village, situated on Massie's creek, three miles north of where Xenia now stands, and about ten or twelve miles south of the village pointed out by Tecumseh, to general McArthur, as the spot of his nativity. This village was the ancient Piqua of the Shawanoes, and occupied the site on which a small town called West Boston has since been built. The principal part of Piqua stood upon a plain, rising fifteen or twenty feet above the river. On the south, between the village and Mad River, there was an extensive prairie--on the north-east some bold cliffs, terminating near the river--on the west and south-west, level timbered land; while on the opposite side of the stream, another prairie, of varying width, stretched back to the high grounds. The river sweeping by in a graceful bend--the precipitous rocky cliffs--the undulating hills with their towering trees--the prairies garnished with tall grass and brilliant flowers--combined to render the situation of Piqua both beautiful and picturesque. At the period of its destruction, Piqua was quite populous. There was a rude log fort within its limits, surrounded by pickets. It was, however, sacked and burnt on the 8th of August, 1780, by an army of one thousand men from Kentucky, after a severe and well conducted battle with the Indians who inhabited it. All the improvements of the Indians, including more than two hundred acres of corn and other vegetables, then growing in their fields, were laid waste and destroyed. The town was never afterwards rebuilt by the Shawanoes. Its inhabitants removed to the Great Miami river, and erected another town which they called Piqua, after the one that had just been destroyed; and in defence of which they had fought with the skill and valor characteristic of their nation.[A] [Footnote A: For this sketch of Piqua, the author is chiefly indebted to his venerable friend, Major James Galloway, of Xenia, Ohio.] The birth of Tecumseh has been placed by some writers in the year 1771. Ruddell states that it occurred in 1768, three years earlier, and this, we think, is probably the true period. His early boyhood gave promise of the renown of his maturer years. After the death of his father, which occurred when he was in his sixth year, he was placed under the charge of his oldest brother, Cheeseekau, who taught him to hunt, led him to battle, and labored zealously to imbue his mind with a love for truth, generosity, and the practice of those cardinal Indian virtues, courage in battle and fortitude in suffering. From his boyhood, Tecumseh seems to have had a passion for war. His pastimes, like those of Napoleon, were generally in the sham-battle field. He was the leader of his companions in all their sports, and was accustomed to divide them into parties, one of which he always headed, for the purpose of fighting mimic battles, in which he usually distinguished himself by his activity, strength and skill.[A] His dexterity in the use of the bow and arrow exceeded that of all the other Indian boys of his tribe, by whom he was loved and respected, and over whom he exercised unbounded influence. He was generally surrounded by a set of companions who were ready to stand or fall by his side.[B] It is stated that the first battle in which he was engaged, occurred on Mad River, near where Dayton stands, between a party of Kentuckians, commanded by colonel Benjamin Logan, and some Shawanoes. At this time Tecumseh was very young, and joined the expedition under the care of his brother, who was wounded at the first fire. It is related by some Indian chiefs that Tecumseh, at the commencement of the action, became frightened and ran.[C] This may be true, but it is the only instance in which he was ever known to shrink from danger, or to loose that presence of mind for which he was ever afterwards remarkably distinguished. [Footnote A: Stephen Ruddell's MS. account.] [Footnote B: Anthony Shane.] [Footnote C: A similar statement is made in regard to the first battle of the celebrated Red Jacket.] The next action in which Tecumseh participated, and in which he manifested signal prowess, was an attack made by the Indians upon some flat boats, descending the Ohio, above Limestone, now Maysville. The year in which it occurred is not stated, but Tecumseh was not probably more than sixteen or seventeen years of age. The boats were captured, and all the persons belonging to them killed, except one, who was taken prisoner, and afterwards burnt. Tecumseh was a silent spectator of the scene, having never witnessed the burning of a prisoner before. After it was over, he expressed in strong terms, his abhorrence of the act, and it was finally concluded by the party that they would never burn any more prisoners;[A] and to this resolution, he himself, and the party also, it is believed, ever afterwards scrupulously adhered. It is not less creditable to the humanity than to the genius of Tecumseh, that he should have taken this noble stand, and by the force and eloquence of his appeal, have brought his companions to the same resolution. He was then but a boy, yet he had the independence to attack a cherished custom of his tribe, and the power of argument to convince them, against all their preconceived notions of right and the rules of warfare, that the custom should be abolished. That his effort to put a stop to this cruel and revolting rite, was not prompted by any temporary expediency, but was the result of a humane disposition, and a right sense of justice, is abundantly shown by his conduct towards prisoners in after life. [Footnote A: Stephen Ruddell.] The boats were owned by traders. The number of whites killed in the engagement has not been ascertained. In the attack upon them, Tecumseh not only behaved with great courage, but even left in the back ground some of the oldest and bravest warriors of the party. From this time his reputation as a brave, and his influence over other minds, rose rapidly among the tribe to which he belonged. About the year 1787, Cheeseekau and Tecumseh, with a party of Kiscopokes, one of the tribes of the Shawanoe nation, moved westward on a hunting and predatory expedition. They made a stand for some months on the waters of the Mississinnaway, and then crossed over to the Mississippi, opposite the mouth of Apple creek, where they encamped and remained for eight or nine months. From thence they proceeded towards the Cherokee country. On their route, while opposite fort Massac, they engaged in a buffalo chase, during which Tecumseh was thrown from his horse, and had his thigh broken.[A] This accident detained them for some months at the place where it occurred. So soon as he had recovered, the party, headed by Cheeseekau, proceeded on their way to the country of the Cherokees, who were then at hostilities with the whites. With that fondness for adventure and love of war, which have ever marked the Shawanoe character, they immediately offered assistance to their brethren of the south, which being accepted, they joined in the contest. [Footnote A: Shane thinks both thighs were broken, Ruddell says but one.] The engagement in which they participated was an attack upon a fort, the name and position of which were not known to our informant. The Indians, it is well known are always superstitious, and from the fact of Cheeseekau, having foretold his death, its occurrence disheartened them, and in despite of the influence of Tecumseh and the Cherokee leaders, who rose above the superstition of their comrades, the attack was given up, and a sudden retreat followed. Tecumseh, who had left the banks of the Miami in quest of adventures, and for the purpose of winning renown as a warrior, told the party that he was determined not to return to his native land, until he had achieved some act worthy of being recounted. He accordingly selected eight or ten men and proceeded to the nearest settlement, attacked a house, killed all the men in it, and took the women and children prisoners. He did not immediately retreat, but engaged in some other similar adventures. During this expedition he was three times attacked in the night in his encampment; but owing to his good judgment in the choice of his camping ground, and his habitual watchfulness when in an enemy's country, no advantage was gained over him. On one occasion, while encamped in the edge of a cane-brake on the waters of the Tennessee, he was assaulted by a party of whites, about thirty in number. Tecumseh had not lain down, but was engaged at the moment of the attack, in dressing some meat. He instantly sprang to his feet, and ordering his small party to follow him, rushed upon his foes with perfect fearlessness; and, having killed two, put the whole party to flight, he losing none of his own men. Tecumseh and his party remained at the south nearly two years, traversing that region of country, visiting the different tribes of Indians, and engaging in the border forays which at that period were constantly occurring between the whites and the native possessors of the soil. He now determined to return home, and accordingly set out with eight of his party. They passed through western Virginia, crossed the Ohio near the mouth of the Scioto, and visiting the Machichac towns on the head waters of Mad River, from thence proceeded to the Auglaize, which they reached in the fall of 1790, shortly after the defeat of general Harmar, having been absent from Ohio upwards of three years. CHAPTER III. Tecumseh attacked near Big Rock by some whites under Robert M'Clelland--severe battle with some Kentuckians on the East Fork of the Little Miami--attack upon Tecumseh in 1793, on the waters of Paint creek--Tecumseh present at the attack on fort Recovery in 1794--participates in the battle of the Rapids of the Maumee, in 1794. From the period of his return, until August of the following year, 1791, Tecumseh spent his time in hunting. In the autumn of this year, when information reached the Indians, that general St. Clair and his army were preparing to march from fort Washington, into their country, this chief headed a small party of spies, who went out for the purpose of watching the movements of the invading force.[A] While lying on Nettle creek, a small stream which empties into the Great Miami, general St. Clair and his army passed out through Greenville to the head waters of the Wabash, where he was defeated. Tecumseh, of course, had no personal participation in this engagement, so creditable to the valor of the Indians, and so disastrous to the arms and renown of the United States. [Footnote A: Stephen Ruddell.] In December, 1792, Tecumseh, with ten other warriors and a boy, were encamped near Big Rock, between Loramie's creek and Piqua, for the purpose of hunting. Early one morning, while the party were seated round the fire, engaged in smoking, they were fired upon by a company of whites near treble their number. Tecumseh raised the war-whoop, upon which the Indians sprang to their arms, and promptly returned the fire. He then directed the boy to run, and in turning round a moment afterwards, perceived that one of his men. Black Turkey, was running also. He had already retreated to the distance of one hundred yards; yet such was his fear of Tecumseh, he instantly obeyed the order to return, indignantly given him, and joined in the battle. Two of the whites were killed--one of them by Tecumseh--before they retreated. While pursuing them Tecumseh broke the trigger of his rifle, which induced him to give up the chase, or probably more of the whites would have fallen. They were commanded by Robert M'Clelland. Tecumseh lost none of his men; two of them, however, were wounded, one of whom was Black Turkey.[A] [Footnote A: Anthony Shane.] In the month of March, 1792, some horses were stolen by the Indians, from the settlements in Mason county, Kentucky. A party of whites to the number of thirty-six, was immediately raised for the purpose of pursuing them. It embraced Kenton, Whiteman, M'Intire, Downing, Washburn, Calvin and several other experienced woodsmen. The first named, Simon Kenton, a distinguished Indian fighter, was placed in command. The trail of the Indians being taken, it was found they had crossed the Ohio just below the mouth of Lee's creek, which was reached by the pursuing party towards evening. Having prepared rafts, they crossed the Ohio that night, and encamped. Early next morning the trail was again taken and pursued, on a north course, all day, the weather being bad and the ground wet. On the ensuing morning twelve of the men were unable to continue the pursuit, and were permitted to return. The remainder followed the trail until eleven o'clock, A.M., when a bell was heard, which they supposed indicated their approach to the Indian camp. A halt was called, and all useless baggage and clothing laid aside. Whiteman and two others were sent ahead as spies, in different directions, each being followed by a detachment of the party. After moving forward some distance, it was found that the bell was approaching them. They halted and soon perceived a solitary Indian riding towards them. When within one hundred and fifty yards, he was fired at and killed. Kenton directed the spies to proceed, being now satisfied that the camp of the Indians was near at hand. They pushed on rapidly, and after going about four miles, found the Indians encamped, on the south-east side of the east fork of the Little Miami, a few miles above the place where the town of Williamsburg has since been built. The indications of a considerable body of Indians were so strong, that the expediency of an attack at that hour of the day was doubted by Kenton. A hurried council was held, in which it was determined to retire, if it could be done without discovery, and lie concealed until night, and then assault the camp. This plan was carried into execution. Two of the spies were left to watch the Indians, and ascertain whether the pursuing party had been discovered. The others retreated for some distance and took a commanding position on a ridge. The spies watched until night, and then reported to their commander, that they had not been discovered by the enemy. The men being wet and cold, they were now marched down into a hollow, where they kindled fires, dried their clothes, and put their rifles in order. The party was then divided into three detachments,--Kenton commanding the right, M'Intire the centre, and Downing the left. By agreement, the three divisions were to move towards the camp, simultaneously, and when they had approached as near as possible, without giving an alarm, were to be guided in the commencement of the attack, by the fire from Kenton's party. When Downing and his detachment had approached close to the camp, an Indian rose upon his feet, and began to stir up the fire, which was but dimly burning. Fearing a discovery, Downing's party instantly shot him down. This was followed by a general fire from the three detachments, upon the Indians who were sleeping under some marquees and bark tents, close upon the margin of the stream. But unfortunately, as it proved in the sequel, Kenton's party had taken "Boone," as their watch-word. This name happening to be as familiar to the enemy as themselves, led to some confusion in the course of the engagement. When fired upon, the Indians instead of retreating across the stream as had been anticipated, boldly stood to their arms, returned the fire of the assailants and rushed upon them. They were reinforced moreover from a camp on the opposite side of the river,[A] which until then, had been unperceived by the whites. In a few minutes the Indians and the Kentuckians were blended with each other, and the cry of "Boone," and "Che Boone," arose simultaneously from each party. [Footnote A: M'Donald, in his interesting "Biographical Sketches," of some of the western pioneers, says this "second line of tents" was on the lower bottom of the creek and not on the opposite side of it.] It was after midnight when the attack was made, and there being no moon, it was very dark. Kenton perceiving that his men were likely to be overpowered, ordered a retreat after the attack had lasted for a few minutes; this was continued through the remainder of the night and part of the next day, the Indians pursuing them, but without killing more than one of the retreating party. The Kentuckians lost but two men, Alexander McIntire and John Barr.[A] The loss of the Indians was much greater, according to the statements of some prisoners, who, after the peace of 1795, were released and returned to Kentucky. They related that fourteen Indians were killed, and seventeen wounded. They stated further, that there were in the camp about one hundred warriors, among them several chiefs of note, including Tecumseh, Battise, Black Snake, Wolf and Chinskau; and that the party had been formed for the purpose of annoying the settlements in Kentucky, and attacking boats descending the Ohio river. Kenton and his party were three days in reaching Limestone, during two of which they were without food, and destitute of sufficient clothing to protect them from the cold winds and rains of March. The foregoing particulars of this expedition are taken from the manuscript narrative of general Benjamin Whiteman, one of the early and gallant pioneers to Kentucky, now a resident of Green county, Ohio. [Footnote A: The father of the late Major William Barr, for many years a citizen of Cincinnati.] The statements of Anthony Shane and of Stephen Ruddell, touching this action, vary in some particulars from that which has been given above, and also from the narrative in McDonald's Sketches. The principal difference relates to the number of Indians in the engagement, and the loss sustained by them. They report but two killed, and that the Indian force was less than that of the whites. Ruddell states that at the commencement of the attack, Tecumseh was lying by the fire, outside of the tents. When the first gun was heard he sprang to his feet, and calling upon Sinnamatha[A] to follow his example and charge, he rushed forward, and killed one of the whites[B] with his war-club. The other Indians, raising the war-whoop, seized their arms, and rushing upon Kenton and his party, compelled them, after a severe contest of a few minutes, to retreat. One of the Indians, in the midst of the engagement, fell into the river, and in the effort to get out of the water, made so much noise, that it created a belief on the minds of the whites that a reinforcement was crossing the stream to aid Tecumseh. This is supposed to have hastened the order from Kenton, for his men to retreat. The afternoon prior to the battle, one of Kenton's men, by the name of McIntire, succeeded in catching an Indian horse, which he tied in the rear of the camp; and, when a retreat was ordered, he mounted and rode off. Early in the morning, Tecumseh and four of his men set off in pursuit of the retreating party. Having fallen upon the trail of McIntire, they pursued it for some distance, and at length overtook him. He had struck a fire and was cooking some meat. When McIntire discovered his pursuers, he instantly fled at full speed. Tecumseh and two others followed, and were fast gaining on him, when he turned and raised his gun. Two of the Indians, who happened to be in advance of Tecumseh, sprung behind trees, but he rushed upon McIntire and made him prisoner. He was tied and taken back to the battle ground. Upon reaching it, Tecumseh deemed it prudent to draw off his men, lest the whites should rally and renew the attack. He requested some of the Indians to catch the horses, but they, hesitating, he undertook to do it himself, assisted by one of the party. When he returned to camp with the horses, he found that his men had killed McIntire. At this act of cruelty to a prisoner, he was exceedingly indignant; declaring that it was a cowardly act to kill a man when tied and a prisoner. The conduct of Tecumseh in this engagement, and in the events of the following morning, is creditable alike to his courage and humanity. Resolutely brave in battle, his arm was never uplifted against a prisoner, nor did he suffer violence to be inflicted upon a captive, without promptly rebuking it. [Footnote A: Or Big Fish, the name by which Stephen Ruddell, then fighting with Tecumseh, was called.] [Footnote B: John Barr, referred to in a preceding note.] McDonald, in speaking of this action, says: "The celebrated Tecumseh commanded the Indians. His cautious and fearless intrepidity made him a host wherever he went. In military tactics, night attacks are not allowable, except in cases like this, when the assailing party are far inferior in numbers. Sometimes in night attacks, panics and confusion are created in the attacked party, which may render them a prey to inferior numbers. Kenton trusted to something like this on the present occasion, but was disappointed; for when Tecumseh was present, his influence over the minds of his followers infused that confidence in his tact and intrepidity, that they could only be defeated by force of numbers." Some time in the spring of 1793, Tecumseh and a few of his followers, while hunting in the Scioto valley on the waters of Paint creek, were unexpectedly attacked by a party of white men from Mason county, Kentucky. The circumstances which led to this skirmish were the following. Early in the spring of this year, an express reached the settlement in Mason, that some stations had been attacked and captured on Slate creek, in Bath county, Kentucky, and that the Indians were returning with their prisoners to Ohio. A party of thirty-three men was immediately raised to cut off their retreat. These were divided into three companies, of ten men each;--Simon Kenton commanding one,--Baker another, and James Ward the third. The whole party crossed the Ohio river at Limestone, and aimed to strike the Scioto above the mouth of Paint creek. After crossing this latter stream, near where the great road from Maysville to Chillicothe now crosses it, evening came on, and they halted for the night. In a short time they heard a noise, and a little examination disclosed to them that they were in the immediate vicinity of an Indian encampment. Their horses were promptly taken back some distance and tied, to prevent an alarm. A council was held,--captain Baker offered to go and reconnoitre, which being agreed to, he took one of his company and made the examination. He found the Indians encamped on the bank of the creek, their horses being between them and the camp of the whites. After Baker's report was made, the party determined to remain where they were until near daylight the next morning; and then to make an attack in the following manner. Captain Baker and his men were to march round and take a position on the bank of the stream, in front of the Indian camp: captain Ward was to occupy the ground in the rear; and captain Kenton one side, while the river presented a barrier on the fourth, thus guarding against a retreat of the Indians. It was further agreed that the attack was not to commence until there was light enough to shoot with accuracy. Before Kenton and Ward had reached the positions they were respectively to occupy, the bark of a dog in the Indian camp was heard, and then the report of a gun. Upon this alarm, Baker's men instantly fired, and captains Kenton and Ward, with their companies, raising the battle cry, rushed towards the camp. To their surprise, they found Baker and his men in the rear, instead of the front of the Indians, thus deranging the plan of attack, whether from design or accident is unknown. The Indians sent back the battle cry, retreated a few paces, and treed. It was still too dark to fire with precision, but random shots were made, and a terrible shouting kept up by the Indians. While the parties were thus at bay, Tecumseh had the address to send a part of their men to the rear of the Kentuckians for the horses; and when they had been taken to the front, which was accomplished without discovery, the Indians mounted and effected their escape, carrying with them John Ward, the only one of their party who was shot. This individual, a white man, had been captured when three-years old, on Jackson, one of the tributaries of James river, in Virginia. He had been raised by the Indians, among whom he had married, and reared several children. He was the brother of James Ward, one of the leaders of this expedition, and died of his wound a few days after the engagement, as was subsequently ascertained. No Indian was killed in this skirmish, and but one of the Kentuckians, Jacob Jones, a member of Baker's detachment. No pursuit of the Indians was made from this point, nor did they prove to be the same party who had been engaged in the attack upon the Slate creek station.[A] [Footnote A: For the foregoing details of this little expedition, the author is indebted to captain James Ward, of Mason county, Kentucky, who commanded one of the detachments on this occasion.] In McDonald's Sketches, it is stated that "three Indians were killed in this action; and that when fired upon by their assailants, they dashed through the creek, and scattered through the woods, like a flock of young partridges." On these points, the worthy author of the "Sketches" has undoubtedly been misinformed. The Indians lost but one man, John Ward; and after having treed, maintained their ground until they had adroitly obtained possession of their horses, and then succeeded in making their escape, carrying off not only the wounded man, but also the women and children who were with them when attacked. This we learn from authorities before us, on which reliance may be placed.[A] By one of these, it appears that there were but six or seven warriors in the party; and, that when the attack was made, Tecumseh called out to them that the women and children must be defended, and it was owing to his firmness and influence that the assailants were kept at bay until the horses of his party were secured, and the necessary arrangements made for a hasty retreat. [Footnote A: Anthony Shane. Stephen Ruddell.] After this engagement, it is not known that Tecumseh was a party to any warlike movement, until the summer of the following year. He returned to the waters of the Miami, and spent his time in hunting, for which he had a great fondness, and in which he was generally more successful than any other member of his tribe. After general Wayne assumed the command of the north-western army, he caused a fort to be built on the spot where the unfortunate defeat of his predecessor, general Arthur St. Clair, had occurred. This fort was named Recovery. In the summer of 1794, an attack was made upon it by a numerous body of Indians, among whom was Tecumseh. They were accompanied by a British officer, and some artillerists, furnished with fixed ammunition, suited to the calibre of some field pieces which the Indians had taken from general St. Clair, at the time of his defeat.[A] In referring to this attack and the movements of general Wayne, Withers, in his "Chronicles of Border Warfare," says: "Before the troops marched from fort Washington, it was deemed advisable to have an abundant supply of provisions in the different forts in advance of this, as well for the support of their respective garrisons, as for the subsistence of the general army, in the event of its being driven into them, by untoward circumstances. With this view, three hundred pack horses, laden with flour, were sent on to fort Recovery; and as it was known that considerable bodies of the enemy were constantly hovering about the forts, and awaiting opportunities of cutting off any detachments from the main army, major McMahon, with ninety riflemen under captain Hartshorn, and fifty dragoons under captain Taylor, was ordered on as an escort. This force was so large as to discourage the savages from making an attack, until they should unite their several war parties, and before this could be effected, major McMahon reached the place of his destination. "On the 30th of July, as the escort was about leaving fort Recovery, it was attacked by a body of one thousand Indians, in the immediate vicinity of the fort. Captain Hartshorn had advanced only three or four hundred yards, at the head of the riflemen, when he was unexpectedly beset on every side. With the most consummate bravery and good conduct, he maintained the unequal conflict, until major McMahon, placing himself at the head of the cavalry, charged upon the enemy, and was repulsed with considerable loss. Major McMahon, captain Taylor and cornet Torrey fell, upon the first onset, and many of the privates were killed or wounded. The whole savage force being now brought to press on captain Hartshorn, that brave officer was forced to try and regain the fort; but the enemy interposed its strength to prevent this movement. Lieutenant Drake and ensign Dodd, with twenty volunteers, marched from the fort, and forcing a passage through a column of the enemy, at the point of the bayonet, joined the rifle corps at the instant that captain Hartshorn received a shot which broke his thigh. Lieutenant Craig being killed, and lieutenant Marks taken prisoner, lieutenant Drake conducted the retreat; and while endeavoring for an instant to hold the enemy in check, so as to enable the soldiers to bring off their wounded captain, himself received a shot in the groin, and the retreat was resumed, leaving captain Hartshorn on the field. "When the remnant of the troops came within the walls of the fort, lieutenant Michael, who had been detached at an early period of the battle by captain Hartshorn to the flank of the enemy, was found to be missing, and was given up as lost; but while his friends were deploring his unfortunate fate, he and lieutenant Marks, who had been taken prisoner, were seen rushing through the enemy from opposite directions, towards the fort. They gained it safely, notwithstanding they were actively pursued, and many shots fired at them. Lieutenant Marks had got off by knocking down the Indian who held him prisoner; and lieutenant Michael had lost all of his party but three men." [Footnote A: For this fact see general Harrison's Address on the 50th Anniversary of the first settlement of Ohio.] The official letter of general Wayne giving an account of this action, places the loss of the whites at twenty-two killed and thirty wounded. "The enemy," continues the report, "were soon repulsed with great slaughter, but immediately rallied and reiterated the attack, keeping up a very heavy and constant fire, at a more respectable distance, for the remainder of the day, which was answered with spirit and effect by the garrison, and that part of major McMahon's command that had regained the fort. The savages were employed during the night (which was dark and foggy,) in carrying off their dead by torchlight, which occasionally drew a fire from the garrison. They nevertheless succeeded so well, that there were but eight or ten bodies left on the field, and those close under the influence of the fire from the fort. The enemy again renewed the attack on the morning of the first inst., but were ultimately compelled to retreat with loss and disgrace from that very field, where they had upon a former occasion, been proudly victorious." Tecumseh fought in the decisive battle between the American troops under general Wayne, and the combined Indian forces, which occurred on the 20th of August, 1794, near the rapids of the Miami of the lakes. It is not known whether he attended the council, the evening previous to the engagement, in which the advice of Little Turtle, the Miami chief, was overruled by the influence of the Shawanoe chief, Blue Jacket. The former was opposed to giving battle on the following day; the latter in favor of it. As a _brave_ of distinction, Tecumseh took the command of a party of Shawanoes in the engagement, but had no participation in the plan of the attack, or the mode of carrying it into execution. At the commencement of the action, he was in the advance guard with two of his brothers. After fighting for some time, in attempting to load his rifle, he put in a bullet before the powder, and was thus unable to use his gun. Being at this moment pressed in front by some infantry, he fell back with his party until they met another detachment of Indians. Tecumseh urged them to stand fast and fight, saying if any one would lend him a gun, he would show them how to do it. A fowling-piece was handed to him, with which he fought for some time, until the Indians were again compelled to give ground. While falling back, he met another party of Shawanoes, and although the whites were pressing on them, he rallied the Indians, and induced them to make a stand in a thicket. When the infantry pressed close upon them, and had discharged their muskets into the bushes, Tecumseh and his party returned their fire, and then retreated, until they had joined the main body of the Indians below the rapids of the Miami.[A] [Footnote A: Anthony Shane.] In this memorable action, which gave victory to the American arms, and humbled the north-western Indians, William Henry Harrison and Tecumseh were for the first time opposed to each other in battle. They were both young, and indeed nearly the same age, and both displayed that courage and gallantry which ever afterwards signalized their brilliant and eventful lives. CHAPTER IV. Tecumseh's skill as a hunter--declines attending the treaty of Greenville in 1795--in 1796 removed to Great Miami--in 1798 joined a party of Delawares on White river, Indiana--in 1799 attended a council between the whites and Indians near Urbana--another at Chillicothe in 1803--makes an able speech--removes with the Prophet to Greenville, in 1805--the latter commences prophecying--causes the death of Teteboxti, Patterson, Coltes, and Joshua--governor Harrison's speech to the Prophet to arrest these murderers--effort of Wells, the U.S. Indian agent, to prevent Tecumseh and the Prophet from assembling the Indians at Greenville--Tecumseh's speech in reply--he attends a council at Chillicothe--speech on that occasion--council at Springfield--Tecumseh principal speaker and actor. In the spring of the year 1795, Tecumseh was established on Deer creek, near where Urbana now stands, and engaged in his favorite amusement of hunting. This was more as a pastime than a matter of business. The love of property was not a distinguishing trait of his character; on the contrary, his generosity was proverbial among his tribe. If he accumulated furs, they, or the goods which he received in return for them, were dispensed with a liberal hand. He loved hunting because it was a manly exercise, fit for a _brave_; and, for the additional reason, that it gave him the means of furnishing the aged and infirm with wholesome and nourishing food. The skill of Tecumseh in the chase has already been adverted to. While residing on Deer creek, an incident occurred which greatly enhanced his reputation as a hunter. One of his brothers, and several other Shawanoes of his own age, proposed to bet with him, that they could each kill as many deer, in the space of three days, as he could. Tecumseh promptly accepted the overture. The parties took to the woods, and at the end of the stipulated time, returned with the evidences of their success. None of the party, except Tecumseh, had more than twelve deer skins; he brought in upwards of thirty--near three times as many as any of his competitors. From this time he was generally conceded to be the greatest hunter in the Shawanoe nation. In the course of the summer of this year, 1795, he commenced raising a party of his own, and began to style himself a chief. He did not attend the treaty of Greenville, held by general Wayne, on the 3d of August, 1795, with the hostile Indians, but after its conclusion, Blue Jacket paid him a visit on Deer creek, and communicated to him the terms on which peace had been concluded. Tecumseh remained at this place until the spring of 1796, when he removed with his party to the Great Miami, near to Piqua, where they raised a crop of corn. In the autumn he again changed his place of residence, and went over to the head branches of White Water, west of the Miami, where he and his party spent the winter; and in the spring and summer of 1797, raised another crop of corn. In the year 1798, the Delawares, then residing in part, on White river, Indiana, invited Tecumseh and his followers, to remove to that neighborhood. Having accepted this invitation, and made the removal, he continued his head quarters in the vicinity of that nation for several years, occupied in the ordinary pursuits of the hunter-life--gradually extending his influence among the Indians, and adding to the number of his party. In 1799, there was a council held about six miles north of the place where Urbana now stands, between the Indians and some of the principal settlers on Mad River, for the adjustment of difficulties which had grown up between these parties. Tecumseh, with other Shawanoe chiefs, attended this council. He appears to have been the most conspicuous orator of the conference, and made a speech on the occasion, which was much admired for its force and eloquence. The interpreter, Dechouset, said that he found it very difficult to translate the lofty flights of Tecumseh, although he was as well acquainted with the Shawanoe language, as with the French, which was his mother tongue.[A] [Footnote A: James Galloway, of Xenia.] We next hear of Tecumseh, under circumstances which show the confidence reposed in him by the white settlers on the frontier. In the month of April, 1803, Thomas Herrod, living sixteen miles north-west of Chillicothe, was shot, tomahawked, and scalped, near his own house. The Indians were suspected of having committed this deed; a wanton and cruel retaliation was made upon one of them, (guiltless no doubt of that particular crime,) and the settlement in the Scioto valley and north-west of it, was thrown into a state of much excitement. The Indians fled in one direction and the whites in another. For the purpose of ascertaining the facts in the case, and preventing further hostilities, several patriotic citizens of Chillicothe mounted their horses, and rode into the Indian country, where they found Tecumseh and a body of Indians. They disavowed all knowledge of the murder of Herrod, and stated, explicitly, that they were peaceably inclined, and disposed to adhere to the treaty of Greenville. Tecumseh finally agreed to return with the deputation from Chillicothe, that he might in person, give similar assurances to the people of that place. He did so, and a day was fixed on, when he should make an address upon the subject. A white man, raised among the Indians, acted as interpreter. Governor Tiffin opened the conference. "When Tecumseh rose to speak," says an eyewitness, "as he cast his gaze over the vast multitude, which the interesting occasion had drawn together, he appeared one of the most dignified men I ever beheld. While this orator of nature was speaking, the vast crowd preserved the most profound silence. From the confident manner in which he spoke of the intention of the Indians to adhere to the treaty of Greenville, and live in peace and friendship with their white brethren, he dispelled, as if by magic, the apprehensions of the whites--the settlers returned to their deserted farms, and business generally was resumed throughout that region."[A] This incident is of value, in forming an estimate of the character of this chief: it exhibits the confidence reposed in him by he white inhabitants on the frontier. The declaration of no other Indian could thus have dissipated the fears of a border war, which then pervaded the settlement. [Footnote A: Colonel John M'Donald.] Some time during this year, a stout Kentuckian came to Ohio, for the purpose of exploring the lands on Mad River, and lodged one night at the house of captain Abner Barrett, residing on the head waters of Buck creek. In the course of the evening, he learned with apparent alarm, that there were some Indians encamped within a short distance of the house. Shortly after hearing this unwelcome intelligence, the door of captain Barrett's dwelling was suddenly opened, and Tecumseh entered with his usual stately air: he paused in silence, and looked around, until at length his eye was fixed upon the stranger, who was manifesting symptoms of alarm, and did not venture to look the stern savage in the face. Tecumseh turned to his host, and pointing to the agitated Kentuckian, exclaimed, "a big baby! a big baby!" He then stepped up to him, and gently slapping him on the shoulder several times, repeated with a contemptuous manner, the phrase "big baby! big baby!" to the great alarm of the astonished man, and to the amusement of all present.[A] [Footnote A: James Galloway.] In the early part of the year 1805, a portion of the Shawanoe nation, residing at the Tawa towns on the headwaters of the Auglaize river, wishing to re-assemble their scattered people, sent a deputation to Tecumseh and his party, (then living on White river,) and also to a body of the same tribe upon the Mississiniway, another tributary of the Wabash, inviting them to remove to the Tawa towns, and join their brethren at that place. To this proposition both parties assented; and the two bands met at Greenville, on their way thither. There, through the influence of Laulewasikaw, they concluded to establish themselves; and accordingly the project of going to the Auglaize was abandoned. Very soon afterwards, Laulewasikaw assumed the office of a prophet; and forthwith commenced that career of cunning and pretended sorcery, which enabled him to sway the Indian mind in a wonderful degree, and win for himself a name on the page of history. A concise notice of his prophetical achievements is subjoined. While it serves to display his individual character and endowments, it also presents an interesting and instructive phase of aboriginal character. It happened about this time that an old Shawanoe, named Penagashega, or the Change of Feathers, who had for some years been engaged in the respectable calling of a prophet, fell sick and died. Laulewasikaw, who had marked the old man's influence with the Indians, adroitly caught up the mantle of the dying prophet, and assumed his sacred office. He changed his name from Laulewasikaw, to Tenskwautawau,[A] meaning the Open Door, because he undertook to point out to the Indians the new modes of life which they should pursue. In the month of November, of this year, he assembled a considerable number of Shawanoes, Wyandots, Ottaways and Senecas, at Wapakonatta, on the Auglaize river, when he unfolded to them the new character with which he was clothed, and made his first public effort in that career of religious imposition, which, in a few years, was felt by the remote tribes of the upper lakes, and on the broad plains which stretch beyond the Mississippi. At this time nothing, it is believed, was said by him in regard to the grand confederacy of the tribes, for the recovery of their lands, which shortly afterwards became an object of ambition with his brother; and, in the furtherance of which he successfully exerted his power and influence, as a prophet. In this assemblage he declaimed against witchcraft, which many of the Indians practised and still more believed. He pronounced that those who continued bewitched, or exerted their arts on others, would never go to heaven nor see the Great Spirit. He next took up the subject of drunkenness, against which he harangued with great force; and, as appeared subsequently, with much success. He told them that since he had become a prophet, he went up into the clouds; that the first place he came to was the dwelling of the Devil, and that all who had died drunkards were there, with flames issuing out of their mouths. He acknowledged that he had himself been a drunkard, but that this awful scene had reformed him. Such was the effect of his preaching against this pernicious vice, that many of his followers became alarmed, and ceased to drink the "fire-water," a name by which whiskey is significantly called among the Indians. He likewise, declaimed against the custom of Indian women intermarrying with white men, and denounced it as one of the causes of their unhappiness. Among other doctrines of his new code, he insisted on a community of property--a very comfortable regulation for those, who like himself, were too indolent to labor for the acquisition of it. A more salutary and rational precept, and one which he enforced with considerable energy, was the duty of the young, at all times and under all circumstances, to support, cherish and respect the aged and infirm. He declaimed with vehemence against all innovations in the original dress and habits of the Indians--dwelt upon the high claims of the Shawanoes to superiority over other tribes, and promised to all his followers, who would believe his doctrines and practice his precepts, the comforts and happiness which their forefathers enjoyed before they were debased by their connection with the whites. And finally proclaimed, with much solemnity, that he had received power from the Great Spirit, to cure all diseases, to confound his enemies, and stay the arm of death, in sickness, or on the battle field. [Footnote A: In the remaining pages of this work this person will be called the Prophet, the name by which he is most generally known.] Such is the superstitious credulity of the Indians, that this crafty impostor not only succeeded for a time, in correcting many of the vices of his followers, but likewise influenced them to the perpetration of outrages upon each other, shocking to humanity. If an individual, and especially a chief, was supposed to be hostile to his plans, or doubted the validity of his claim to the character of a prophet, he was denounced as a witch, and the loss of reputation, if not of life, speedily followed. Among the first of his victims were several Delawares,--Tatepocoshe (more generally known as Teteboxti,) Patterson, his nephew, Coltos, an old woman, and an aged man called Joshua. These were successively marked by the Prophet, and doomed to be burnt alive. The tragedy was commenced with the old woman. The Indians roasted her slowly over a fire for four days, calling upon her frequently to deliver up her charm and medicine bag. Just as she was dying, she exclaimed that her grandson, who was then out hunting, had it in his possession. Messengers were sent in pursuit of him, and when found he was tied and brought into camp. He acknowledged that on one occasion he had borrowed the charm of his grandmother, by means of which he had flown through the air, over Kentucky, to the banks of the Mississippi, and back again, between twilight and bed-time; but he insisted that he had returned the charm to its owner; and after some consultation, he was set at liberty. The following day, a council was held over the case of the venerable chief Tatepocoshe, he being present. His death was decided upon after full deliberation; and, arrayed in his finest apparel, he calmly assisted in building his own funeral pile, fully aware that there was no escape from the judgment that had been passed upon him. The respect due to his whitened locks, induced his executioners to treat him with mercy. He was deliberately tomahawked by a young man, and his body was then placed upon the blazing faggots and consumed. The next day, the old preacher Joshua, met a similar fate. The wife of Tatepocoshe, and his nephew Billy Patterson, were then brought into the council house, and seated side by side. The latter had led an irreproachable life, and died like a Christian, singing and praying amid the flames which destroyed his body. While preparations were making for the immolation of Tatepocoshe's wife, her brother, a youth of twenty years of age, suddenly started up, took her by the hand, and to the amazement of the council, led her out of the house. He soon returned, and exclaiming, "the devil has come among us, (alluding to the Prophet) and we are killing each other," he reseated himself in the midst of the crowd. This bold step checked the wild frenzy of the Indians, put an end to these cruel scenes, and for a time greatly impaired the impostor's influence among the Delawares. The benevolent policy of the governor of Indiana Territory (William Henry Harrison,) towards the Indian tribes, had given him much influence over them. Early in the year 1806, and so soon as he had heard of the movements of the Prophet, and the delusion of the Delawares in regard to witchcraft, he sent a special messenger to them with the following speech. Had it reached them a little earlier, it would probably have saved the life of the aged Tatepocoshe. "My Children:--My heart is filled with grief, and my eyes are dissolved in tears, at the news which has reached me. You have been celebrated for your wisdom above all the tribes of red people who inhabit this great island. Your fame as warriors has extended to the remotest nations, and the wisdom of your chiefs has gained for you the appellation of grandfathers, from all the neighboring tribes. From what cause, then, does it proceed, that you have departed from the wise counsels of your fathers, and covered yourselves with guilt? My children, tread back the steps you have taken, and endeavor to regain the straight road which you have abandoned. The dark, crooked and thorny one which you are now pursuing, will certainly lead to endless woe and misery. But who is this pretended prophet, who dares to speak in the name of the Great Creator? Examine him. Is he more wise or virtuous than you are yourselves, that he should be selected to convey to you the orders of your God? Demand of him some proofs at least, of his being the messenger of the Deity. If God has really employed him, he has doubtless authorized him to perform miracles, that he may be known and received as a prophet. If he is really a prophet, ask of him to cause the sun to stand still--the moon to alter its course--the rivers to cease to flow--or the dead to rise from their graves. If he does these things, you may then believe that he has been sent from God. He tells you that the Great Spirit commands you to punish with death those who deal in magic; and that he is authorized to point them out. Wretched delusion! Is then the Master of Life obliged to employ mortal man to punish those who offend him? Has he not the thunder and all the powers of nature at his command?--and could he not sweep away from the earth a whole nation with one motion of his arm? My children: do not believe that the great and good Creator of mankind has directed you to destroy your own flesh; and do not doubt but that if you pursue this abominable wickedness, his vengeance will overtake and crush you. "The above is addressed to you in the name of the Seventeen Fires. I now speak to you from myself, as a friend who wishes nothing more sincerely than to see you prosperous and happy. Clear your eyes, I beseech you, from the mist which surrounds them. No longer be imposed upon by the arts of an impostor. Drive him from your town, and let peace and harmony once more prevail amongst you. Let your poor old men and women sleep in quietness, and banish from their minds the dreadful idea of being burnt alive by their own friends and countrymen. I charge you to stop your bloody career; and if you value the friendship of your great father, the President--if you wish to preserve the good opinion of the Seventeen Fires, let me hear by the return of the bearer, that you have determined to follow my advice."[A] [Footnote A: Quoted from Dawson's Historical Narrative of the civil and military services of William Henry Harrison.] Among the Miamis, the Prophet was less successful in establishing an influence than with the Delawares; while over the Kickapoos he gained, for a time, a remarkable ascendency,--greater, indeed, than he ever established in his own tribe. Most of the Shawanoe chiefs were opposed to him, and even complained to the agent at fort Wayne, that his conduct was creating difficulties among the Indians. We have met with no evidence that Tecumseh favored the destruction of the Delawares, whose unhappy fate has been detailed. On the contrary, it is stated by a credible authority,[A] that he was opposed to it. [Footnote A: Anthony Shane.] Throughout the year 1806, the brothers remained at Greenville, and were visited by many Indians from different tribes, not a few of whom became their followers. The Prophet dreamed many wonderful dreams; and claimed to have had many supernatural revelations made to him. The great eclipse of the sun which occurred in the summer of this year, a knowledge of which he had by some means attained, enabled him to carry conviction to the minds of many of his ignorant followers, that he was really the earthly agent of the Great Spirit. He boldly announced to the unbelievers, that on a certain day, he would give them proof of his supernatural powers, by bringing darkness over the sun. When the day and hour of the eclipse arrived, and the earth, even at mid day, was shrouded in the gloom of twilight, the Prophet, standing in the midst of his party, significantly pointed to the heavens, and cried out, "did I not prophecy truly? Behold! darkness has shrouded the sun!" It may readily be supposed that this striking phenomenon, thus adroitly used, produced a strong impression on the Indians, and greatly increased their belief in the sacred character of their Prophet. In April, 1807, Tecumseh and his brother had assembled at Greenville about four hundred Indians, most of them highly excited by religious fanaticism; and ready, it was feared, for any enterprise on which these brothers might be disposed to lead them. Considerable apprehension was entertained for the safety of the frontiers, and several fruitless efforts were made to ascertain the ulterior objects of the leaders. William Wells, then Indian agent at fort Wayne, despatched Anthony Shane, a half-blood Shawanoe, with a communication to Tecumseh and the Prophet, requesting them and two other of their chiefs, to visit him at fort Wayne, that he might read to them a letter which he had just received from their great father, the President of the United States. A council being called, Shane made known the object of his mission. Tecumseh, without consulting with those around him, immediately arose and said to the messenger, "go back to fort Wayne, and tell captain Wells, that my fire is kindled on the spot appointed by the Great Spirit above; and, if he has any thing to communicate to me, _he_ must come _here_:--I shall expect him in six days from this time." With this laconic, but dignified reply, the conference ended. The agent at fort Wayne declined waiting on Tecumseh, in person, but on the appointed day, sent Shane back to Greenville, with a copy of the President's communication, contained in a letter from the Secretary at War; the substance of which was, that Tecumseh and his party being established within the limits of the governor's purchase from the Indians, they were desired to remove to some point beyond the boundaries agreed upon by the treaty of Greenville; and, in case of their compliance, the government would afford them assistance, until they were properly established at their new post. A second council was assembled, and the communication fully interpreted to those present. Tecumseh felt indignant that captain Wells had not visited him in person. He arose deeply excited, and turning to his followers, addressed them in a long, glowing and impassioned speech, in which he dwelt upon the injuries the Indians had received from the whites, and especially the continued encroachments of the latter upon the lands of the red men: "These lands," said he in conclusion, "are ours: no one has a right to remove us, because we were the first owners; the Great Spirit above has appointed this place for us, on which to light our fires, and here we will remain. As to boundaries, the Great Spirit above knows no boundaries, nor will his red people acknowledge any." Of this speech no copy has been preserved. Shane speaks of it as a masterpiece of Indian eloquence--bold, argumentative and powerful. It was delivered with great vehemence, and deep indignant feeling. After a moment's pause, Tecumseh turned to the messenger and said, with that stately indifference of manner, which he could so gracefully assume when in council, "if my great father, the President of the Seventeen Fires, has any thing more to say to me, he must send a man of note as his messenger. I will hold no further intercourse with captain Wells." The Prophet, who seldom lost an opportunity of vaunting himself before his followers, then rose, and addressing captain Shane, said, "why does not the President send to us the greatest man in his nation? I can talk to him--I can bring darkness between him and me--nay more, I can bring the sun under my feet, and what white man can do this?" With this self-glorification, the council terminated. The excitement continued to increase, and at the close of May, it was estimated by the agent at fort Wayne, that not less than fifteen hundred Indians, had within a short time, passed and repassed that fort, in making visits to the Prophet. Many of these were from distant points on the lakes. Councils were assembled, runners with pipes and belts of wampum, went from tribe to tribe, and strong evidence of some uncommon movement among the Indians became quite apparent. The British agents were active in fomenting this excitement, and in extending the influence of Tecumseh and his brother, whose ulterior objects were carefully concealed from the agents of the United States, and such Indian chiefs as were known to be friendly to our government. In the month of August, on the testimony of several persons familiar with Indian affairs, then residing in the north-western portions of the state, the Indians at fort Wayne and at Greenville, who were supposed to be under the influence of the Prophet, amounted to between seven and eight hundred, most of them equipped with new rifles. These facts being communicated to the governor of Ohio, he directed his attention to the subject, and, in the early part of September, despatched Thomas Worthington and Duncan McArthur, to Greenville, for the purpose of holding a conference with the Prophet and Tecumseh, and ascertaining the object of their assembling so large a body of Indians, within the limits of the cession of land made by them at the treaty of 1795. These commissioners left Chillicothe on the 8th of September, and reached Greenville on the 12th, where they were courteously received by the Indians. They were fortunate in securing the services of Stephen Ruddell, as their interpreter, who had resided for seventeen years among the Indians, and was familiar with the Shawanoe language. On the day of their arrival, the commissioners were invited to a general council of the Indians, at which the letter of the governor was read, and interpreted to the Shawanoes, Potawatamies and Chippewas. This was followed by an address from the commissioners, referring to the past relations between the United States and the Indians, the policy pursued towards the latter by Great Britain, and the importance of their remaining neutral, in case of a war between that country and the United States. On the following day, Blue Jacket, who, it was announced, had been authorized by all the Indians present, to speak for them, replied to the commissioners as follows: "Brethren--We are seated who heard you yesterday. You will get a true relation, as far as we and our connections can give it, who are as follows: Shawanoes, Wyandots, Potawatamies, Tawas, Chippewas, Winnepaus, Malominese, Malockese, Secawgoes, and one more from the north of the Chippewas. _Brethren_--you see all these men sitting before you, who now speak to you. "About eleven days ago we had a council, at which the tribe of Wyandots, (the elder brother of the red people) spoke and said God had kindled a fire and all sat around it. In this council we talked over the treaties with the French and the Americans. The Wyandot said, the French formerly marked a line along the Alleghany mountains, southerly, to Charleston, (S.C.) No man was to pass it from either side. When the Americans came to settle over the line, the English told the Indians to unite and drive off the French, until the war came on between the British and the Americans, when it was told them that king George, by his officers, directed them to unite and drive the Americans back. "After the treaty of peace between the English and Americans, the summer before Wayne's army came out, the English held a council with the Indians, and told them if they would turn out and unite as one man, they might surround the Americans like deer in a ring of fire and destroy them all. The Wyandot spoke further in the council. We see, said he, there is like to be war between the English and our white brethren, the Americans. Let us unite and consider the sufferings we have undergone, from interfering in the wars of the English. They have often promised to help us, and at last, when we could not withstand the army that came against us, and went to the English fort for refuge, the English told us, 'I cannot let you in; you are painted too much, my children.' It was then we saw the British dealt treacherously with us. We now see them going to war again. We do not know what they are going to fight for. Let us, my brethren, not interfere, was the speech of the Wyandot. "Further, the Wyandot said, I speak to you, my little brother, the Shawanoes at Greenville, and to you, our little brothers all around. You appear to be at Greenville to serve the _Supreme Ruler_ of the universe. Now send forth your speeches to all our brethren far around us, and let us unite to seek for that which shall be for our eternal welfare, and unite ourselves in a band of perpetual brotherhood. These, brethren, are the sentiments of all the men who sit around you: they all adhere to what the elder brother, the Wyandot, has said, and these are their sentiments. It is not that they are afraid of their white brethren, but that they desire peace and harmony, and not that their white brethren could put them to great necessity, for their former arms were bows and arrows, by which they got their living." The commissioners made some explanations in reply, when they were told that the Prophet would assign the reasons why the Indians had settled at Greenville. "He then proceeded to inform us," says the report, "that about three years since, he became convinced of the error of his ways, and that he would be destroyed from the face of the earth, if he did not amend them; that it was soon after made known to him what he should do to be right; that from that time he constantly preached to his red brethren the miserable situation they were in by nature, and endeavored to convince them that they must change their lives, live honestly, and be just in all their dealings, kind towards one another, and their white brethren: affectionate towards their families, put away lying and slandering, and serve the Great Spirit in the way he had pointed out; never think of war again; that at first the Lord did not give them the tomahawk to go to war with one another. His red brethren, the chiefs of the Shawanoes at Tawa town, would not listen to him, but persecuted him. This produced a division in the nation; those who adhered to him, separated themselves from their brethren at Tawa town, removed with and settled where he now was, and where he had constantly preached the above doctrines to all the strangers who came to see them. They did not remove to this place because it was a pretty place, or very valuable, for it was neither; but because it was revealed to him that the place was a proper one to establish his doctrines; that he meant to adhere to them while he lived; they were not his own, nor were they taught him by man, but by the Supreme Ruler of the universe; that his future life should prove to his white brethren the sincerity of his professions. He then told us that six chiefs should go with us to Chillicothe." The commissioners left Greenville entirely convinced of the sincerity of the Prophet in his declaration of pacific intentions towards the United States.[A] Four chiefs, Tecumseh, Blue Jacket, Sti-agh-ta, (or Roundhead) and Panther, accompanied them to the seat of government, for the purpose of holding a conference with the governor; and giving him assurances that the Indians were not assembling at Greenville for the purpose of making war upon the frontiers. These chiefs remained about a week in Chillicothe, in the course of which a public council was held between them and the governor. Stephen Ruddell acted as the interpreter. Tecumseh was the principal speaker; and in the course of the conference, made a speech which occupied three hours in the delivery. [Footnote A: See Report of Commissioners to governor Kirker, 22d Sept. 1807, published in the United States Gazette, for that year.] His great object was to prove the nullity of the treaties under which the whites claimed the country north and west of the Ohio. He seemed to have a familiar knowledge of all the treaties made with the western tribes; reviewed them in their order, and with the most intense bitterness and scorn, denounced them as null and void. This speech is described by one[A] who heard it, as possessing all the characteristics of a high effort of oratory. The utterance of the speaker was rapid and vehement; his manner bold and commanding; his gestures impassioned, quick and violent, and his countenance indicating that there was something more in his mind, struggling for utterance, than he deemed it prudent to express. While he fearlessly denied the validity of these _pretended_ treaties, and openly avowed his intention to resist the further extension of the white settlements upon the Indian lands, he disclaimed all intention of making war upon the United States. The result was, a conviction on the part of the governor, that no immediate danger was to be apprehended from the Indians, at Greenville and fort Wayne; and, as a consequence, the militia which had been called into service were ordered to be disbanded, and the chiefs returned to their head quarters. [Footnote A: John A. Fulton, formerly mayor of Chillicothe, communicated by general James T. Worthington.] In the autumn of this year, a white man by the name of Myers, was killed a few miles west of where the town of Urbana now stands, by some straggling Indians. This murder, taken in connection with the assemblage of the Indians under Tecumseh and the Prophet, created a great alarm on the frontier, and actually induced many families to remove back to Kentucky, from whence they had emigrated. A demand was made by the whites upon these two brothers for the Indians who had committed the murder. They denied that it was done by their party, or with their knowledge, and declared that they did not even know who the murderers were. The alarm continued, and some companies of militia were called out. It was finally agreed, that a council should be held on the subject in Springfield, for the purpose of quieting the settlements. General Whiteman, major Moore, captain Ward and one or two others, acted as commissioners on the part of the whites. Two parties of Indians attended the council; one from the north, in charge of McPherson; the other, consisting of sixty or seventy, came from the neighborhood of fort Wayne, under the charge of Tecumseh. Roundhead, Blackfish, and several other chiefs, were also present. There was no friendly feeling between these two parties, and each was willing that the blame of the murder should be fixed upon the other. The party under McPherson, in compliance with the wishes of the commissioners, left their arms a few miles from Springfield. Tecumseh and his party refused to attend the council, unless permitted to retain their arms. After the conference was opened, it being held in a maple grove, a little north of where Werden's hotel now stands, the commissioners, fearing some violence, made another effort to induce Tecumseh to lay aside his arms. This he again refused, saying, in reply, that his tomahawk was also his pipe, and that he might wish to use it in that capacity before their business was closed. At this moment, a tall, lank-sided Pennsylvanian, who was standing among the spectators, and who, perhaps, had no love for the shining tomahawk of the self-willed chief, cautiously approached, and handed him an old, long stemmed, dirty looking earthen pipe, intimating, that if Tecumseh would deliver up the fearful tomahawk, he might smoke the aforesaid pipe. The chief took it between his thumb and finger, held it up, looked at it for a moment, then at the owner, who was gradually receding from the point of danger, and immediately threw it, with an indignant sneer, over his head, into the bushes. The commissioners yielded the point, and proceeded to business. After a full and patient enquiry into the facts of the case, it appeared that the murder of Myers, was the act of an individual, and not justly chargeable upon either party of the Indians. Several speeches were made by the chiefs, but Tecumseh was the principal speaker. He gave a full explanation of the views of the Prophet and himself, in calling around them a band of Indians--disavowed all hostile intentions towards the United States, and denied that he or those under his control had committed any aggressions upon the whites. His manner, when speaking, was animated, fluent and rapid, and made a strong impression upon those present. The council terminated. In the course of it, the two hostile parties became reconciled to each other, and quiet was restored to the frontier. The Indians remained in Springfield for three days, and on several occasions amused themselves by engaging in various games and other athletic exercises, in which Tecumseh generally proved himself victorious. His strength, and power of muscular action, were remarkably great, and in the opinion of those who attended the council, corresponded with the high order of his moral and intellectual character.[A] [Footnote A: Dr. Hunt.] CHAPTER V. Governor Harrison's address to the Shawanoe chiefs at Greenville--the Prophet's reply--his influence felt among the remote tribes--he is visited in 1808 by great numbers of Indians--Tecumseh and the Prophet remove to Tippecanoe--the latter sends a speech to governor Harrison--makes him a visit at Vincennes. The alarm caused by the assembling of the Indians at Greenville, still continuing, governor Harrison, in the autumn of this year, sent to the head chiefs of the Shawanoe tribe, by John Conner, one of our Indian agents, the following address:-- "My Children--Listen to me, I speak in the name of your father, the great chief of the Seventeen Fires. "My children, it is now twelve years since the tomahawk, which you had raised by the advice of your father, the king of Great Britain, was buried at Greenville, in the presence of that great warrior, general Wayne. "My children, you then promised, and the Great Spirit heard it, that you would in future live in peace and friendship with your brothers, the Americans. You made a treaty with your father, and one that contained a number of good things, equally beneficial to all the tribes of red people, who were parties to it. "My children, you promised in that treaty to acknowledge no other father than the chief of the Seventeen Fires; and never to listen to the proposition of any foreign nation. You promised never to lift up the tomahawk against any of your father's children, and to give him notice of any other tribe that intended it: your father also promised to do something for you, particularly to deliver to you, every year, a certain quantity of goods; to prevent any white man from settling on your lands without your consent, or to do you any personal injury. He promised to run a line between your land and his, so that you might know your own; and you were to be permitted to live and hunt upon your father's land, as long as you behaved yourselves well. My children, which of these articles has your father broken? You know that he has observed them all with the utmost good faith. But, my children, have you done so? Have you not always had your ears open to receive bad advice from the white people beyond the lakes? "My children, let us look back to times that are past. It has been a long time since you called the king of Great Britain, father. You know that it is the duty of a father to watch over his children, to give them good advice, and to do every thing in his power to make them happy. What has this father of yours done for you, during the long time that you have looked up to him for protection and advice? Are you wiser and happier than you were before you knew him; or is your nation stronger or more respectable? No, my children, he took you by the hand when you were a powerful tribe; you held him fast, supposing he was your friend, and he conducted you through paths filled with thorns and briers, which tore your flesh and shed your blood. Your strength was exhausted, and you could no longer follow him. Did he stay by you in your distress, and assist and comfort you? No, he led you into danger, and then abandoned you. He saw your blood flowing and he would give you no bandage to tie up your wounds. This was the conduct of the man who called himself your father. The Great Spirit opened your eyes; you heard the voice of the chief of the Seventeen Fires, speaking the words of peace. He called to you to follow him; you came to him, and he once more put you on the right way, on the broad smooth road that would have led to happiness. But the voice of your deceiver is again heard; and forgetful of your former sufferings, you are again listening to him. "My children, shut your ears, and mind him not, or he will lead you to ruin and misery. "My children, I have heard bad news. The sacred spot where the great council fire was kindled, around which the Seventeen Fires and ten tribes of their children, smoked the pipe of peace--that very spot where the Great Spirit saw his red and white children encircle themselves with the chain of friendship--that place has been selected for dark and bloody councils. "My children, this business must be stopped. You have called in a number of men from the most distant tribes, to listen to a fool, who speaks not the words of the Great Spirit, but those of the devil, and of the British agents. My children, your conduct has much alarmed the white settlers near you. They desire that you will send away those people, and if they wish to have the impostor with them, they can carry him. Let him go to the lakes; he can hear the British more distinctly." At the time of the delivery of this speech, the head chiefs of the Shawanoes were absent from Greenville. The Prophet, after listening patiently to it, requested the interpreter to write down the following answer, which was transmitted to the governor. "Father,--I am very sorry that you listen to the advice of bad birds. You have impeached me with having correspondence with the British; and with calling and sending for the Indians from the most distant part of the country, 'to listen to a fool that speaks not the words of the Great Spirit, but the words of the devil.' Father, those impeachments I deny, and say they are not true. I never had a word with the British, and I never sent for any Indians. They came here themselves to listen, and hear the words of the Great Spirit. "Father, I wish you would not listen any more to the voice of bad birds; and you may rest assured that it is the least of our idea to make disturbance, and we will rather try to stop any such proceedings than to encourage them." The appeal of the governor, as may be inferred from the evasive and cunning answer of the Prophet, produced no change in his measures, nor did it arrest the spread of the fanaticism among the Indians which his incantations had set afloat. The happiness of the Indians was the great idea which Tecumseh and his brother promulgated among their followers as being the object of their labors. This was to be attained by leading more virtuous lives, by retaining their lands, and in simply doing what the government of the United States had frequently urged upon them, effecting an extended and friendly union of the different tribes. These plausible reasons, backed by the superstitious belief of the Indians in the inspired character of the Prophet, and the insidious efforts of the British agents, in fomenting discontent among them, were sufficient to keep alive the excitement, and even extend the circle of its influence. Thus ended the year 1807. The reader may learn the extraordinary success of the Prophet in spreading his influence among the remote tribes, by a reference to the narrative of Mr. John Tanner. This man had been taken captive in Boone county, Kentucky, when a boy; had been raised by the Indians, and was at this time, living among the Ojibbeways, who reside far up the lakes. News reached that remote tribe that a great man had arisen among the Shawanoes, who had been favored by a revelation of the mind and will of the Great Spirit. The messenger bearing this information to them, seemed deeply penetrated with the sacred character of his mission. Upon his arrival among them, he announced himself after a mysterious silence, as the forerunner of the great Prophet, who was shortly to shake hands with the Ojibbeways, and explain to them more fully his inspired character, and the new mode of life and conduct which they were hereafter to pursue. He then gravely repeated to them the Prophet's system of morals; and in a very solemn manner, enjoined its observance. So strong was the impression made upon the principal men of the Ojibbeways, that a time was appointed and a lodge prepared for the public espousal of these doctrines. When the Indians were assembled in the new lodge, "we saw something," says Mr. Tanner, "carefully concealed under a blanket, in figure and dimensions bearing some resemblance to a man. This was accompanied by two young men, who, it was understood, attended constantly upon it, made its bed at night, as for a man, and slept near it. But while we remained, no one went near to it, or raised the blanket which was spread over its unknown contents. Four strings of mouldy and discolored beads were all the visible insignia of this important mission. "After a long harangue, in which the prominent features of the new revelation were stated, and urged upon the attention of all, the four strings of beads, which we were told were made of the flesh of the Prophet, were carried with, much solemnity, to each man in the lodge, and he was expected to take hold of each string at the top, and draw them gently through his hand: This was called shaking hands with the Prophet, and was considered as solemnly engaging to obey his injunctions, and accept of his mission as from the Supreme. All the Indians who touched the beads had previously killed their dogs; they gave up their medicine bags, and showed a disposition to comply with all that should be required of them." The excitement among the Ojibbeways continued for some time; they assembled in groups, their faces wearing an aspect of gloom and anxiety, while the active sunk into indolence, and the spirit of the bravest warriors was subdued. The influence of the Prophet, says Mr. Tanner, "was very sensibly and painfully felt by the remotest Ojibbeways of whom I had any knowledge: but it was not the common impression among them, that his doctrines had any tendency to unite them in the accomplishment of any human purpose. For two or three years drunkenness was much less frequent than formerly; war was less thought of; and the entire aspect of things among them was changed by the influence of this mission. But in time these new impressions were obliterated; medicine-bags, flints and steels, the use of which had been forbidden, were brought into use; dogs were reared, women and children beaten as before; and the Shawanoe Prophet was despised." With the beginning of the year 1808, great numbers of Indians came down from the lakes, on a visit to the Prophet, where they remained until their means of subsistence were exhausted. The governor of Indiana, with the prudence and humanity which marked his administration, directed the agent at fort Wayne, to supply them with provisions from the public stores at that place. This was done, and from his intercourse with them he came to the conclusion that they had no hostile designs against the United States. About this time, Tecumseh made a visit to the Mississinaway towns, the immediate object of which could not be clearly ascertained. That it was connected with the grand scheme in which he was engaged, is probable from the fact that the Indians of that region agreed to meet him and the Prophet on the Wabash, in the following June, to which place he had at this time resolved to move his party. Mr. Jouett, one of the United States' Indian agents, apprehended that this meeting would result in some hostile action against the frontiers; and, as a means of preventing it, and putting an end to the influence of the Prophet, recommended to the governor that he should be seized and confined. The proposition, however, was not entertained. In the spring of this year, 1808, Tecumseh and the Prophet removed to a tract of land granted them by the Potawatamies and Kickapoos, on Tippecanoe, one of the tributaries of the Wabash river. They had not been long at their new residence before it became apparent that the Prophet had established a strong influence over the minds of the surrounding Indians, and there was much reason for believing that his views were hostile to the United States. The governor still confided in the fidelity of the Delawares and the Miamis; but he apprehended, that although disbelievers in the Prophet's divine mission, they might be turned from the line of duty from a fear of his temporal power. When he had established himself upon the banks of the Tippecanoe, the Prophet drew around him a body of northern Indians, principally from the Potawatamies, Ottowas and Chippewas. To this, the Miamis and Delawares had strong objections; and a deputation of the latter was sent to the Prophet on the subject. He refused to see them himself, but Tecumseh met them; and after a solemn conference, they returned to their tribe with increased apprehensions of the combination at Tippecanoe, which was now uniting warlike sports with the performance of religious duties.[A] The Delawares decided in council to arrest the progress of this rising power, but in vain. Strong in the moral force with which they were armed, the two brothers were not to be driven from their purpose of planting the banner of union, which they were now holding out to the tribes, upon the waters of the Wabash. The sacred office which the Prophet had impiously assumed, enabled him to sway many minds, and in doing so, he was effectively sustained by the personal presence, tact and sagacity of his brother. From his youth, Tecumseh had been noted for the influence which he exercised over those by whom he was surrounded. Hence, when the chiefs of the Miamis and Delawares, who were disbelievers in the Prophet's holy character, set out to prevent his removal to the Wabash, Tecumseh boldly met them, and turned them from their purpose. This was done at a moment when the number of the Prophet's followers was greatly reduced, as we gather from the statement of the agent, John Conner, who in the month of June, of this year, visited his settlement on the Wabash to reclaim some horses which had been stolen from the whites. At this time, the Prophet had not more than forty of his own tribe with him; and less than a hundred from others, principally Potawatamies, Chippewas, Ottawas and Winebagoes. The Prophet announced his intention of making a visit to governor Harrison, for the purpose of explaining his conduct, and procuring a supply of provisions for his followers. This, he insisted, could not be consistently withheld from him, as the white people had always encouraged him to preach the word of God to the Indians: and in this holy work he was now engaged. [Footnote A: Governor Harrison's Correspondence with the War Department.] Some time in the month of July, the governor received a speech from the Prophet, sent to Vincennes by a special messenger. It was cautious, artful and pacific in its character. It deprecated in strong terms the misrepresentations which had been circulated in regard to the ulterior objects of the Prophet and his brother as to the whites; and renewed the promise of an early visit. This visit was made in the month following, and was continued for two weeks, during which time he and the governor had frequent interviews. In these, the Prophet, with his characteristic plausibility, denied that his course was the result of British influence. His sole object, he alleged, was a benevolent one towards his red brethren; to reclaim them from the degrading vices to which they were addicted, and induce them to cultivate a spirit of peace and friendship, not only with the white people, but their kindred tribes. To this sacred office, he insisted, with much earnestness, he had been specially called by the Great Spirit. That he might the more successfully enforce the sincerity of his views upon the mind of the governor, he took occasion several times during the visit, to address the Indians who had accompanied him to Vincennes, and dwelt upon the great evils resulting to them from wars, and the use of ardent spirits. It was apparent to the governor that the Prophet was a man of decided talents, of great tact, and admirably qualified to play successfully, the part he had assumed. In order to test the extent of his influence over his followers, the governor held conversations with them, and several times offered them whiskey, which they invariably refused. Looking to that amelioration of the condition of the Indians, which had long engaged his attention, the governor began to hope that the Prophet's power over them might be turned to advantage; and that the cause of humanity would be benefited by sustaining rather than trying to weaken the influence of the preacher. This impression was much strengthened by the following speech which the Prophet delivered to him, before the close of the visit. "Father:--It is three years since I first began with that system of religion which I now practice. The white people and some of the Indians were against me; but I had no other intention but to introduce among the Indians, those good principles of religion which the white people profess. I was spoken badly of by the white people, who reproached me with misleading the Indians; but I defy them to say that I did any thing amiss. "Father, I was told that you intended to hang me. When I heard this, I intended to remember it, and tell my father, when I went to see him, and relate to him the truth. "I heard, when I settled on the Wabash, that my father, the governor, had declared that all the land between Vincennes and fort Wayne, was the property of the Seventeen Fires. I also heard that you wanted to know, my father, whether I was God or man; and that you said if I was the former, I should not steal horses. I heard this from Mr. Wells, but I believed it originated with himself. "The Great Spirit told me to tell the Indians that he had made them, and made the world--that he had placed them on it to do good, and not evil. "I told all the red skins, that the way they were in was not good, and that they ought to abandon it. "That we ought to consider ourselves as one man; but we ought to live agreeably to our several customs, the red people after their mode, and the white people after theirs; particularly, that they should not drink whiskey; that it was not made for them, but the white people, who alone knew how to use it; and that it is the cause of all the mischiefs which the Indians suffer; and that they must always follow the directions of the Great Spirit, and we must listen to him, as it was he that made us: determine to listen to nothing that is bad: do not take up the tomahawk, should it be offered by the British, or by the long knives: do not meddle with any thing that does not belong to you, but mind your own business, and cultivate the ground, that your women and your children may have enough to live on. "I now inform you, that it is our intention to live in peace with our father and his people forever. "My father, I have informed you what we mean to do, and I call the Great Spirit to witness the truth of my declaration. The religion which I have established for the last three years, has been attended to by the different tribes of Indians in this part of the world. Those Indians were once different people; they are now but one: they are all determined to practice what I have communicated to them, that has come immediately from the Great Spirit through me. "Brother, I speak to you as a warrior. You are one. But let us lay aside this character, and attend to the care of our children, that they may live in comfort and peace. We desire that you will join us for the preservation of both red and white people. Formerly, when we lived in ignorance, we were foolish; but now, since we listen to the voice of the Great Spirit, we are happy. "I have listened to what you have said to us. You have promised to assist us: I now request you, in behalf of all the red people, to use your exertions to prevent the sale of liquor to us. We are all well pleased to hear you say that you will endeavor to promote our happiness. We give you every assurance that we will follow the dictates of the Great Spirit. "We are all well pleased with the attention that you have showed us; also with the good intentions of our father, the President. If you give us a few articles, such as needles, flints, hoes, powder, &c., we will take the animals that afford us meat, with powder and ball." Governor Harrison, if not deceived by the plausible pretences and apparently candid declarations of the Prophet, was left in doubt, whether he was really meditating hostile movements against the United States, or only laboring, with the energy of an enthusiast, in the good work of promoting the welfare of the Indians. Having received a supply of provisions, the Prophet and his followers, at the end of a fortnight, took leave of the governor and returned to their head quarters, on the banks of the Tippecanoe. CHAPTER VI. Tecumseh visits the Wyandots--governor Harrison's letter about the Prophet to the Secretary at War--British influence over the Indians--Tecumseh burns governor Harrison's letter to the chiefs--great alarm in Indiana, in consequence of the assemblage of the Indians at Tippecanoe--death of Leatherlips, a Wyandot chief on a charge of witchcraft. During the autumn of this year, 1808, nothing material occurred with the Prophet and his brother, calculated to throw light upon their conduct. The former continued his efforts to induce the Indians to forsake their vicious habits. The latter was occupied in visiting the neighboring tribes, and quietly strengthening his own and the Prophet's influence over them. Early in the succeeding year, Tecumseh attended a council of Indians, at Sandusky, when he endeavored to prevail upon the Wyandots and Senecas to remove and join his establishment at Tippecanoe. Among other reasons presented in favor of this removal, he stated that the country on the Tippecanoe was better than that occupied by these tribes; that it was remote from the whites, and that in it they would have more game and be happier than where they now resided. In this mission he appears not to have been successful. The Crane, an old chief of the Wyandot tribe, replied, that he feared he, Tecumseh, was working for no good purpose at Tippecanoe; that they would wait a few years, and then, if they found their red brethren at that place contented and happy, they would probably join them.[A] In this visit to Sandusky, Tecumseh was accompanied by captain Lewis, a Shawanoe chief of some note, who then engaged to go with him to the Creeks and Cherokees, on a mission which he was contemplating, and which was subsequently accomplished. Lewis, however, did not finally make the visit, but permitted Jim Blue Jacket to make the tour in his place. [Footnote A: Anthony Shane.] In April of the year 1809, the agent of the United States at fort Wayne, informed governor Harrison, that it had been reported to him that the Chippewas, Potawatamies and Ottawas, were deserting the standard of the Prophet, because they had been required to take up arms against the whites, and to unite in an effort to exterminate all the inhabitants of Vincennes, and those living on the Ohio, between its mouth and Cincinnati--it being the order of the Great Spirit; and that their own destruction would be the consequence of a refusal. The agent did not think, however, that hostilities were likely to ensue, as he was informed there were not more than one hundred warriors remaining with the Prophet. The governor, however, had information from other sources, that although there might be but that number of warriors at the Prophet's village, there were, within fifty miles of his head-quarters, four or five times that number, who were devoted to him and to his cause. Under these circumstances, he decided to organize forthwith, under previous orders from the War department, two companies of volunteer militia, and with them to garrison fort Knox--a post about two miles from Vincennes--then the general depot of arms and ammunition, for the use of the neighboring militia. The agent at fort Wayne was accordingly directed by the governor to require the Delaware, Miami and Potawatamie tribes, to prevent any hostile parties of Indians from passing through their respective territories. This they were bound to do, by a stipulation in the treaty of Greenville. But no hostile movements, (if any had been meditated,) were made by the Prophet, and before the close of the month of May, most of his warriors had dispersed, and all apprehension of an attack from the Indians was dispelled. In the month of July, in reply to a letter from the Secretary of War, on the subject of the defence of the north-western frontier, governor Harrison, in reference to the Prophet, says: "The Shawanoe Prophet and about forty followers, arrived here about a week ago. He denies most strenuously, any participation in the late combination to attack our settlements, which he says was entirely confined to the tribes of the Mississippi and Illinois rivers; and he claims the merit of having prevailed upon them to relinquish their intentions. "I must confess that my suspicions of his guilt have been rather strengthened than diminished at every interview I have had with him since his arrival. He acknowledges that he received an invitation to war against us, from the British, last fall; and that he was apprised of the intention of the Sacs and Foxes, &c. early in the spring, and was warmly solicited to join in their league. But he could give no satisfactory explanation of his neglecting to communicate to me, circumstances so extremely interesting to us; and towards which I had a few months before directed his attention, and received a solemn assurance of his cheerful compliance with the injunctions I had impressed upon him. "The result of all my enquiries on the subject is, that the late combination was produced by British intrigue and influence, in anticipation of war between them and the United States. It was, however, premature and ill-judged, and the event sufficiently manifests a great decline in their influence, or in the talents and address, with which they have been accustomed to manage their Indian relations. "The warlike and well armed tribes of the Potawatamies, Ottawas, Chippewas, Delawares, and Miamis, I believe, neither had, nor would have, joined in the combination; and although the Kickapoos, whose warriors are better them those of any other tribe, the remnant of the Wyandots excepted, are much under the influence of the Prophet, I am persuaded that they were never made acquainted with his intentions, if these were really hostile to the United States." In the latter part of the year 1809, under instructions from the President of the United States, governor Harrison deemed the period a favorable one to extinguish the Indian title to the lands on the east of the Wabash, and adjoining south on the lines established by the former treaties of fort Wayne and Grousland. A council was accordingly held, in the latter part of September, at fort Wayne, with the Miami, Eel river, Delaware and Potawatamie tribes, which resulted in the purchase of the land above mentioned. A separate treaty was made with the Kickapoos, who confirmed the grants made at the above treaty, and also ceded another tract. In making these treaties, governor Harrison invited all those Indians to be present, who were considered as having any title to the lands embraced within them. Throughout the remainder of the year 1809, things remained quiet with Tecumseh and the Prophet. The number of their followers was again on the increase; and, although no overt acts of hostility against the frontier settlements were committed, there was a prevalent suspicion in that quarter, that the Indians entertained sinister designs towards the whites. The events of the early part of the year 1810, were such as to leave little doubt of the hostile intentions of the brothers. In the latter part of April, governor Harrison was informed, upon credible authority, that the Prophet was really instigating the Indians to acts of hostility against the United States; and that he had under his immediate control about four hundred warriors, chiefly composed of Kickapoos and Winnebagoes, but embracing also some Shawanoes, Potawatamies, Chippewas, and Ottawas. The traders among them attributed this hostile feeling to British influence. That the followers of the Prophet had received a supply of powder and ball from the English agents, was generally admitted. They refused to buy ammunition from our traders, alleging that they were plentifully supplied from a quarter where it cost them nothing. About the middle of May, it was ascertained that the number of warriors with the Prophet, amounted to more than six hundred men, and there were reasons to apprehend that his influence had kindled a hostile feeling among several of the tribes to the west and north of his head quarters. A meeting of Indians having been appointed to take place about this time, on the St. Joseph's river, governor Harrison made an appeal to them through the Delawares, in which he forcibly pointed out the unhappy results that would certainly follow any attack upon the United States; and cautioned the friendly tribes, upon the dangers to which they would be subjected, in consequence of the difficulty of discriminating between friends and enemies, in case a war should occur. In July the governor was authorized by the Secretary of War, to take such steps as he might deem necessary for the protection of the frontier; and, at the same time was informed that some troops had been ordered to Vincennes to keep in check the hostile Indians of that quarter. Fresh apprehensions were now felt for the safety of the frontiers. The Prophet, it appears, had gained over to his cause the Wyandot tribe, whose councils had always exerted a strong influence among the Indians. To this tribe had been committed the preservation of the Great Belt, the symbol of union among the tribes in their late war with the United States; and also the original duplicate of the Greenville treaty of 1795. The Prophet sent a deputation to the Wyandots requesting permission to examine the provisions of that treaty, and artfully expressing his astonishment that they, who had ever directed the councils of the Indians, and who were alike renowned for their talents and bravery, should remain passive, and see the lands of the red men usurped by a part of that race. The Wyandots, pleased with these flattering speeches, replied, that they had carefully preserved the former symbol of union among the tribes; but it had remained so long in their hands without being called for, they supposed it was forgotten. They further replied, that weary of their present situation, they felt desirous of seeing all the tribes united in one great confederacy: that they would join such a union, and labor to arrest the encroachments of the whites upon their lands, and if possible recover those which had been unjustly taken from them. This reply of the Wyandots was exactly suited to the objects of the Prophet; and he lost no time in sending his heralds with it, in every direction. The Wyandots soon afterwards made a visit to Tippecanoe; and in passing thither, had a conference with some of the Miami chiefs, to whom they showed the great belt, and charged them with having joined the whites in opposition to their red brethren. The Miamis at length concluded to join in a visit to the Prophet, and also invited the Weas to join with them. About this time, the governor was informed by an aged Piankishaw, friendly to the United States, that the Prophet had actually formed a plan for destroying the citizens of Vincennes by a general massacre; and that he boasted that he would walk in the footsteps of the great Pontiac. From another source the governor learned that there were probably three hundred Indians within thirty miles of the Prophet's quarters; and that although their proceedings were conducted with great secrecy, it had been discovered that they were determined to stop the United States' surveyors from running any lines west of the Wabash. Other evidences of approaching hostilities were not wanting. The Prophet, and the Kickapoos who were at his village, refused to accept the salt which had been sent up to them as a part of their annuities, and after it had been put upon the shore, the carriers were not only required to replace it in their boat, but whilst doing so, were treated with rudeness, and ordered to take the salt back to Vincennes. They were Frenchmen, or in all probability they would have been treated still more harshly.[A] [Footnote A: Governor Harrison's letters to the War Department.] In the early part of July, governor Harrison received a letter from John Johnston, Indian agent at fort Wayne, in which he says: "A person just arrived, who it appears has lost himself in his route to Vincennes, affords me an opportunity of announcing to you my return to this fort. I was delayed on my journey in attending to the transportation of the public goods; and on my arrival in the state of Ohio, I had learned that the Prophet's brother had lately been at work among the Shawanoes, on the Auglaize; and, among other things, had burned your letter delivered to the chiefs at this place last fall. I accordingly took Wapakonetta in my route home, assembled the chiefs, and demanded the reason why they had suffered such an improper act to be committed at their door. They disavowed all agency in the transaction, and their entire disapprobation of the Prophet's conduct; and concurring circumstances satisfied me that they were sincere. The white persons at the town informed me that not one of the chiefs would go into council with the Prophet's brother, and that it was a preacher named Riddle, who took the letter to have it interpreted, and that the brother of the Prophet took it from his hand, and threw it into the fire, declaring, that if governor Harrison were there, he would serve _him_ so. He told the Indians that the white people and the government were deceiving them, and that for his part, he never would believe them, or put any confidence in them; that he never would be quiet until he effected his purpose; and that if he was dead, _the cause_ would not die with him. He urged the Indians to move off to the Mississippi with him, saying, that there he would assemble his forces. All his arguments seemed to be bottomed on the prospect of hostilities against our people. He made no impression on the Shawanoes, and went away much dissatisfied at their not coming into his views. I consider them among our best friends. I indirectly encouraged their emigration westward, and told them their annuity should follow them. They appear determined to remain, and are much attached to the town and the improvements, which are considerable." Notwithstanding the Prophet appears in all these recent transactions, to be the prominent individual, it is certain that a greater one was behind the scene. In the junction of the Wyandots with the Prophet, may be seen the result of Tecumseh's visit to that tribe, in the previous year, at Sandusky, an account of which has been already given. In regard to the salt annuity, the Prophet knew not what course to pursue, until he had consulted with his brother. Tecumseh, burning the governor's letter, and the threat, that if he were present he should meet the same fate, were acts in keeping with his bold character, and well calculated to maintain his ascendancy among the Indians. While the Prophet was nominally the head of the new party, and undoubtedly exercised much influence by means of his supposed supernatural power, he was but an agent, controlled and directed by a master spirit, whose energy, address and ceaseless activity, were all directed to the accomplishment of the grand plan to which he had solemnly devoted his life. The information which flowed in upon governor Harrison, from different quarters, relative to the movements of Tecumseh and the Prophet, and the number of their followers, were such as to induce him to make the most active preparations to meet the impending storm. A meeting of the citizens of Vincennes was held on the subject, two companies of militia were called into active service, and the rest were directed to hold themselves in readiness for the field. Alarm-posts were established, and other measures adopted, especially for the preservation of Vincennes, which appeared to have been fixed upon as the first point of attack. Toward the close of June, Winnemac, at the head of a deputation of Potawatamies, visited the governor at Vincennes, for the purpose of informing him of the decision of a council, held at the St. Joseph's of lake Michigan, which had been attended by all the tribes of that quarter, and by a delegation from the Delawares. This deputation was present for the purpose of dissuading the Indians from joining the Prophet. The duty appears to have been faithfully performed by them. They protested in strong terms, against the schemes of the Prophet and his brother, and induced, it is believed, these tribes to give up all idea of joining them. Winnemac was directed to inform the governor, of the determination to which they had come, and also, to lay before him the plans of the Prophet. According to the information before the council, Detroit, St. Louis, fort Wayne, Chicago and Vincennes, were all to be surprised. Efforts were making to persuade the tribes residing on the Mississippi, to unite in the confederacy. It further appeared, that the followers of the Prophet, drawn as they were from all the tribes, embraced but few, if any of the peace chiefs, while not a few of the war chiefs, or the leaders of small parties, were enrolling themselves under his standard. Winnemac stated to the governor, that the Prophet had actually suggested to his young men, the expediency of murdering all the leading chiefs of the surrounding tribes, on the plea that their own hands would never be untied until this was done. They, he said, were the men who sold their lands, and invited the encroachments of the whites. About the period of Winnemac's visit, an Indian belonging to the Iowa tribe, told general Harrison, that two years before, a British agent visited the Prophet, and delivered a message to him. The object was to induce the Prophet to persevere in uniting the tribes against the United States, but not to make any hostile movement, until the signal was given him by the British authorities. From this Iowa, and others of his tribe, the governor ascertained that the Prophet had been soliciting them and other tribes on the Mississippi to join the confederacy. To these the Prophet stated, in his plausible manner, that the Americans were ceaselessly and silently invading the Indians, until those who had suffered most, had resolved to be driven back no farther; and that it was the duty of the remote tribes upon whose lands the march of civilization had not yet pressed, to assist those who had already lost theirs, or in turn a corresponding calamity would follow upon them. This, the Prophet declared, he was directed by the Great Spirit of the Indians to tell them, adding, that this Great Spirit would utterly destroy them, if they ventured to doubt the words of his chosen Prophet.[A] [Footnote A: General Harrison's official correspondence--Dawson's Historical Narrative.] On the first of June, a Wyandot chief, called Leatherlips, paid the forfeit of his life on a charge of witchcraft. General Harrison entertained the opinion that his death was the result of the Prophet's command, and that the party who acted as executioners went directly from Tippecanoe, to the banks of the Scioto, where the tragedy was enacted. Leatherlips was found encamped upon that stream, twelve miles above Columbus. The six Wyandots who put him to death, were headed, it is supposed, by the chief Roundhead. An effort was made by some white men who were present to save the life of the accused, but without success. A council of two or three hours took place: the accusing party spoke with warmth and bitterness of feeling: Leatherlips was calm and dispassionate in his replies. The sentence of death, which had been previously passed upon him, was reaffirmed. "The prisoner then walked slowly to his camp, partook of a dinner of jerked venison, washed and arrayed himself in his best apparel, and afterwards painted his face. His dress was very rich--his hair gray, and his whole appearance graceful and commanding." When the hour for the execution had arrived, Leatherlips shook hands in silence with the spectators. "He then turned from his wigwam, and with a voice of surpassing strength and melody commenced the chant of the death song. He was followed closely by the Wyandot warriors, all timing with their slow and measured march, the music of his wild and melancholy dirge. The white men were likewise all silent followers in that strange procession. At the distance of seventy or eighty yards from the camp, they came to a shallow grave, which, unknown to the white men, had been previously prepared by the Indians. Here the old man knelt down, and in an elevated but solemn tone of voice, addressed his prayer to the Great Spirit. As soon as he had finished, the captain of the Indians knelt beside him, and prayed in a similar manner. Their prayers of course were spoken in the Wyandot tongue. * * * * After a few moments delay, the prisoner again sank down upon his knees and prayed as he had done before. When he had ceased, he still continued in a kneeling position. All the rifles belonging to the party had been left at the wigwam. There was not a weapon of any kind to be seen at the place of execution, and the spectators were consequently unable to form any conjecture as to the mode of procedure, which the executioners had determined on, for the fulfilment of their purpose. Suddenly one of the warriors drew from beneath the skirts of his capote, a keen, bright tomahawk--walked rapidly up behind the chieftain--brandished the weapon on high, for a single moment, and then struck with his whole strength. The blow descended directly upon the crown of the head, and the victim immediately fell prostrate. After he had lain awhile in the agonies of death, the Indian captain directed the attention of the white men to the drops of sweat which were gathering upon his neck and face; remarked with much apparent exultation, that it was conclusive proof of the sufferer's guilt. Again the executioner advanced, and with the same weapon, inflicted two or three additional and heavy blows. As soon as life was entirely extinct, the body was hastily buried, with all its apparel and decorations; and the assemblage dispersed."[A] [Footnote A: Mr. Otway Curry, in the Hesperian for May, 1838.] One of Mr. Heckewelder's correspondents, as quoted in his Historical Account of the Indian Nations, makes Tarhe, better known by the name of Crane, the leader of this party. This has been denied; and, the letter[A] of general Harrison on the subject, proves quite conclusively that this celebrated chief had nothing to do with the execution of Leatherlips. Mr. Heckewelder's correspondent concurs in the opinion that the original order for the death of this old man, was issued from the head quarters of the Prophet and his brother. [Footnote A: Published in the Hesperian for July, 1838.] CHAPTER VII. Governor Harrison makes another effort to ascertain the designs of Tecumseh and the Prophet--Tecumseh visits the governor at Vincennes, attended by four hundred warriors--a council is held--Tecumseh becomes deeply excited, and charges governor Harrison with falsehood--council broken up in disorder--renewed the next day. For the purpose of ascertaining more fully the designs of the Prophet and his brother, governor Harrison now despatched two confidential agents to their head quarters at Tippecanoe. One of these agents, Mr. Dubois, was kindly received by the Prophet. He stated to him that he had been sent by governor Harrison to ascertain the reason of his hostile preparations, and of his enmity to the United States; that his conduct had created so much alarm, that warriors both in Kentucky and Indiana were arming for service, and that a detachment of regular troops was then actually on its way to Vincennes: that he was further authorized by the governor to say, that these preparations were only for defence; that no attempt would be made against him, until _his_ intention to commence hostilities could be doubted no longer. The Prophet denied that he intended to make war, and declared that on this point he had been unjustly accused: that it was by the express commands of the Great Spirit that he had fixed himself there; and that he was ordered to assemble the Indians at that spot. When urged by the agent to state the grounds of his complaints against the United States, he replied, the Indians had been cheated of their lands; that no sale was valid unless sanctioned by all the tribes. He was assured that the government would listen to any complaints he might have to urge; and that it was expedient for him to go to Vincennes and see governor Harrison on the subject. This he declined doing, giving as a reason, that on his former visit to him, he had been badly treated. Mr. Dubois met at the Prophet's town with some Kickapoos, with whom he was acquainted. They seemed to regret having joined the Prophet, and admitted that they had long suspected that it was his wish to go to war with the United States. War was undoubtedly his intention, but whether against the United States or the Osage nation, they were unable to say with certainty. Mr. Dubois, on this trip, visited the Wea and Eel river tribes, and found them apprehensive that war would ensue, and that they would find themselves involved in it. The letter of general Harrison to the Secretary of War, detailing the results of this mission, concludes with the following remarks upon the principles long and stoutly contended for by Tecumseh, that the Indian lands were the common property of all the tribes, and could not be sold without the consent of all. "The subject of allowing the Indians of this country to consider all their lands as common property, has been frequently and largely discussed, in my communications with your predecessor, and in a personal interview with the late President. The treaties made by me last fall were concluded on principles as liberal towards the Indians, as my knowledge of the views and opinions of the government would allow. For although great latitude of discretion has always been given to me, I knew that the opinion of Mr. Jefferson on the subject went so far as to assert a claim of the United States, as lords paramount, to the lands of all extinguished or decayed tribes, to the exclusion of all recent settlers. Upon this principle, the Miami nation are the only rightful claimants of all the unpurchased lands from the Ohio to the Illinois and Mississippi rivers. But, sir, the President may rest assured that the complaint of injury, with regard to the sale of lands, is a mere pretence suggested to the Prophet by British partisans and emissaries." Early in July, some of the Prophet's followers descended the Wabash to a point below Terre Haute, and stole several horses. A few days afterwards, governor Harrison ascertained from a party of Indians who were on a visit to Vincennes, that the Sacs and Foxes had taken up the hatchet, and declared themselves ready to act with the Prophet, whenever it should be required. It was further stated, that a Miami chief, who had just returned from his annual visit to Malden, after receiving his usual stipend of goods, was addressed by the British agent, Elliot, in these words: "My son, keep your eyes fixed on me--my tomahawk is now up--be you ready, but do not strike till I give the signal." About the same time, the governor, in the hope of staying the movements of the Prophet, or at least of ascertaining the amount of his forces, forwarded to him by a confidential interpreter, the following speech: "William Henry Harrison, governor and commander-in-chief of the territory of Indiana, to the Shawanoe chief, and the Indians assembled at Tippecanoe: "Notwithstanding the improper language which you have used towards me, I will endeavor to open your eyes to your true interests. Notwithstanding what white bad men have told you, I am not your personal enemy. You ought to know this from the manner in which I received and treated you, on your visit to this place. "Although I must say, that you are an enemy to the Seventeen Fires, and that you have used the greatest exertions with other tribes to lead them astray. In this, you have been in some measure successful; as I am told they are ready to raise the tomahawk against their father; yet their father, notwithstanding his anger at their folly, is full of goodness, and is always ready to receive into his arms those of his children who are willing to repent, acknowledge their fault, and ask for his forgiveness. "There is yet but little harm done, which may be easily repaired. The chain of friendship which united the whites with the Indians, may be renewed, and be as strong as ever. A great deal of that work depends on you--the destiny of those who are under your direction, depends upon the choice you may make of the two roads which are before you. The one is large, open and pleasant, and leads to peace, security and happiness; the other, on the contrary, is narrow and crooked, and leads to misery and ruin. Don't deceive yourselves; do not believe that all the nations of Indians united, are able to resist the force of the Seventeen Fires. I know your warriors are brave, but ours are not less so; but what can a few brave warriors do, against the innumerable warriors of the Seventeen Fires? Our blue coats are more numerous than you can count; our hunters are like the leaves of the forest, or the grains of sand on the Wabash. "Do not think that the red coats can protect you; they are not able to protect themselves. They do not think of going to war with us. If they did, you would in a few moons see our flag wave over all the forts of Canada. "What reason have you to complain of the Seventeen Fires? have they taken any thing from you--have they ever violated the treaties made with the red men? You say that they purchased lands from them who had no right to sell them: show that this is true, and the land will be instantly restored. Show us the rightful owners of those lands which have been purchased--let them present themselves. The ears of your father will be opened to your complaints, and if the lands have been purchased of those who did not own them, they will be restored to the rightful owners. I have full power to arrange this business; but if you would rather carry your complaints before your great father, the President, you shall be indulged. I will immediately take means to send you with those chiefs which you may choose, to the city where your father lives. Every thing necessary shall be prepared for your journey, and means taken for your safe return." Tecumseh was present when the interpreter delivered this speech. The Prophet made no reply to it, but promised to send one by his brother, who intended, in a few weeks, to make a visit to governor Harrison. In conversation, however, with the interpreter, the Prophet strongly disavowed the idea that he had any hostile intentions; but at the same time declared, that it would not be practicable long to maintain peace with the United States, unless the government would recognize the principle, that the lands were the common property of _all_ the Indians; and cease to make any further settlement to the north and west. "The Great Spirit" continued he, "gave this great island to his red children; he placed the whites on the other side of the big water; they were not contented with their own, but came to take ours from us. They have driven us from the sea to the lakes: we can go no further. They have taken upon them to say, this tract belongs to the Miamis, this to the Delawares, and so on; but the Great Spirit intended it as the common property of us all. Our father tells us, that we have no business upon the Wabash, the land belongs to other tribes; but the Great Spirit ordered us to come here, and here we will stay." He expressed himself, in the course of the conversation, gratified with the speech which the governor had sent him; saying, he recollected to have seen him, when a very young man, sitting by the side of general Wayne. Some of the Indians, then at the Prophet's town, appeared to be alarmed at the arrival of the interpreter, and professed themselves dissatisfied with the conduct of their leaders. Tecumseh told him, that in making his promised visit to the governor, he should bring with him about thirty of his principal warriors; and as the young men were fond of attending on such occasions, the whole number might probably be one hundred. The Prophet added, that the governor might expect to see a still larger number than that named by his brother. Upon the return of the interpreter to Vincennes, the governor, not wishing to be burthened with so large a body of Indians, despatched a messenger to Tecumseh, requesting that he would bring with him but a few of his followers. This request, however, was wholly disregarded; and on the 12th of August, the chief, attended by four hundred warriors, fully armed with tomahawks and war-clubs, descended the Wabash to Vincennes, for the purpose of holding the proposed conference. From a family letter written by captain Floyd, then commanding at fort Knox, three miles above Vincennes, under date of 14th of August, 1810, the following extract is made, referring to this visit of the chieftain and his war-like retinue. "Nothing new has transpired since my last letter to you, except that the Shawanoe Indians have come; they passed this garrison, which is three miles above Vincennes, on Sunday last, in eighty canoes; they were all painted in the most terrific manner: they were stopped at the garrison by me, for a short time: I examined their canoes and found them well prepared for war, in case of an attack. They were headed by the brother of the Prophet, (Tecumseh) who, perhaps, is one of the finest looking men I ever saw--about six feet high, straight, with large, fine features, and altogether a daring, bold looking fellow. The governor's council with them will commence to-morrow morning. He has directed me to attend." Governor Harrison had made arrangements for holding the council on the portico of his own house, which had been fitted up with seats for the occasion. Here, on the morning of the fifteenth, he awaited the arrival of the chief, being attended by the judges of the Supreme Court, some officers of the army, a sergeant and twelve men, from fort Knox, and a large number of citizens. At the appointed hour Tecumseh, supported by forty of his principal warriors, made his appearance, the remainder of his followers being encamped in the village and its environs. When the chief had approached within thirty or forty yards of the house, he suddenly stopped, as if awaiting some advances from the governor. An interpreter was sent requesting him and his followers to take seats on the portico. To this Tecumseh objected--he did not think the place a suitable one for holding the conference, but preferred that it should take place in a grove of trees,--to which he pointed,--standing a short distance from the house. The governor said he had no objection to the grove, except that there were no seats in it for their accommodation. Tecumseh replied, that constituted no objection to the grove, the earth being the most suitable place for the Indians, who loved to repose upon the bosom of their mother. The governor yielded the point, and the benches and chairs having been removed to the spot, the conference was begun, the Indians being seated on the grass. Tecumseh opened the meeting by stating, at length, his objections to the treaty of fort Wayne, made by governor Harrison in the previous year; and in the course of his speech, boldly avowed the principle of his party to be, that of resistance to every cession of land, unless made by all the tribes, who, he contended, formed but one nation. He admitted that he had threatened to kill the chiefs who signed the treaty of fort Wayne; and that it was his fixed determination not to permit the _village_ chiefs, in future, to manage their affairs, but to place the power with which _they_ had been heretofore invested, in the hands of the war chiefs. The Americans, he said, had driven the Indians from the sea coast, and would soon push them into the lakes; and, while he disclaimed all intention of making war upon the United States, he declared it to be his unalterable resolution to take a stand, and resolutely oppose the further intrusion of the whites upon the Indian lands. He concluded, by making a brief but impassioned recital of the various wrongs and aggressions inflicted by the white men upon the Indians, from the commencement of the Revolutionary war down to the period of that council; all of which was calculated to arouse and inflame the minds of such of his followers as were present. The governor rose in reply, and in examining the right of Tecumseh and his party to make objections to the treaty of fort Wayne, took occasion to say, that the Indians were not one nation, having a common property in the lands. The Miamis, he contended, were the real owners of the tract on the Wabash, ceded by the late treaty, and the Shawanoes had no right to interfere in the case; that upon the arrival of the whites on this continent, they had found the Miamis in possession of this land, the Shawanoes being then residents of Georgia, from which they had been driven by the Creeks, and that it was ridiculous to assert that the red men constituted but one nation; for, if such had been the intention of the Great Spirit, he would not have put different tongues in their heads, but have taught them all to speak the same language. The governor having taken his seat, the interpreter commenced explaining the speech to Tecumseh, who, after listening to a portion of it, sprung to his feet and began to speak with great vehemence of manner. The governor was surprised at his violent gestures, but as he did not understand him, thought he was making some explanation, and suffered his attention to be drawn towards Winnemac, a friendly Indian lying on the grass before him, who was renewing the priming of his pistol, which he had kept concealed from the other Indians, but in full view of the governor. His attention, however, was again directed towards Tecumseh, by hearing general Gibson, who was intimately acquainted with the Shawanoe language, say to lieutenant Jennings, "those fellows intend mischief; you had better bring up the guard." At that moment, the followers of Tecumseh seized their tomahawks and war clubs, and sprung upon their feet, their eyes turned upon the governor. As soon as he could disengage himself from the armed chair in which he sat, he rose, drew a small sword which he had by his side, and stood on the defensive. Captain G.R. Floyd, of the army, who stood near him, drew a dirk, and the chief Winnemac cocked his pistol. The citizens present, were more numerous than the Indians, but were unarmed; some of them procured clubs and brick-bats, and also stood on the defensive. The Rev. Mr. Winans, of the Methodist church, ran to the governor's house, got a gun, and posted himself at the door to defend the family. During this singular scene, no one spoke, until the guard came running up, and appearing to be in the act of firing, the governor ordered them not to do so. He then demanded of the interpreter, an explanation of what had happened, who replied that Tecumseh had interrupted him, declaring that all the governor had said was _false_; and that he and the Seventeen Fires had cheated and imposed on the Indians.[A] [Footnote A: Dawson's Historical Narrative.] The governor then told Tecumseh that he was a bad man, and that he would hold no further communication with him; that as he had come to Vincennes under the protection of a council-fire, he might return in safety, but that he must immediately leave the village. Here the council terminated. During the night, two companies of militia were brought in from the country, and that belonging to the town was also embodied. Next morning Tecumseh requested the governor to afford him an opportunity of explaining his conduct on the previous day--declaring, that he did not intend to attack the governor, and that he had acted under the advice of some of the white people. The governor consented to another interview, it being understood that each party should have the same armed force as on the previous day. On this occasion, the deportment of Tecumseh was respectful and dignified. He again denied having had any intention to make an attack upon the governor, and declared that he had been stimulated to the course he had taken, by two white men, who assured him that one half of the citizens were opposed to the governor, and willing to restore the land in question; that the governor would soon be put out of office, and a good man sent to fill his place, who would give up the land to the Indians. When asked by the governor whether he intended to resist the survey of these lands, Tecumseh replied that he and his followers were resolutely determined to insist upon the old boundary. When he had taken his seat, chiefs from the Wyandots, Kickapoos, Potawatamies, Ottawas, and Winnebagoes, spoke in succession, and distinctly avowed that they had entered into the Shawanoe confederacy, and were determined to support the principles laid down by their leader. The governor, in conclusion, stated that he would make known to the President, the claims of Tecumseh and his party, to the land in question; but that he was satisfied the government would never admit that the lands on the Wabash were the property of any other tribes than those who occupied them, when the white people first arrived in America; and, as the title to these lands had been derived by purchase from those tribes, he might rest assured that the right of the United States would be sustained by the sword. Here the council adjourned. On the following day, governor Harrison visited Tecumseh in his camp, attended only by the interpreter, and was very politely received. A long conversation ensued, in which Tecumseh again declared that his intentions were really such as he had avowed them to be in the council; that the policy which the United States pursued, of purchasing lands from the Indians, he viewed as a mighty water, ready to overflow his people; and that the confederacy which he was forming among the tribes to prevent any individual tribe from selling without the consent of the others, was the dam he was erecting to resist this mighty water. He stated further, that he should be reluctantly drawn into a war with the United States; and that if he, the governor, would induce the President to give up the lands lately purchased, and agree never to make another treaty without the consent of all the tribes, he would be their faithful ally and assist them in the war, which he knew was about to take place with England; that he preferred being the ally of the Seventeen Fires, but if they did not comply with his request, he would be compelled to unite with the British. The governor replied, that he would make known his views to the President, but that there was no probability of their being agreed to. "Well," said Tecumseh, "as the great chief is to determine the matter, I hope the Great Spirit will put sense enough into his head to induce him to give up this land: it is true, he is so far off he will not be injured by the war; he may sit still in his town and drink his wine, whilst you and I will have to fight it out." This prophecy, it will be seen, was literally fulfilled; and the great chieftain who uttered it, attested that fulfilment with his blood. The governor, in conclusion, proposed to Tecumseh, that in the event of hostilities between the Indians and the United States, he should use his influence to put an end to the cruel mode of warfare which the Indians were accustomed to wage upon women and children, or upon prisoners. To this he cheerfully assented; and, it is due to the memory of Tecumseh to add, that he faithfully kept his promise down to the period of his death.[A] [Footnote A: In Marshall's History of Kentucky, vol. 2. p. 482, there is a speech quoted as having been delivered by Tecumseh at this council. We are authorised, on the best authority, to say that it is a sheer fabrication. No such speech was delivered by him at the council.] Whether in this council Tecumseh really meditated treachery or only intended to intimidate the governor, must remain a matter of conjecture. If the former, his force of four hundred well armed warriors was sufficient to have murdered the inhabitants and sacked the town, which at that time did not contain more than one thousand persons, including women and children. When in the progress of the conference, he and his forty followers sprung to their arms, there would have been, in all probability, a corresponding movement with the remainder of his warriors encamped in and around the village, had he seriously contemplated an, attack upon the governor and the inhabitants. But this does not appear to have been the case. It is probable, therefore, that Tecumseh, in visiting Vincennes with so large a body of followers, expected to make a strong impression upon the whites as to the extent of his influence among the Indians, and the strength of his party. His movement in the council may have been concerted for the purpose of intimidating the governor; but the more probable supposition is, that in the excitement of the moment, produced by the speech of the governor, he lost his self-possession, and involuntarily placed his hand upon his war-club, in which movement he was followed by the warriors around him, without any previous intention of proceeding to extremities. Whatever may have been the fact, the bold chieftain found in governor Harrison a firmness of purpose and an intrepidity of manner which must have convinced him that nothing was to be gained by an effort at intimidation, however daring. Soon after the close of this memorable council, governor Harrison made arrangements for the survey of the land purchased at the treaty of fort Wayne, under the protection of a detachment of soldiers. About the same time, "a young Iowa chief, whom the governor had employed to go to the Prophet's town to gain information, reported, on his return; that he had been told by an old Winnebago chief, who was his relation, that the great Belt which had been sent round to all the tribes, for the purpose of uniting them, was returned; and he mentioned a considerable number who had acceded to the confederacy, the object of which was 'to confine the great water and prevent it from overflowing them.' That the belt since its return had been sent to the British agent, who danced for joy at seeing so many tribes had joined against the United States. That the Prophet had sent a speech to his confedrates not to be discouraged at the apparent defection of some of the tribes near him; for that it was all a sham, intended to deceive the white people; that these tribes hated the Seventeen Fires; and that though they gave them sweet words, they were like grass plucked up by the roots, they would soon wither and come to nothing. The old Winnebago chief told him with tears in his eyes, that he himself and all the village chiefs, had been divested of their power, and that everything was managed by the warriors, who breathed nothing but war against the United States.[A]" [Footnote A: Dawson's Historical Narrative.] Governor Harrison, in his address to the legislature of Indiana, in the month of November of this year, refers to the difficulties with the Indians at Tippecanoe; and bears testimony to the fact, that the Prophet and Tecumseh were instigated to assume a hostile attitude towards the United States, by British influence. He says, "It is with regret that I have to inform you that the harmony and good understanding which it is so much our interest to cultivate with our neighbors, the aborigines, have for some time past experienced considerable interruption, and that we have indeed been threatened with hostilities, by a combination formed under the auspices of a bold adventurer, who pretends to act under the immediate inspiration of the Deity. His character as a Prophet would not, however, have given him any very dangerous influence, if he had not been assisted by the intrigues and advice of foreign agents, and other disaffected persons, who have for many years omitted no opportunity of counteracting the measures of the government with regard to the Indians, and filling their naturally jealous minds with suspicions of the justice and integrity of our views towards them." That our government was sincerely desirous of preserving peace with these disaffected Indians, appears from the following extract of a letter from the Secretary of War, to governor Harrison, written in the autumn of this year. "It has occurred to me," said the Secretary, "that the surest means of securing good behavior from this conspicuous personage and his brother, [the Prophet and Tecumseh] would be to make them prisoners; but at this time, more particularly, it is desirable that peace with all the Indian tribes should be preserved; and I am instructed by the President to express to your excellency his expectations and confidence, that in all your arrangements, this may be considered, (as I am confident it ever has been) a primary object with you." During the autumn, a Kickapoo chief visited Vincennes, and informed the governor that the pacific professions of the Prophet and Tecumseh were not to be relied on,--that their ultimate designs were hostile to the United States. At the same time governor Clark, of Missouri, forwarded to the governor of Indiana information that the Prophet had sent belts to the tribes west of the Mississippi, inviting them to join in a war against the United States; and, stating that he would commence the contest by an attack on Vincennes. Governor Clark further said, that the Sacs had at length joined the Tippecanoe confederacy, and that a party of them had gone to Maiden for arms and ammunition. The Indian interpreter, at Chicago, also stated to governor Harrison, that the tribes in that quarter were disaffected towards the United States, and seemed determined upon war. One of the surveyors, engaged to run the lines of the new purchase, was driven off the lands by a party of the Wea tribe, who took two of his men prisoners: thus closed the year 1810. CHAPTER VIII. Alarm on the frontier continues--a Muskoe Indian killed at Vincennes--governor Harrison sends a pacific speech to Tecumseh and the Prophet--the former replies to it--in July Tecumseh visits governor Harrison at Vincennes--disavows any intention of making war upon the whites--explains his object in forming a union among the tribes--governor Harrison's opinion of Tecumseh and the Prophet--murder of the Deaf Chief--Tecumseh visits the southern Indians. The spring of 1811 brought with it no abatement of these border difficulties. Early in the season, governor Harrison sent a boat up the Wabash, loaded with salt for the Indians,--that article constituting a part of their annuity. Five barrels were to be left with the Prophet, for the Kickapoos and Shawanoes. Upon the arrival of the boat at Tippecanoe, the Prophet called a council, by which it was decided to seize the whole of the salt, which was promptly done--word being sent back to the governor, not to be angry at this measure, as the Prophet had two thousand men to feed; and, had not received any salt for two years past. There were at this time about six hundred men at Tippecanoe; and, Tecumseh, who had been absent for some time, on a visit to the lakes, was expected daily, with large reinforcements. From appearances, it seemed probable that an attack was meditated on Vincennes by these brothers, with a force of eight hundred or one thousand warriors; a number far greater than the governor could collect, even if he embodied all the militia for some miles around that place. He accordingly wrote to the Secretary of War, recommending that the 4th regiment of U.S. troops, then at Pittsburg, under the command of colonel Boyd, should be ordered to Vincennes; at the same time asking for authority to act offensively against the Indians, so soon as it was found that the intentions of their leaders were decidedly hostile towards the United States. Under date of June 6th, governor Harrison, in a letter to the war department, expresses the opinion that the disposition of the Indians is far from being pacific. Wells, the agent at fort Wayne, had visited the Prophet's town, relative to some stolen horses, and certain Potawatamies who had committed the murders on the Mississippi. Four of the horses were recovered, but Tecumseh disclaimed all agency in taking them, although he acknowledged that it was done by some of his party. Tecumseh openly avowed to the agent his resolute determination to resist the further encroachments of the white people. In this letter the governor remarks, "I wish I could say the Indians were treated with justice and propriety on all occasions by our citizens; but it is far otherwise. They are often abused and maltreated; and it is very rare that they obtain any satisfaction for the most unprovoked wrongs." He proceeds to relate the circumstance of a Muskoe Indian having been killed by an Italian innkeeper, in Vincennes, without any just cause. The murderer, under the orders of the governor, was apprehended, tried, but acquitted by the jury almost without deliberation. About the same time, within twenty miles of Vincennes, two Weas were badly wounded by a white man without the smallest provocation. Such aggressions tended greatly to exasperate the Indians, and to prevent them from delivering up such of their people as committed offences against the citizens of the United States. Such was the fact with the Delawares, upon a demand from the governor for White Turkey, who had robbed the house of a Mr. Vawter. The chiefs refused to surrender him, declaring that they would never deliver up another man until some of the whites were punished, who had murdered their people. They, however, punished White Turkey themselves, by putting him to death. On the 24th of June, soon after the return of Tecumseh from his visit to the Iroquois and Wyandots, for the purpose of increasing his confederacy, governor Harrison transmitted to him and the Prophet, together with the other chiefs at Tippecanoe, the following speech: "Brothers,--Listen to me. I speak to you about matters of importance, both to the white people and yourselves; open your ears, therefore, and attend to what I shall say. "Brothers, this is the third year that all the white people in this country have been alarmed at your proceedings; you threaten us with war, you invite all the tribes to the north and west of you to join against us. "Brothers, your warriors who have lately been here, deny this; but I have received the information from every direction; the tribes on the Mississippi have sent me word that you intended to murder me, and then to commence a war upon our people. I have also received the speech you sent to the Potawatamies and others, to join you for that purpose; but if I had no other evidence of your hostility to us, your seizing the salt I lately sent up the Wabash, is sufficient. "Brothers, our citizens are alarmed, and my warriors are preparing themselves; not to strike you, but to defend themselves and their women and children. You shall not surprise us as you expect to do; you are about to undertake a very rash act; as a friend, I advise you to consider well of it; a little reflection may save us a great deal of trouble and prevent much mischief; it is not yet too late. "Brothers, what can be the inducement for you to undertake an enterprise when there is so little probability of success; do you really think that the handful of men that you have about you, are able to contend with the Seventeen Fires, or even that the whole of the tribes united, could contend against the Kentucky Fire alone? "Brothers, I am myself of the long knife fire; as soon as they hear my voice, you will see them pouring forth their swarms of hunting shirt men, as numerous as the musquetoes on the shores of the Wabash; brothers, take care of their stings. "Brothers, it is not our wish to hurt you: if we did, we certainly have power to do it; look at the number of our warriors to the east of you, above and below the Great Miami,--to the south, on both sides of the Ohio, and below you also. You are brave men; but what could you do against such a multitude?--but we wish you to live in peace and happiness. "Brothers, the citizens of this country are alarmed; they must be satisfied that you have no design to do them mischief, or they will not lay aside their arms. You have also insulted the government of the United States by seizing the salt that was intended for other tribes; satisfaction must be given for that also. "Brothers, you talk of coming to see me, attended by all your young men; this, however, must not be so; if your intentions are good, you have no need to bring but a few of your young men with you. I must be plain with you; I will not suffer you to come into our settlements with such a force. "Brothers, if you wish to satisfy us that your intentions are good, follow the advice that I have given you before; that is, that one or both of you should visit the President of the United States, and lay your grievances before him. He will treat you well, will listen to what you say, and if you can show him that you have been injured, you will receive justice. If you will follow my advice in this respect, it will convince the citizens of this country and myself that you have no design to attack them. "Brothers, with respect to the lands that were purchased last fall, I can enter into no negotiations with you on that subject; the affair is in the hands of the President, if you wish to go and see him, I will supply you with the means. "Brothers, the person who delivers this, is one of my war officers; he is a man in whom I have entire confidence: whatever he says to you, although it may not be contained in this paper, you may believe comes from me. "My friend Tecumseh! the bearer is a good man and a brave warrior; I hope you will treat him well; you are yourself a warrior, and all such should have esteem for each other." Tecumseh to the governor of Indiana, in reply: "Brother, I give you a few words until I will be with you myself. "Brother, at Vincennes, I wish you to listen to me whilst I send you a few words, and I hope they will ease your heart; I know you look on your young men and young women and children with pity, to see them so much alarmed. "Brother, I wish you now to examine what you have from me; I hope that it will be a satisfaction to you, if your intentions are like mine, to wash away all these bad stories that have been circulated. I will be with you myself in eighteen days from this day. "Brother, we cannot say what will become of us, as the Great Spirit has the management of us all at his will. I may be there before the time, and may not be there until the day. I hope that when we come together, all these bad tales will be settled; by this I hope your young men, women and children, will be easy. I wish you, brother, to let them know when I come to Vincennes and see you, all will be settled in peace and happiness. "Brother, these are only a few words to let you know that I will be with you myself, and when I am with you I can inform you better. "Brother, if I find that I can be with you in less time than eighteen days, I will send one of my young men before me, to let you know what time I will be with you." On the second of July, governor Harrison received information from the executive of Illinois, that several murders had been committed in that territory; and that there were good grounds for believing these crimes had been perpetrated by a party of Shawanoes. The governor had been previously informed that it was the design of the Prophet to commence hostilities in Illinois, in order to cover his main object--the attack on Vincennes. Both territories were in a state of great alarm; and the Secretary of War was officially notified, that if the general government did not take measures to protect the inhabitants, they were determined to protect themselves. In a letter under date of Vincennes, 10th July, 1811, governor Harrison writes as follows to the Secretary of War. "Captain Wilson, the officer whom I sent to the Prophet's town, returned on Sunday last. He was well received, and treated with particular friendship by Tecumseh. He obtained, however, no satisfaction. The only answer given was, that in eighteen days Tecumseh would pay me a visit for the purpose of explaining his conduct. Upon being told that I would not suffer him to come with so large a force, he promised to bring with him a few men only. I shall not, however, depend upon this promise, but shall have the river well watched by a party of scouts after the descent of the chief, lest he should be followed by his warriors. I do not think that this will be the case. The detection of the hostile designs of an Indian is generally (for that time) to defeat them. The hopes of an expedition, conducted through many hundred miles of toil and difficulty, are abandoned frequently, upon the slightest suspicion; their painful steps retraced, and a more favorable moment expected. With them the surprise of an enemy bestows more eclat upon a warrior than the most brilliant success obtained by other means. Tecumseh has taken for his model the celebrated Pontiac, and I am persuaded he will bear a favorable comparison, in every respect, with that far famed warrior. If it is his object to begin with the surprise of this place, it is impossible that a more favorable situation could have been chosen, than the one he occupies: it is just so far off as to be removed from immediate observation, and yet so near as to enable him to strike us, when the water is high, in twenty-four hours, and even when it is low, their light canoes will come fully as fast as the journey could be performed on horseback. The situation is in other respects admirable for the purposes for which he has chosen it. It is nearly central with regard to the tribes which he wishes to unite. The water communication with lake Erie, by means of the Wabash and Miami--with lake Michigan and the Illinois, by the Tippecanoe, is a great convenience. It is immediately in the centre of the back line of that fine country which he wishes to prevent us from settling--and above all, he has immediately in his rear a country that has been but little explored, consisting principally of barren thickets, interspersed with swamps and lakes, into which our cavalry could not penetrate, and our infantry, only by slow, laborious efforts." The promised visit of Tecumseh took place in the latter part of July. He reached Vincennes on the 27th, attended by about three hundred of his party, of whom thirty were women and children. The council was opened on the 30th, in an arbor erected for the purpose, and at the appointed time the chief made his appearance, attended by about one hundred and seventy warriors, without guns, but all of them having knives and tomahawks, or war clubs, and some armed with bows and arrows. The governor, in opening the council, made reference to the late murders in Illinois, and the alarm which the appearance of Tecumseh, with so large an armed force, had created among the people on the Wabash. He further informed Tecumseh that, whilst he listened to whatever himself or any of the chiefs had to say in regard to the late purchase of land, he would enter into no negociation on that subject, as it was now in the hands of the President. The governor, after telling Tecumseh that he was at liberty to visit the President, and hear his decision from his own mouth, adverted to the late seizure of the salt, and demanded an explanation of it. In reply, the chief admitted the seizure, but said he was not at home, either this spring or the year before, when the salt boats arrived; that it seemed impossible to please the governor: last year he was angry, because the salt was refused, and this year equally so, because it was taken. The council was then adjourned until the following day. When it was again opened, a Wea chief made a long speech, giving the history of all the treaties which had been made by the governor and the Indian tribes; and concluded with the remark, that he had been told that the Miami chiefs had been forced by the Potawatamies to accede to the treaty of fort Wayne; and that it would be proper to institute enquiries to find out the person who had held the tomahawk over their heads, and punish him. This statement was immediately contradicted by the governor, and also by the Miami chiefs who were present. Anxious to bring the conference to a close, the governor then told Tecumseh that by delivering up the two Potawatamies who had murdered the four white men on the Missouri, last fall, he would at once attest the sincerity of his professions of friendship to the United States, and his desire to preserve peace. His reply was evasive, but developed very clearly his designs. After much trouble and difficulty he had induced, he said, all the northern tribes to unite, and place themselves under his direction; that the white people were unnecessarily alarmed at his measures, which really meant nothing but peace; that the United States had set him the example of forming a strict union amongst all the Fires that compose their confederacy; that the Indians did not complain of it, nor should his white brothers complain of him for doing the same thing in regard to the Indian tribes; that so soon as the council was over, he was to set out on a visit to the southern tribes, to prevail upon them to unite with those of the north. As to the murderers, they were not at his town, and if they were, he could not deliver them up; that they ought to be forgiven, as well as those who had committed some murders in Illinois; that he had set the whites an example of the forgiveness of injuries which they ought to follow. In reply to an enquiry on the subject, he said he hoped no attempt would be made to settle the new purchase, before his return next spring; that a great number of Indians were coming to settle at Tippecanoe in the autumn, and they would need that tract as a hunting ground, and if they did no further injury, they might kill the cattle and hogs of the white people, which would create disturbances; that he wished every thing to remain in its present situation until his return, when he would visit the President, and settle all difficulties with him. The governor made a brief reply, saying, that the moon which they beheld (it was then night) would sooner fall to the earth, than the President would suffer his people to be murdered with impunity; and that he would put his warriors in petticoats, sooner than he would give up a country which he had fairly acquired from the rightful owners. Here the council terminated. In a day or two afterwards, attended by twenty warriors, Tecumseh set off for the south, on a visit to the Creeks and Choctaws. The governor was at a loss to determine the object of Tecumseh, in taking with him to Vincennes, so large a body of his followers. The spies said that he intended to demand a retrocession of the late purchase, and if it was not obtained, to seize some of the chiefs who were active in making the treaty, in presence of the governor, and put them to death; and in case of his interference, to have subjected him to the same fate. Many of the neutral Indians entertained the opinion that he meditated an attack upon Vincennes. If such was the case, his plan was probably changed by observing the vigilance of governor Harrison and the display of seven or eight hundred men under arms. It is questionable, however, we think, whether Tecumseh really meditated violence at this time. He probably wished to impress the whites with an idea of his strength, and at the same time gratify his ambition of moving, as a great chieftain, at the head of a numerous retinue of warriors. The day after the close of this council, the governor wrote to the War Department. The following is a part of his communication. "My letter of yesterday will inform you of the arrival and departure of Tecumseh from this place, and of the route which he has taken. There can be no doubt his object is to excite the southern Indians to war against us. His mother was of the Creek nation, and he builds much upon that circumstance towards forwarding his views. I do not think there is any danger of further hostility until he returns: and his absence affords a most favorable opportunity for breaking up his confederacy, and I have some expectations of being able to accomplish it without a recourse to actual hostility. Tecumseh assigned the next spring as the period of his return. I am informed, however, that he will be back in three months. There is a Potawatamie chief here, who says he was present when the message from the British agent was delivered to the Prophet, telling him that the time had arrived for taking up arms, and inviting him to send a party to Malden, to receive the necessary supplies. This man is one of the few who preserve their independence. "The implicit obedience and respect which the followers of Tecumseh pay to him, is really astonishing, and more than any other circumstance bespeaks him one of those uncommon geniuses which spring up occasionally to produce revolutions, and overturn the established order of things. If it were not for the vicinity of the United States, he would, perhaps, be the founder of an empire that would rival in glory Mexico or Peru. No difficulties deter him. For four years he has been in constant motion. You see him to-day on the Wabash, and in a short time hear of him on the shores of lake Erie or Michigan, or on the banks of the Mississippi; and wherever he goes he makes an impression favorable to his purposes. He is now upon the last round to put a finishing stroke to his work. I hope, however, before his return that that part of the fabric which he considered complete, will be demolished, and even its foundations rooted up. Although the greater part of his followers are attached to him from principle and affection, there are many others who follow him through fear; and he was scarcely a mile from town, before they indulged in the most virulent invectives against him. The Prophet is impudent and audacious, but is deficient in judgment, talents and firmness." The following anecdote illustrates the coolness and self-possession of Tecumseh, not less than the implicit obedience that was paid to his commands by his followers. A Potawatamie, called the Deaf Chief, was present at the late council. After it was closed, he stated to the governor, that had he been called upon during the conference he would have confronted Tecumseh, when he denied that his intentions towards the United States were hostile. This declaration having been repeated to Tecumseh, he calmly intimated to the Prophet, that upon their return to Tippecanoe, the Deaf Chief must be disposed of. A friend of the latter informed him of his danger, but the chief, not at all intimidated, returned to his camp, put on his war-dress, and equipping himself with his rifle, tomahawk and scalping knife, returned and presented himself before Tecumseh, who was then in company with Mr. Baron, the governor's interpreter. The Deaf Chief there reproached Tecumseh for having ordered him to be killed, declaring that it was an act unworthy of a warrior. "But here I am now," said he, "come and kill me." Tecumseh making no answer, the Potawatamie heaped upon him every term of abuse and contumely, and finally charged him with being the slave of the red-coats, (the British.) Tecumseh, perfectly unmoved, made no reply, but continued his conversation with Mr. Baron, until the Deaf Chief, wearied with the effort to provoke his antagonist to action, returned to his camp. There is some reason for believing that the Prophet did not disobey his orders: the Deaf Chief was never seen again at Vincennes. Of the result of the mission of Tecumseh to the southern tribes, we have no detailed information. Hodgson, who subsequently travelled through this country, in his "Letters from North America," says: "Our host told me that he was living with his Indian wife among the Creeks, when the celebrated Indian warrior Tecumseh, came more than one thousand miles, from the borders of Canada, to induce the lower Creeks, to promise to take up the hatchet in behalf of the British, against the Americans, and the upper Creeks whenever he should require it: that he was present at the midnight convocation of the chiefs, which was held on that occasion, and which terminated after a most impressive speech from Tecumseh with a unanimous determination to take up the hatchet whenever he should call upon them. This was at least a year before the declaration of the last war." In the "History of the Tribes of North America," there is an interesting notice of this visit of Tecumseh. "The following remarkable circumstance may serve to illustrate the penetration, decision and boldness of this warrior chief. He had been south, to Florida, and succeeded in instigating the Seminoles in particular, and portions of other tribes, to unite in the war on the side of the British. He gave out that a vessel, on a certain day, commanded by red-coats, would be off Florida, filled with guns and ammunition, and supplies for the use of the Indians. That no mistake might happen in regard to the day on which the Indians were to strike, he prepared bundles of sticks, each bundle containing the number of sticks corresponding to the number of days that were to intervene between the day on which they were received, and the day of the general onset. The Indian practice is to throw away a stick every morning; they make, therefore, no mistake in the time. These sticks Tecumseh caused to be painted red. It was from this circumstance that in the former Seminole war, these Indians were called 'Red Sticks.' In all this business of mustering the tribes, he used great caution; he supposed enquiry would be made as to the object of his visit; that his plans might not be suspected, he directed the Indians to reply to any questions that might be asked about him, by saying, that he had counselled them to cultivate the ground, abstain from ardent spirits, and live in peace with the white people. On his return from Florida, he went among the Creeks in Alabama, urging them to unite with the Seminoles. Arriving at Tuckhabatchee, a Creek town on the Tallapoosa river, he made his way to the lodge of the chief called the Big Warrior. He explained his object, delivered his war-talk, presented a bundle of sticks, gave a piece of wampum and a hatchet; all which the Big Warrior took. When Tecumseh, reading the intentions and spirit of the Big Warrior, looked him in the eye, and pointing his finger towards his face, said: 'Your blood is white: you have taken my talk, and the sticks, and the wampum, and the hatchet, but you do not mean to fight: I know the reason: you do not believe the Great Spirit has sent me: you shall know: I leave Tuckhabatchee directly, and shall go straight to Detroit: when I arrive there, I will stamp on the ground with my foot, and shake down every house in Tuckhabatchee.' So saying, he turned and left the Big Warrior in utter amazement, at both his manner and his threat, and pursued his journey. The Indians were struck no less with his conduct than was the Big Warrior, and began to dread the arrival of the day when the threatened calamity would befal them. They met often and talked over this matter, and counted the days carefully, to know the time when Tecumseh would reach Detroit. The morning they had fixed upon, as the period of his arrival, at last came. A mighty rumbling was heard--the Indians all ran out of their houses--the earth began to shake; when at last, sure enough, every house in Tuckhabatchee was shaken down! The exclamation was in every mouth, 'Tecumseh has got to Detroit!' The effect was electrical. The message he had delivered to the Big Warrior was believed, and many of the Indians took their rifles and prepared for the war. "The reader will not be surprised to learn, that an earthquake had produced all this; but he will be, doubtless, that it should happen on the very day on which Tecumseh arrived at Detroit; and, in exact fulfilment of his threat. It was the famous earthquake of New Madrid, on the Mississippi. We received the foregoing from the lips of the Indians, when we were at Tuckhabatchee, in 1827, and near the residence of the Big Warrior. The anecdote may therefore be relied on. Tecumseh's object, doubtless was, on seeing that he had failed, by the usual appeal to the passions, and hopes, and war spirit of the Indians, to alarm their fears, little dreaming, himself, that on the day named, his threat would be executed with such punctuality and terrible fidelity." CHAPTER IX. Governor Harrison applies to the War Department for troops to maintain peace on the frontiers--battle of Tippecanoe on the 7th of November--its influence on the Prophet and his followers. The late council at Vincennes having failed in producing any satisfactory results, and Tecumseh having gone to the south for the avowed purpose of extending his confederacy, the alarm among the inhabitants of Indiana continued to increase. Public meetings were held, and memorials forwarded to the President, invoking protection, and requesting the removal of the Indians from the Prophet's town; the memorialists being "fully convinced that the formation of this combination, headed by the Shawanoe Prophet, was a British scheme, and that the agents of that power were constantly exciting the Indians to hostility against the United States." The President accordingly placed the 4th regiment U.S. infantry, commanded by colonel Boyd, and a company of riflemen, at the disposal of governor Harrison. The Secretary of War, under date of 20th October, 1811, in a letter to him, says: "I have been particularly instructed by the President to communicate to your excellency, his earnest desire that peace may, if possible, be preserved with the Indians; and that to this end, every proper means may be adopted. By this, it is not intended that murder or robberies committed by them, should not meet with the punishment due to those crimes; that the settlements should be unprotected, or that any hostile combination should avail itself of success, in consequence of a neglect to provide the means of resisting and defeating it; or that the banditti under the Prophet should not be attacked and vanquished, provided such a measure should be rendered absolutely necessary. Circumstances conspire, at this particular juncture, to render it peculiarly desirable that hostilities of any kind, or to any degree, not indispensably required, should be avoided." On the seventh of August the governor informed the secretary that he should call, in a peremptory manner, on all the tribes, to deliver up such of their people as had been concerned in the murder of our citizens; that from the Miamis he should require an absolute disavowal of all connection with the Prophet; and that to all the tribes he would repeat the declaration, that the United States have manifested through a series of years, the utmost justice and generosity towards their Indian neighbors; and have not only fulfilled all the engagements which they entered into with them, but have spent considerable sums to civilize them and promote their happiness; but if, under those circumstances, any tribe should dare to take up the tomahawk against their fathers, they must not expect the same lenity that had been shown them at the close of the former war, but that they would either be exterminated or driven beyond the Mississippi. In furtherance of this plan, the governor forwarded speeches to the different tribes, and instructed the Indian agents to use all possible means to recall them to a sense of duty. He also wrote to the governors of Illinois and Missouri, on the subject of the border difficulties, in the hope that a general and simultaneous effort might avert an appeal to arms. In the month of September, the Prophet sent assurances to governor Harrison of his pacific intentions, and that his demands should be complied with; but about the same time some horses were stolen in the neighborhood of his town, and the whites who went in pursuit of them were fired upon by the Indians. Early in October the governor moved, with a considerable body of troops, towards the Prophet's town, with the expectation that a show of hostile measures would bring about an accommodation with the Indians of that place. On the 10th of October, one of the sentinels around his camp was fired on by the Indians, and severely wounded. About the same time the Prophet sent a messenger to the chiefs of the Delaware tribe, who were friendly to the United States, requiring, them to say whether they would or would not join him in the war against them; that he had taken up the tomahawk and would not lay it down but with his life, unless their wrongs were redressed. The Delaware chiefs immediately visited the Prophet, for the purpose of dissuading him from commencing hostilities. Under these circumstances there seemed to be no alternative for governor Harrison, but to break up the Prophet's establishment. On the 27th, the Delaware chiefs returned to the camp of the governor, and reported that the Prophet would not listen to their council, and had grossly insulted them. While at the Prophet's town, the Indians who had wounded the sentinel, returned. They were Shawanoes and near friends of the Prophet; who was daily practising certain pretended rites, by means of which he played upon the superstitious feelings of his followers, and kept them in a state of feverish excitement. On the 29th, a body of twenty-four Miami chiefs were sent by governor Harrison, to make another effort with the Prophet. They were instructed, to require that the Winnebagoes, Potawatamies and Kickapoos, should leave him and return to their respective tribes; that all the stolen horses in their possession should be delivered up; that the murderers of the whites should either be surrendered or satisfactory proof offered that they were not under his control. These chiefs, however, did not return, and there is reason to believe that they were induced to join the confederacy at Tippecanoe. On the 5th of November, 1811, governor Harrison, with about nine hundred effective troops, composed of two hundred and fifty of the 4th regiment U.S. infantry, one hundred and thirty volunteers, and a body of militia, encamped within ten miles of the Prophet's town. On the next day, when the army was within five miles of the village, reconnoitering parties of the Indians were seen, but they refused to hold any conversation with the interpreters sent forward by the governor to open a communication with them. When within a mile and a half of the town a halt was made, for the purpose of encamping for the night. Several of the field officers urged the governor to make an immediate assault on the village; but this he declined, as his instructions from the President were positive, not to attack the Indians, as long as there was a probability of their complying with the demands of government. Upon ascertaining, however, that the ground continued favorable for the disposition of his troops, quite up to the town, he determined to approach still nearer to it. In the mean time, captain Dubois, with an interpreter, was sent forward to ascertain whether the Prophet would comply with the terms proposed by the governor. The Indians, however, would make no reply to these enquiries, but endeavored to cut off the messengers from the army. When this fact was reported to the governor, he determined to consider the Indians as enemies, and at once march upon their town. He had proceeded but a short distance, however, before he was met by three Indians, one of them a principal counsellor to the Prophet, who stated that they were sent to know why the army was marching upon their town--that the Prophet was desirous of avoiding hostilities--that he had sent a pacific message to governor Harrison by the Miami and Potawatamie chiefs, but that those chiefs had unfortunately gone down on the south side of the Wabash, and had thus failed to meet him. Accordingly, a suspension of hostilities was agreed upon, and the terms of peace were to be settled on the following morning by the governor and the chiefs. In moving the army towards the Wabash, to encamp for the night, the Indians became again alarmed, supposing that an attack was about to be made on the town, notwithstanding the armistice which had just been concluded. They accordingly began to prepare for defence, and some of them sallied out, calling upon the advanced corps, to halt. The governor immediately rode forward, and assured the Indians that it was not his intention to attack them, but that he was only in search of a suitable piece of ground on which to encamp his troops. He enquired if there was any other water convenient besides that which the river afforded; and an Indian, with whom he was well acquainted, answered, that the creek which had been crossed two miles back, ran through the prairie to the north of the village. A halt was then ordered, and majors Piatt, Clark and Taylor, were sent to examine this creek, as well as the river above the town, to ascertain the correctness of the information, and decide on the best ground for an encampment. In the course of half an hour, the two latter reported that they had found on the creek; every thing that could be desirable in an encampment--an elevated spot, nearly surrounded by an open prairie, with water convenient, and a sufficiency of wood for fuel.[A] The army was now marched to this spot, and encamped "on a dry piece of ground, which rose about ten feet above the level of a marshy prairie in front towards the town; and, about twice as high above a similar prairie in the rear; through which, near the foot of the hill, ran a small stream clothed with willows and brush-wood. On the left of the encampment, this bench of land became wider; on the right, it gradually narrowed, and terminated in an abrupt point, about one hundred and fifty yards from the right bank."[B] [Footnote A: M'Afee's History of the Late War.] [Footnote B: Ibid.] The encampment was about three-fourths of a mile from the Prophet's town; and orders were given, in the event of a night attack, for each corps to maintain its position, at all hazards, until relieved or further orders were given to it. The whole army was kept during the night, in the military position which is called, lying on their arms. The regular troops lay in their tents, with their accoutrements on, and their arms by their sides. The militia had no tents, but slept with their clothes and pouches on, and their guns under them, to keep them dry. The order of the encampment was the order of battle, for a night attack; and as every man slept opposite to his post in the line, there was nothing for the troops to do, in case of an assault, but to rise and take their position a few steps in the rear of the fires around which they had reposed. The guard of the night consisted of two captain's commands of forty-two men, and four non-commissioned officers each; and two subaltern's guards of twenty men and non-commissioned officers each--the whole amounting to about one hundred and thirty men, under the command of a field officer of the day. The night was dark and cloudy, and after midnight there was a drizzling rain. It was not anticipated by the governor or his officers, that an attack would be made during the night: it was supposed that if the Indians had intended to act offensively, it would have been done on the march of the army, where situations presented themselves that would have given the Indians a great advantage. Indeed, within three miles of the town, the army had passed over ground so broken and unfavorable to its march, that the position of the troops was necessarily changed, several times, in the course of a mile. The enemy, moreover, had fortified their town with care and great labor, as if they intended to act alone on the defensive. It was a favorite spot with the Indians, having long been the scene of those mysterious rites, performed by their Prophet, and by which they had been taught to believe that it was impregnable to the assaults of the white man. At four o'clock in the morning of the 7th, governor Harrison, according to his practice, had risen, preparatory to the calling up the troops; and was engaged, while drawing on his boots by the fire, in conversation with general Wells, colonel Owen, and majors Taylor and Hurst. The orderly-drum had been roused for the purpose of giving the signal for the troops to turn out, when the attack of the Indians suddenly commenced upon the left flank of the camp. The whole army was instantly on its feet; the camp-fires were extinguished; the governor mounted his horse and proceeded to the point of attack. Several of the companies had taken their places in the line within forty seconds from the report of the first gun; and the whole of the troops were prepared for action in the course of two minutes; a fact as creditable to their own activity and bravery, as to the skill and energy of their officers. The battle soon became general, and was maintained on both sides with signal and even desperate valor. The Indians advanced and retreated by the aid of a rattling noise, made with deer hoofs, and persevered in their treacherous attack with an apparent determination to conquer or die upon the spot. The battle raged with unabated fury and mutual slaughter, until daylight, when a gallant and successful charge by our troops, drove the enemy into the swamp, and put an end to the conflict. Prior to the assault, the Prophet had given assurances to his followers, that in the coming contest, the Great Spirit would render the arms of the Americans unavailing; that their bullets would fall harmless at the feet of the Indians; that the latter should have light in abundance, while the former would be involved in thick darkness. Availing himself of the privilege conferred by his peculiar office, and, perhaps, unwilling in his own person to attest at once the rival powers of a sham prophecy and a real American bullet, he prudently took a position on an adjacent eminence; and, when the action began, he entered upon the performance of certain mystic rites, at the same time singing a war-song. In the course of the engagement, he was informed that his men were falling: he told them to fight on,--it would soon be as he had predicted; and then, in louder and wilder strains, his inspiring battle-song was heard commingling with the sharp crack of the rifle and the shrill war-whoop of his brave but deluded followers. Throughout the action, the Indians manifested more boldness and perseverance than had, perhaps, ever been exhibited by them on any former occasion. This was owing, it is supposd, to the influence of the Prophet, who by the aid of his incantations had inspired them with a belief that they would certainly overcome their enemy: the supposition, likewise, that they had taken the governor's army by surprise, doubtless contributed to the desperate character of their assaults. They were commanded by some daring chiefs, and although their spiritual leader was not actually in the battle, he did much to encourage his followers in their gallant attack. Of the force of the Indians engaged, there is no certain account. The ordinary number at the Prophet's town during the preceding summer, was four hundred and fifty; but a few days before the action, they had been joined by all the Kickapoos of the prairie, and by several bands of the Potawatamies, from the Illinois river, and the St. Joseph's of lake Michigan. Their number on the night of the engagement was probably between eight hundred and one thousand. Some of the Indians who were in the action, subsequently informed the agent at fort Wayne, that there were more than a thousand warriors in the battle, and that the number of wounded was unusually great. In the precipitation of their retreat, they left thirty-eight on the field; some were buried during the engagement in their town, others no doubt died subsequently of their wounds. The whole number of their killed, was probably not less than fifty. Of the army under governor Harrison, thirty-five were killed in the action, and twenty-five died subsequently of their wounds: the total number of killed and wounded was one hundred and eighty-eight. Among the former were the lamented colonel Abraham Owen and major Joseph Hamilton Davies, of Kentucky. Both officers and men behaved with much coolness and bravery,--qualities which, in an eminent degree, marked the conduct of governor Harrison throughout the engagement. The peril to which he was subjected may be inferred from the fact that a ball passed through his stock, slightly bruising his neck; another struck his saddle, and glancing hit his thigh; and a third wounded the horse on which he was riding. Peace on the frontiers was one of the happy results of this severe and brilliant action. The tribes which had already joined in the confederacy were dismayed; and those which had remained neutral now decided against it. CHAPTER X. Tecumseh returns from the south--proposes to visit the President, but declines, because not permitted to go to Washington at the head of a party--attends a council at fort Wayne--proceeds to Malden and joins the British--governor Harrison's letter to the War Department relative to the north-west tribes. During the two succeeding days, the victorious army remained in camp, for the purpose of burying the dead and taking care of the wounded. In the mean time, colonel Wells, with the mounted riflemen, visited the Prophet's town, and found it deserted by all the Indians except one, whose leg had been broken in the action. The houses were mostly burnt, and the corn around the village destroyed. On the ninth the army commenced its return to Vincennes, having broken up or committed to the flames all their unnecessary baggage, in order that the wagons might be used for the transportation of the wounded. The defeated Indians were greatly exasperated with the Prophet: they reproached him in bitter terms for the calamity he had brought upon them, and accused him of the murder of their friends who had fallen in the action. It seems, that after pronouncing some incantations over a certain composition, which he had prepared on the night preceding the action, he assured his followers, that by the power of his art, half of the invading army was already dead, and the other half in a state of distraction; and that the Indians would have little to do but rush into their camp, and complete the work of destruction with their tomahawks. "You are a liar," said one of the surviving Winnebagoes to him, after the action, "for you told us that the white people were dead or crazy, when they were all in their senses and fought like the devil." The Prophet appeared dejected, and sought to excuse himself on the plea that the virtue of his composition had been lost by a circumstance of which he had no knowledge until after the battle was over. His sacred character, however, was so far forfeited, that the Indians actually bound him with cords, and threatened to put him to death. After leaving the Prophet's town, they marched about twenty miles and encamped on the bank of Wild Cat creek. In a letter to the war department, dated fourth of December, governor Harrison writes: "I have the honor to inform you that two principal chiefs of the Kickapoos of the prairie, arrived here, bearing a flag, on the evening before last. The account which they give of the late confederacy under the Prophet, is as follows: The Prophet, with his Shawanoes, is at a small Huron village, about twelve miles from his former residence, on this side of the Wabash, where also were twelve or fifteen Hurons. The Kickapoos are encamped near the Tippecanoe, the Potawatamies have scattered and gone to different villages of that tribe. The Winnebagoes had all set out on their return to their own country, excepting one chief and nine men, who remained at their former villages. The Prophet had sent a messenger to the Kickapoos of the prairie to request that he might be permitted to retire to their town. This was positively refused, and a warning sent to him not to come there. These chiefs say that the whole of the tribes who lost warriors in the late action, attribute their misfortune to the Prophet alone; that they constantly reproach him with their misfortunes, and threaten him with death; that they are all desirous of making their peace with the United States, and will send deputations to me for that purpose, as soon as they are informed that they will be well received. They further say, that the Prophet's followers were fully impressed with a belief that they could defeat us with ease; that it was their intention to have attacked us at fort Harrison, if we had gone no higher; that Racoon creek was then fixed on, and finally Pine creek, and that the latter would probably have been the place, if the usual route had not been abandoned, and a crossing made higher up; that the attack made on our sentinels at fort Harrison was intended to shut the door against accommodation; that the Winnebagoes had forty warriors killed in the action, and the Kickapoos eleven, and ten wounded. They have never heard how many of the Potawatamies and other tribes were killed." With the battle of Tippecanoe, the Prophet lost his popularity and power among the Indians. His magic wand was broken, and the mysterious charm by means of which he had for years, played upon the superstitious minds of this wild people, scattered through a vast extent of country, was dissipated forever. It was not alone to the character of his prophetic office that he was indebted for his influence over his followers. The position which he maintained in regard to the Indian lands, and the encroachments of the white people upon their hunting grounds, increased his popularity, which was likewise greatly strengthened by the respect and deference with which the politic Tecumseh--the master spirit of his day--uniformly treated him. He had, moreover, nimble wit, quickness of apprehension, much cunning and a captivating eloquence of speech. These qualities fitted him for playing his part with great success; and sustaining for a series of years, the character of one inspired by the Great Spirit. He was, however, rash, presumptuous and deficient in judgment. And no sooner was he left without the sagacious counsel and positive control of Tecumseh, than he foolishly annihilated his own power, and suddenly crashed the grand confederacy upon which he and his brother had expended years of labor, and in the organization of which they had incurred much personal peril and endured great privation. Tecumseh returned from the south through Missouri, visited the tribes on the Des Moins, and crossing the head waters of the Illinois, reached the Wabash a few days after the disastrous battle of Tippecanoe. It is believed that he made a strong impression upon all the tribes visited by him in his extended mission; and that he had laid the foundation of numerous accessions to his confederacy. He reached the banks of the Tippecanoe, just in time to witness the dispersion of his followers, the disgrace of his brother, and the final overthrow of the great object of his ambition, a union of all the Indian tribes against the United States: and all this, the result of a disregard to his positive commands. His mortification was extreme; and it is related on good authority, that when he first met the Prophet, he reproached him in bitter terms for having departed from his instructions to preserve peace with the United States at all hazards. The attempt of the Prophet to palliate his own conduct, excited the haughty chieftain still more, and seizing him by the hair and shaking him violently, he threatened to take his life. During the ensuing winter, there was peace on the frontiers. In the month of January, 1812, Little Turtle, the celebrated Miami chief, wrote to governor Harrison, that all the Prophet's followers had left him, except two camps of his own tribe, and that Tecumseh had just joined him with only eight men; from which he concluded there was no present danger to be apprehended from them. Shortly afterwards, Tecumseh sent a message to governor Harrison informing him of his return from the south; and that he was now ready to make the promised visit to the President. The governor replied, giving his permission for Tecumseh to go to Washington, but not as the leader of any party of Indians. The chieftain, who had been accustomed to make his visits to Vincennes, attended by three or four hundred warriors, all completely armed, did not choose to present himself to his great father, the President, shorn of his power and without his retinue. The visit was declined, and here terminated the intercourse between him and governor Harrison. Early in March, the peace of the frontiers was again disturbed by Indian depredations; and in the course of this and the following month, several families were murdered on the Wabash and Ohio rivers. On the 15th of May, there was a grand council held at Mississiniway, which was attended by twelve tribes of Indians. They all professed to be in favor of peace, and condemned the disturbances which had occurred between the Indians and the settlers, since the battle of Tippecanoe. Tecumseh was present at this council and spoke several times. He defied any living creature to say that he had ever advised any one, directly or indirectly, to make war upon the whites: it had constantly been his misfortune, he said, to have his views misrepresented to his white brethren, and this had been done by pretended chiefs of the Potawatamies, who had been in the habit of selling land to the white people, which did not belong to them. "Governor Harrison," he continued, "made war on my people in my absence: it was the will of God that he should do so. We hope it will please God that the white people will let us live in peace. We will not disturb them, neither have we done it, except when they came to our village with the intention of destroying us. We are happy to state to our brothers present, that the unfortunate transaction that took place between the white people and a few of our young men at our village, has been settled between us and governor Harrison; and I will further state, that had I been at home, there would have been no bloodshed at that time." In the month of June, following this council, Tecumseh made a visit to fort Wayne, and sought an interview with the Indian agent at that place. Misfortune had not subdued his haughty spirit nor silenced the fearless expression of his feelings and opinions. He still maintained the justice of his position in regard to the ownership of the Indian lands, disavowed any intention of making war upon the United States, and reproached governor Harrison for having marched against his people during his absence. The agent made a long speech to him, presenting reasons why he should now become the friend and ally of the United States. To this harangue, Tecumseh listened with frigid indifference, made a few general remarks in reply, and then with a haughty air, left the council-house, and took his departure for Malden, where he joined the British standard. In taking leave of that part of our subject which relates to the confederacy of Tecumseh and the Prophet, and the principle on which it was established, we quote, as relevant to the case, and as an interesting piece of general history, the following letter from governor Harrison to the Secretary of War: _"Cincinnati, March 22_, 1814. "Sir,--The tribes of Indians on this frontier and east of the Mississippi, with whom the United States have been connected by treaty, are the Wyandots, Delawares, Shawanoes, Miamis, Potawatamies, Ottawas, Chippewas, Piankashaws, Kaskaskias and Sacs. All but the two last were in the confederacy which carried on the former Indian war against the United States, that was terminated by the treaty of Greenville. The Kaskaskias were parties to the treaty, but they had not been in the war. The Wyandots are admitted by the others to be the leading tribe. They hold the grand _calumet_ which unites them and kindles the council fire. This tribe is nearly equally divided between the _Crane_, at Sandusky, who is the grand sachem of the nation, and Walk-in-the-Water, at Brownstown, near Detroit. They claim the lands bounded by the settlements of this state, southwardly and eastwardly; and by lake Erie, the Miami river, and the claim of the Shawanoes upon the Auglaize, a branch of the latter. They also claim the lands they live on near Detroit, but I am ignorant to what extent. "The Wyandots of Sahdusky have adhered to us through the war. Their chief, the Crane, is a venerable, intelligent and upright man. Within the tract of land claimed by the Wyandots, a number of Senecas are settled. They broke off from their own tribe six or eight years ago, but received a part of the annuity granted that tribe by the United States, by sending a deputation for it to Buffalo. The claim of the Wyandots to the lands they occupy, is not disputed, that I know of, by any other tribe. Their residence on it, however, is not of long standing, and the country was certainly once the property of the Miamis. "Passing westwardly from the Wyandots, we meet with the Shawanoe settlement at Stony creek, a branch of the Great Miami, and at Wapauckanata, on the Auglaize. These settlements were made immediately after the treaty of Greenville, and with the consent of the Miamis, whom I consider the real owners of these lands. The chiefs of this band of Shawanoes, Blackhoof, Wolf and Lewis, are attached to us from principle as well as interest--they are all honest men. "The Miamis have their principal settlement at the forks of the Wabash, thirty miles from fort Wayne; and at Mississinaway, thirty miles lower down. A band of them under the name of Weas, have resided on the Wabash, sixty miles above Vincennes; and another under the Turtle on Eel river, a branch of the Wabash, twenty miles north-west of fort Wayne. By an artifice of Little Turtle, these three bands were passed on general Wayne as distinct tribes, and an annuity granted to each. The Eel river and Weas, however, to this day call themselves Miamis, and are recognized as such by the Mississinaway band. The Miamis, Maumees or Tewicktowes, are the undoubted proprietors of all that beautiful country which is watered by the Wabash and its branches; and there is as little doubt that their claim extended at least as far east as the Scioto. They have no tradition of removing from any other quarter of the country; whereas all the neighboring tribes, the Piankishaws excepted, who are a branch of the Miamis, are either intruders upon them, or have been permitted to settle in their country. The Wyandots emigrated first from lake Ontario, and subsequently from lake Huron--the Delawares from Pennsylvania and Maryland--the Shawanoes from Georgia--the Kickapoos and Potawatamies from the country between lake Michigan and the Mississippi--and the Ottawas and Chippewas from the peninsula formed by lakes Michigan, Huron and St Clair, and the strait connecting the latter with Erie. The claims of the Miamis were bounded on the north and west by those of the Illinois confederacy, consisting originally of five tribes, called Kaskaskias, Cahokias, Peorians, Michiganians, and Temorais, speaking the Miami language, and no doubt branches of that nation. "When I was first appointed governor of Indiana territory, these once powerful tribes were reduced to about thirty warriors, of whom twenty-five were Kaskaskias, four Peorians, and a single Michiganian. There was an individual lately alive at St. Louis, who saw the enumeration made of them by the Jesuits in the year 1745, making the number of their warriors four thousand. A furious war between them and the Sacs and Kickapoos, reduced them to that miserable remnant, which had taken refuge amongst the white people of the towns of Kaskaskias and St. Genevieve. The Kickapoos had fixed their principal village at Peoria, upon the south bank of the Illinois river, while the Sacs remained masters of the country to the north. "During the war of our Revolution, the Miamis had invited the Kickapoos into their country to assist them against the whites, and a considerable village was formed by that tribe on Vermillion river, near its junction with the Wabash. After the treaty of Greenville, the Delawares had, with the approbation of the Miamis, removed from the mouth of the Auglaize to the head waters of White river, a large branch of the Wabash--and the Potawatamies, without their consent, had formed two villages upon the latter river, one at Tippecanoe, and the other at Chippoy, twenty-five miles below. "The Piankishaws lived in the neighborhood of Vincennes, which was their ancient village, and claimed the lands to the mouth of the Wabash, and to the north and west as far as the Kaskaskias claimed. Such was the situation of the tribes, when I received instructions from President Jefferson, shortly after his first election, to make efforts for extinguishing the Indian claims upon the Ohio, below the mouth of the Kentucky river, and to such other tracts as were necessary to connect and consolidate our settlements. It was at once determined, that the community of interests in the lands amongst the Indian tribes, which seemed to be recognized by the treaty of Greenville, should be objected to; and that each individual tribe should be protected in every claim that should appear to be founded in reason and justice. But it was also determined, that as a measure of policy and liberality, such tribes as lived upon any tract of land which it would be desirable to purchase, should receive a portion of the compensation, although the title might be exclusively in another tribe. Upon this principle the Delawares, Shawanoes, Potawatamies, and Kickapoos, were admitted as parties to several of the treaties. Care was taken, however, to place the title to such tracts as might be desirable to purchase hereafter, upon a footing that would facilitate the procuring of them, by getting the tribes who had no claim themselves, and who might probably interfere, to recognize the titles of those who were ascertained to possess them. "This was particularly the case with regard to the lands watered by the Wabash, which were declared to be the property of the Miamis, with the exception of the tract occupied by the Delawares on White river, which was to be considered the joint property of them and the Miamis. This arrangement was very much disliked by Tecumseh, and the banditti that he had assembled at Tippecanoe. He complained loudly, as well of the sales that had been made, as of the principle of considering a particular tribe as the exclusive proprietors of any part of the country, which he said the Great Spirit had given to all his red children. Besides the disaffected amongst the neighboring tribes, he had brought together a considerable number of Winnebagoes and Folsovoins, from the neighborhood of Green Bay, Sacs from the Mississippi, and some Ottawas and Chippewas from Abercrosh on lake Michigan. These people were better pleased with the climate and country of the Wabash, than with that they had left. "The Miamis resisted the pretensions of Tecumseh and his followers for some time; but a system of terror was adopted, and the young men were seduced by eternally placing before them a picture of labor, and restriction as to hunting, to which the system adopted would inevitably lead. The Potawatamies and other tribes inhabiting the Illinois river and south of lake Michigan, had been for a long time approaching gradually towards the Wabash. Their country, which was never abundantly stocked with game, was latterly almost exhausted of it. The fertile regions of the Wabash still afforded it. It was represented, that the progressive settlements of the whites upon that river, would soon deprive them of their only resource, and indeed would force the Indians of that river upon them who were already half starved. "It is a fact, that for many years the current of emigration, as to the tribes east of the Mississippi, has been from north to south. This is owing to two causes; the diminution of those animals from which the Indians procure their support; and the pressure of the two great tribes, the Chippewas and Sioux, to the north and west. So long ago as the treaty of Greenville, the Potawatamies gave notice to the Miamis, that they intended to settle upon the Wabash. They made no pretensions to the country, and their only excuse for the intended aggression was, that they were 'tired of eating fish and wanted meat.' It has already been observed that the Sacs had extended themselves to the Illinois river, and that the settlements of the Kickapoos at the Peorias was of modern date. Previously to the commencement of the present war, a considerable number had joined their brethren on the Wabash. The Tawas from the Des Moins river, have twice made attempts to get a footing there. * * * * * "The question of the title to the lands south of the Wabash, has been thoroughly examined; every opportunity was afforded to Tecumseh and his party to exhibit their pretensions, and they were found to rest upon no other basis than that of their being the common property of all the Indians. The Potawatamies and Kickapoos have unequivocally acknowledged the Miami and Delaware titles." CHAPTER XI. Tecumseh participates in the battle of Brownstown--commands the Indians in the action near Maguaga--present at Hull's surrender--general Brock presents him his military sash--attack on Chicago brought about by Tecumseh. On the 18th of June, 1812, the congress of the United States made a formal declaration of war against Great Britain. This gave a new aspect to affairs on the north-western frontier; and at the first commencement of hostilities between these two powers, Tecumseh was in the field, prepared for the conflict. In the month of July, when general Hull crossed over from Detroit into Canada, this chief, with a party of thirty Potawatamies and Shawanoes, was at Malden. About the same time there was an assemblage at Brownstown, opposite to Malden, of those Indians who were inclined to neutrality in the war. A deputation was sent to the latter place, inviting Tecumseh to attend this council. "No," said he, indignantly, "I have taken sides with the King, my father, and I will suffer my bones to bleach upon this shore, before I will recross that stream to join in any council of neutrality." In a few days he gave evidence of the sincerity of this declaration, by personally commanding the Indians in the first action that ensued after the declaration of war.[A] [Footnote A: Anthony Shane.] Early in August, general Hull, then in Detroit, was notified by express that a company of Ohio volunteers, under the command of captain Henry Brush, with provisions for the army, were near the river Raisin, and needed an escort, as it had been ascertained that some British and a considerable body of Indians, under the command of Tecumseh, had crossed from Malden to Brownstown, with a view to intercept this convoy. General Hull, after some delay, gave a reluctant consent to the colonels of the Ohio militia, that a detachment of troops might march to the relief of colonel Brush. Major Van Horne, with a small body of men, started as an escort to the mail, with orders to join captain Brush at the river Raisin. He set off on the fourth of August, marching that evening as far as the river De Corce. On the next day, captain McCullough of the spies, was killed by some Indians. In the course of the succeeding one, near Brownstown, the detachment under major Van Horne was suddenly attacked by the Indians, who were lying in ambush. Apprehensive of being surrounded and entirely cut off, the major ordered a retreat, which was continued to the river De Corce, the enemy pursuing them to that point. Our loss was seventeen killed, besides several wounded, who were left behind. Among the former were captains Ulry, Gilchrist, Boersler, lieutenant Pents, and ensign Ruby. The loss of so many officers resulted from their attempts to rally the men. The loss of the enemy was supposed to be equal to that sustained by major Van Horne. There were about forty British soldiers and seventy Indians in this engagement, the latter being commanded by Tecumseh in person. After general Hull had ingloriously retreated from Canada, he detached colonel Miller, with majors Van Horne and Morrison, and a body of troops, amounting to six hundred, to make a second effort to reach captain Brush. They were attended by some artillerists with one six pounder and a howitzer. The detachment marched from Detroit on the eighth, and in the afternoon of the ninth the front guard, commanded by captain Snelling, was fired upon by a line of British and Indians, about two miles below the village of Maguaga. At the moment of the attack, the main body was marching in two lines, and captain Snelling maintained his position in a gallant manner, until the line was formed and marched to the ground he occupied, where the whole, except the rear guard, was brought into action. The British were entrenched behind a breast-work of logs, with the Indians on the left covered by a thick wood. Colonel Miller ordered his whole line to advance, and when within a short distance of the enemy, fired upon them, and immediately followed it up by a charge with fixed bayonets, when the whole British line and the Indians commenced a retreat. They were vigorously pursued for near two miles. The Indians on the left were commanded by Tecumseh, and fought with great bravery, but were forced to retreat. Our loss in this severe and well fought action was ten killed and thirty-two wounded of the regular troops, and eight killed and twenty-eight wounded of the Ohio and Michigan militia. The full extent of the force of the enemy is not known. There were four hundred regulars and Canadian militia, under command of major Muir, and a considerable body of Indians under Tecumseh. Forty of the latter were found dead on the field: fifteen of the British regulars were killed and wounded, and four taken prisoners. The loss of the Canadian militia and volunteers, was never ascertained, but is supposed, from the position which they occupied in the action, to have been considerable. Both major Muir and Tecumseh were wounded. The bravery and good conduct of the latter, in this engagement, are supposed to have led to his being shortly afterwards appointed a brigadier general, in the service of the British king. When Detroit was captured, on the 16th of August, Tecumseh was at the head of the Indians. After the surrender, general Brock requested him not to allow his men to ill-treat the prisoners, to which he replied, "no! I despise them too much to meddle with them."[A] [Footnote A: Book of the Indians, by S.G. Drake.] "Tecumseh was an excellent judge of position; and not only knew, but could point out the localities of the whole country through which he passed. His facility of communicating the information he had acquired, was thus displayed before a concourse of spectators. Previously to general Brock's crossing over to Detroit, he asked him what sort of a country he should have to pass through, in case of his proceeding farther. Tecumseh, taking a roll of elm bark, and extending it on the ground by means of four stones, drew forth his scalping knife, and with the point presently etched upon the bark a plan of the country, its hills, rivers, woods, morasses and roads; a plan which, if not as neat, was for the purpose required, fully as intelligible as if Arrowsmith himself had prepared it. Pleased with this unexpected talent in Tecumseh, also by his having, with his characteristic boldness, induced the Indians, not of his immediate party, to cross the Detroit, prior to the embarkation of the regulars and militia, general Brock, as soon as the business was over, publicly took off his sash, and placed it round the body of the chief. Tecumseh received the honor with evident gratification; but was next day seen without his sash. General Brock fearing something had displeased the Indian, sent his interpreter for an explanation. The latter soon returned with an account, that Tecumseh, not wishing to wear such a mark of distinction, when an older, and as he said, abler warrior than himself, was present, had transferred the sash to the Wyandot chief, Roundhead."[A] [Footnote A: James' Military Occurrences of the Late War.] On the 15th of August, the garrison of Chicago, situated in the south-western bend of lake Michigan,--consisting of about seventy men, with some women and children,--were attacked by a large body of Indians, who had been lying around the fort for some time, professing neutrality. The whole were either murdered or taken prisoners. The garrison, under the direction of captains Heald and Wells, having destroyed the fort and distributed the public stores among the Indians, was about to retreat towards fort Wayne. As the Indians around Chicago had not yet taken sides in the war, the garrison would probably have escaped, had not Tecumseh, immediately after the attack upon major Vanhorn, at Brownstown, sent a runner to these Indians, claiming the victory over that officer; and conveying to them information that general Hull had returned to Detroit; and that there was every prospect of success over him. This intelligence reached the Indians the night previous the evacuation of Chicago, and led them at once, as Tecumseh had anticipated, to become the allies of the British army. At the period of colonel Campbell's expedition against the Mississinaway towns, in the month of December, Tecumseh was in that neighborhood, with about six hundred Indians, whose services he had engaged as allies of Great Britian. He was not in the battle of the river Raisin on the 22d of January. Had he been present on that occasion, the known magnanimity of his character, justifies the belief that the horrible massacre of prisoners, which followed that action, would not have taken place. Not only the savages, but their savage leaders, Proctor and Elliott, would have been held in check, by a chief who, however daring and dreadful in the hour of battle, was never known to ill-treat or murder a prisoner. CHAPTER XII. Siege of fort Meigs--Tecumseh commands the Indians--acts with intrepidity--rescues the American prisoners from the tomahawk and scalping knife, after Dudley's defeat--reported agreement between Proctor and Tecumseh, that general Harrison, if taken prisoner, should be delivered to the latter to be burned. Fort Meigs, situated on the south-east side of the Miami of the lakes, and at the foot of the rapids of that stream, was an octagonal enclosure, with eight block houses, picketed with timber, and surrounded by ditches. It was two thousand five hundred yards in circumference, and required, to garrison it with efficiency, about two thousand men. It was constructed under the immediate superintendence of colonel E. D. Wood, of the corps of engineers, one of the most scientific and gallant officers of the late war. This post, which was established in the spring of 1813, was important not only for the protection of the frontiers, but as the depot for the artillery, military stores and provisions, necessary for the prosecution of the ensuing campaign. These circumstances could not fail to attract the attention of the enemy; and the commander of the American army was not disappointed in supposing that fort Meigs would be the first point of attack, upon the opening of the spring, by the combined forces of Proctor and Tecumseh. In the latter part of March, intelligence reached this post that Proctor had issued a general order for assembling the Canadian militia at Sandwich, on the 7th of April, to unite in an expedition against fort Meigs. This information gave a fresh impulse to the efforts then making to render the fort, which was still in an unfinished state, as strong as possible. On the 8th of April, colonel Ball arrived with two hundred dragoons; and on the 12th general Harrison reached the fort with three hundred men from the posts on the Auglaize and St. Mary's. Vigorous preparations were now made for the anticipated siege. On the 19th, a scouting party returned from the river Raisin, with three Frenchmen, who stated that the British were still making arrangements for an attack on this post; and were assembling a very large Indian force. They informed general Harrison that Tecumseh and the Prophet had reached Sandwich, with about six hundred Indians, collected in the country between lake Michigan and the Wabash. This intelligence removed the apprehension entertained by the general, that the Indians intended to fall upon the posts in his rear, while Proctor should attack fort Meigs. On the 26th, the advance of the enemy was discovered at the mouth of the bay; and on the 28th, the British and Indian forces were found to be within a few miles of the fort. At this time, only a part of the troops destined for the defence of the place, had arrived; but the remainder, under the command of general Green Clay, of Kentucky, were daily expected. So soon as the fort was actually invested by the Indians, an express was sent by the commander-in-chief, to inform general Clay of the fact, and direct his subsequent movements. This dangerous enterprise--for the Indians were already in considerable numbers around the fort--was undertaken and successfully executed by captain William Oliver,[A] a gallant young officer belonging to the commissary's department, who, to a familiar acquaintance with the geography of the country, united much knowledge of Indian warfare. Attended by a white man and a Delaware Indian, Oliver traversed the country to fort Findlay, thence to fort Amanda, and finally met with general Clay at fort Winchester, on the 2d of May, and communicated to him general Harrison's instructions. [Footnote A: Now Major William Oliver, of Cincinnati. It is but an act of justice to this gentleman to state that, for the voluntary performance of this service, he refused all pecuniary compensation. General Harrison subsequently, in a letter to major Oliver, in relation to this service, says, "To prevent the possibility of these orders coming to the knowledge of the enemy, they could not be committed to writing, but must be communicated verbally, by a confidential officer. The selection of one suited to the performance of this important trust was a matter of no little difficulty. To the qualities of undoubted patriotism, moral firmness, as well as active courage, sagacity and prudence, it was necessary that he should unite a thorough knowledge of the country through which the troops were to pass, and of all the localities of the position upon which they were advancing. Without the latter, the possession of the former would be useless, and the absence of either of the former might render the latter not only useless, but in the highest degree mischievous. Although there was no coincidence between the performance of this duty and those which appertained to the department of the staff in which you held an appointment, [the commissariat] I did not long hesitate in fixing on you for this service."] Soon after Oliver had started on this enterprise, the gunboats of the enemy approached the site of old fort Miami, on the opposite side of the river, about two miles below fort Meigs. In the course of the ensuing night they commenced the erection of three batteries, opposite the fort on a high bank, about three hundred yards from the river, the intermediate space of ground being open and partly covered with water. Two of them were gun batteries, with four embrasures, and were situated higher up the river than the fort; the third was a bomb battery, placed a short distance below. Early the next morning, a fire was opened upon them from the fort, which, to some extent, impeded the progress of the works. On the morning of the 30th, the enemy, under a heavy and somewhat fatal fire from the guns of the fort, raised and adjusted their cannon, while at the same time, a number of boats filled with Indians were seen crossing to the south-eastern side of the river. On the morning of the first of May, the British batteries were completed; and about ten o'clock, the enemy appeared to be adjusting their guns on certain objects in the fort. "By this time our troops had completed a grand traverse, about twelve feet high, upon a base of twenty feet, three hundred yards long, on the most elevated ground through the middle of the camp, calculated to ward off the shot of the enemy's batteries. Orders were given for all the tents in front to be instantly removed into its rear, which was effected in a few minutes, and that beautiful prospect of cannonading and bombarding our lines, which but a few moments before had excited the skill and energy of the British engineer, was now entirely fled; and in its place nothing was to be seen but an immense shield of earth, which entirely obscured the whole army. Not a tent nor a single person was to be seen. Those canvas houses, which had concealed the growth of the traverse from the view of the enemy, were now protected and hid in their turn. The prospect of _smoking us out,_ was now at best but very faint. But as neither general Proctor nor his officers were yet convinced of the folly and futility of their laborious preparations, their batteries were opened, and five days were spent in arduous cannonading and bombarding, to bring them to this salutary conviction. A tremendous cannonading was kept up all the rest of the day, and shells were thrown until 11 o'clock at night. Very little damage, however, was done in the camp; one or two were killed, and three or four wounded; among the latter was major Amos Stoddard, of the first regiment of artillery, a survivor of the revolution, and an officer of much merit. He was wounded slightly with a piece of shell, and about ten days afterwards died with the lock-jaw. "The fire of the enemy was returned from the fort with one eighteen pounder with some effect, though but sparingly, for the stock of eighteen pound shot was but small, there being but three hundred and sixty of that size in the fort when the siege commenced; and about the same number for the twelve pounders."[A] [Footnote A: M'Affee.] Throughout the whole of the second day the firing was continued with great spirit, but without doing much damage on either side. General Harrison, in anticipation of a transfer of the enemy's guns to the other side of the river, and the establishment of batteries to play upon the centre or flanks of the camp, had directed the construction of works calculated to resist such an attack; and they were in a state of considerable forwardness on the morning of the third, when, from the bushes on the left of the fort, three field pieces and a howitzer were suddenly opened upon the camp by the enemy. The fire was returned with such effect, that general Proctor was soon compelled to change his position. His batteries were again opened on the camp from another point, but without doing much injury. On the fourth, the fire of the enemy was renewed, but with less energy than on the previous days, the result, it is supposed, of a belief that their efforts to reduce the fort would fail. General Harrison was waiting the arrival of general Clay with his reinforcements. Late in the night of the fourth, captain Oliver, accompanied by majors David Trimble and ---- Taylor, with fifteen Ohio militia, having left general Clay above the rapids, started in a boat for the fort, that the commanding general, by knowing the position of the reinforcements, might form his plans for the ensuing day. The effort to reach the fort under the existing circumstances was extremely dangerous. Captain Leslie Combs had already attempted it, and failed. He had been sent by colonel Dudley, upon his arrival at Defiance, to inform general Harrison of the fact. With five men, the captain approached within a mile of the fort, when he was attacked by the Indians, and compelled to retreat after a gallant resistance, in which nearly all his companions were killed. When Oliver drew near the fort, the night was extremely dark, and he was only enabled to discover the spot by the spreading branches of a solitary oak tree, standing within the fortification. The boat was fired upon by the sentinels of the fort, but on their being hailed by captain Oliver, no further alarm was given. After landing and wading over a ravine filled with water, the party groped their way to one of the gates, and were admitted. Tecumseh and his Indians were extremely vigilant, and, at night, usually came close to the ramparts for the purpose of annoying our troops, as opportunity might offer. So soon as general Harrison had received the information brought by captain Oliver and his companions, he made his arrangements for the ensuing day. Captain Hamilton, attended by a subaltern, was immediately despatched up the river in a canoe with orders to general Clay. The captain met him at daylight five miles above the fort, the boats conveying the reinforcements having been delayed by the darkness of the night. Captain Hamilton delivered the following order to general Clay. "You must detach about eight hundred men from your brigade, and land them at a point I will show you about a mile or a mile and a half above camp Meigs. I will then conduct the detachment to the British batteries on the left bank of the river. The batteries must be taken, the cannon spiked, and the carriages cut down; and the troops must then return to their boats and cross over to the fort. The balance of your men must land on the fort-side of the river, opposite the first landing, and fight their way into the fort through the Indians. The route they must take will be pointed out by a subaltern officer how with me, who will land the canoe on the right bank of the river to point out the landing for the boats."[A] As soon as these orders were received by general Clay, who was in the thirteenth boat from the front, he directed captain Hamilton to go to colonel Dudley, with orders to take the twelve front boats and execute the plan of the commanding general on the left bank of the river; and to post the subaltern with the canoe on the right bank, at the point where the remainder of the reinforcement was directed to land. It was the design of general Harrison while the troops under Dudley were destroying the enemy's batteries on the north-west side of the river, and general Clay was fighting the Indians above the fort on the south-east side, to send out a detachment to take and spike the British guns on the south side. [Footnote A: M'Affee.] General Clay ordered the five remaining boats to fall behind the one occupied by him; but in attempting to do so, they were driven on shore, and thus thrown half a mile into the rear. The general kept close to the right bank, intending to land opposite to the detachment under Dudley, but finding no guide there, and the Indians having commenced a brisk fire on his boat, he attempted to cross to the detachment. The current, however, was so swift, that it soon carried him too far down for that project; he therefore turned back, and landed on the right bank further down. Captain Peter Dudley, with a part of his company, was in this boat, making in the whole upwards of fifty men, who now marched into camp without loss, amidst a shower of grape from the British batteries and the fire of some Indians. The boat with their baggage and four sick soldiers, was left, as the general supposed, in the care of two men who met him at his landing, and by whom he expected she would be brought down under the guns of the fort. In a few minutes, however, she fell into the hands of the Indians. The attempt which he had made to cross the river, induced colonel Boswell, with the rear boats, to land on the opposite side; but as soon as captain Hamilton discovered the error under which he was acting, he instructed him to cross over and fight his way into camp. When he arrived at the south side, he was annoyed on landing by the Indians; and as soon as his men were on shore, he formed them and returned the fire of the enemy; at the same time he was directed by captain Shaw, from the commanding general, to march in open order, through the plain, to the fort. As there was now a large body of Indians on his flank, general Harrison determined to send out a reinforcement from the garrison to enable him to beat them. Accordingly, Alexander's brigade, a part of Johnson's battalion, and the companies of captains Nearing and Dudley, were ordered to prepare for this duty. When the Kentuckians reached the gates of the fort, these troops were ready to join them. Having formed in order--colonel Boswell being on the right,--they marched against the Indians, who were superior to them in numbers, and at the point of the bayonet, forced them into the woods to the distance of half a mile or more. Such was the ardor of our troops, in the pursuit, that it was difficult, especially for the Kentucky officers, to induce their men to return. General Harrison had now taken a position on one of the batteries of the fort, that he might see the various movements which at this moment claimed his attention. He soon perceived a detachment of British and Indians passing along the edge of the woods, with a view to reach the left and rear of the corps under Boswell: he forthwith despatched his volunteer aid, John T. Johnston, to recall the troops under Boswell from the pursuit. Johnston's horse having been killed before he delivered this order, it was repeated through major Graham, and a retreat was commenced: the Indians promptly rallied and boldly pursued them for some distance, killing and wounding a number of our troops. So soon as the commanding general perceived that colonel Dudley and his detachment had reached the batteries on the northern bank of the river, and entered successfully upon the execution of the duty assigned them, he ordered colonel John Miller of the regulars to make a sortie from the fort, against the batteries which the enemy had erected on the south side of the river. The detachment assigned to colonel Miller, amounted to about three hundred and fifty men, composed of the companies and parts of companies of captains Langham, Croghan, Bradford, Nearing, Elliott, and lieutenants Gwynne and Campbell of the regular troops; the volunteers of Alexander's battalion; and captain Sebree's company of Kentucky militia. Colonel Miller and his men charged upon, the enemy, and drove them from their position; spiked the cannon at their batteries, and secured forty-one prisoners. The force of the enemy, thus driven and defeated, consisted of two hundred British regulars, one hundred and fifty Canadians and about five hundred Indians, under the immediate command of Tecumseh, in all more than double the force of the detachment under colonel Miller. In this sortie, captain Sebree's company of militia, was particularly distinguished. With the intrepid bravery and reckless ardor for which the Kentucky troops are noted, they plunged into the thickest ranks of the enemy, and were for a time surrounded by the Indians, who gallantly pressed upon them; but they maintained their ground, until lieutenant Gwynne,[A] of the 19th regiment, perceiving their imminent peril, boldly charged upon the Indians, with a portion of captain Elliott's company, and released captain Sebree and his men from their dangerous situation. Had the force of colonel Miller been something stronger, he would probably have captured the whole of the enemy, then on the south side of the river. The British and Indians suffered severely, being finally driven back and thrown into confusion. As colonel Miller commenced his return to the fort, the enemy rallied and pressed with great bravery upon his rear, until he arrived near the breast-works. A considerable number of our soldiers were left dead on the field, and several officers were wounded. [Footnote A: Major David Gwynne, now of Cincinnati.] Colonel Dudley's movements on the north side of the river, are now to be noticed. A landing was effected by his detachment, which was immediately marched off, through an open plain, to a hill clothed with timber. Here the troops were formed into three columns, colonel Dudley placing himself at the head of the right, major Shelby leading the left, and captain Morrison, acting as major, the centre. The distance from the place where the detachment was formed in order, to the point to be attacked, was near two miles. The batteries were engaged in cannonading camp Meigs, when the column led by major Shelby, being a few hundred yards in advance of the others, rushed at full speed upon those having charge of the guns, and carried them without the loss of a single man. When the British flag was cut down, the garrison of fort Meigs shouted for joy. The grand object of the enterprise having been achieved, the general, who was watching the movements of the detachment, made signs to them to retreat to their boats; but to his great surprise, and in express disobedience of the orders transmitted through colonel Hamilton, our troops remained at the batteries, quietly looking around, without spiking the cannon, cutting down the carriages or destroying the magazines. This delay proved fatal to them. The general, alarmed for their safety, now offered a very high reward to any individual who would bear fresh orders to colonel Dudley and his men, to return to their boats and cross over the river to the fort. The service was undertaken by lieutenant Campbell. "About the time when the batteries were taken a body of Indians, lying in ambush, had fired on a party of spies under captain Combs, who had marched down on the extreme left of the detachment. Presently colonel Dudley gave orders to reinforce the spies, and the greater part of the right and centre columns rushed into the woods in confusion, with their colonel among them--to fight the Indians, whom they routed and pursued near two miles. The left column remained in possession of the batteries, till the fugitive artillerists returned with a reinforcement from the main British camp, and attacked them. Some of them were then made prisoners, others fled to the boats, and a part, who were rallied by the exertions of their major, marched to the aid of colonel Dudley. The Indians had also been reinforced, and the confusion in which major Shelby found the men under Dudley, was so great as to amount to a cessation of resistance; while the savages, skulking around them, continued the work of destruction in safety. At last a retreat commenced in disorder, but the greater part of the men were captured by the Indians, or surrendered to the British at the batteries. The gallant but unfortunate colonel Dudley, after being wounded, was overtaken and despatched with the tomahawk. The number of those who escaped and got into the fort, out of the whole detachment, was considerably below two hundred. Had the orders which colonel Dudley received, been duly regarded, or a proper degree of judgment exercised on the occasion, the day would certainly have been an important one for the country, and a glorious one for the army. Every thing might have been accomplished agreeably to the wishes and intentions of the general, with the loss of but few men. When the approach of the detachment under Dudley was reported to Proctor, he supposed it to be the main force of the American army, from which he was apprehensive that he might sustain a total defeat: he therefore recalled a large portion of his British and Indians from the opposite shore. They did not arrive, however, in time to partake in the contest on the north side."[A] [Footnote A: M'Affee.] After the fighting had ceased on the fifth, the British general sent a flag to the fort by major Chambers, and his introduction to general Harrison was succeeded by the following significant dialogue: "_Major Chambers._ General Proctor has directed me to demand the surrender of this post. He wishes to spare the effusion of blood. "_General Harrison._ The demand, under present circumstances, is a most extraordinary one. As general Proctor did not send me a summons to surrender on his first arrival, I had supposed that he believed me determined to do my duty. His present message indicates an opinion of me that I am at a loss to account for. "_Major Chambers._ General Proctor could never think of saying anything to wound your feelings, sir. The character of general Harrison, as an officer, is well known. General Proctor's force is very respectable, and there is with him a larger body of Indians than has ever before been embodied. "_General Harrison._ I believe I have a very correct idea of general Proctor's force; it is not such as to create the least apprehension for the result of the contest, whatever shape he may be pleased hereafter to give it. Assure the general, however, that he will never have this post _surrendered_ to him upon any terms. Should it fall into his hands, it will be in a manner calculated to do him more honor, and to give him larger claims upon the gratitude of his government than any capitulation could possibly do." The siege was continued, but without any very active efforts against the fort, until the morning of the 9th of May, when the enemy retreated down the bay, leaving behind them a quantity of cannon balls, and other valuable articles. The force under general Proctor amounted, as nearly as could be ascertained, to six hundred regulars, eight hundred Canadian militia, and about eighteen hundred Indians. The number of troops under general Harrison, including those which arrived on the morning of the fifth, under general Clay, was about twelve hundred in all. The number fit for duty did not, perhaps, equal eleven hundred. The number of the American troops killed and massacred on the north side of the river, was upwards of seventy. One hundred and eighty-nine were wounded, and eighty-one killed, in the two sorties from the fort. The loss of the British and Indians, in killed and wounded, could never be satisfactorily ascertained. That it was very considerable, there can be no doubt. The enemy brought against fort Meigs a combined army of near three thousand men, under Proctor, Elliott and Tecumseh, and prepared, by a train of artillery, for vigorous operations. These were prosecuted with skill and energy. The Indians, led on by the daring Tecumseh, fought with uncommon bravery, and contributed largely to swell the list of our killed and wounded. It is said, that the sagacious leader of the Indian forces did not enter upon this siege with any strong hopes of ultimate success; but having embarked in it, he stood manfully in the post of danger, and took an active, if not a leading part, in planning and executing the various movements which were made against the fort. The spirit with which these were prosecuted may be in part inferred from the fact, that during the first five days of the siege, the enemy fired upon the fort with their cannon, fifteen hundred times,[A] many of their balls and bombs being red-hot, and directed specially at the two block houses containing the ammunition. These shots made no decided impression upon the picketing of the fort, but killed or wounded about eighty of the garrison. [Footnote A: Brown's History of the Late War.] It has been already stated that the distinguished leader of the Indians, in this assault upon camp Meigs, entered upon it with no sanguine hopes of success. His associate, general Proctor, however, is said to have entertained a different opinion, and flattered himself and his troops with the prospect of splendid success and rich rewards. In case of the reduction of the fort and the capture of its garrison, the British general intended to assign the Michigan territory to the Prophet and his followers, as a compensation for their services; and general Harrison was to have been delivered into the hands of Tecumseh, to be disposed of at the pleasure of that chief.[A] [Footnote A: M'Affee.] One of the public journals of the day[A] states that this proposition originated with Proctor, and was held out as an inducement to Tecumseh, to join in the siege. General Harrison subsequently understood, that in case he had fallen into Proctor's hands, he was to have been delivered to Tecumseh, to be treated as that warrior might think proper: and in a note to Dawson's Historical Narrative, the author of that work says, "There is no doubt that when Proctor made the arrangement for the attack on fort Meigs with Tecumseh, the latter insisted and the former agreed, that general Harrison and all who fought at Tippecanoe, should be given up to the Indians to be burned. Major Ball of the dragoons ascertained this fact from prisoners, deserters and Indians, all of whom agreed to its truth." Whatever may have been the actual agreement between Proctor and Tecumseh in regard to general Harrison and those who fought with him at Tippecanoe, it is hardly credible that this chief had any intention of participating in an outrage of this kind, upon the prisoners. Tecumseh may possibly have made such an arrangement with Proctor, and announced it to the Indians, for the purpose of exciting them to activity and perseverance, in carrying on the siege; but that this chief seriously meditated any such outrage, either against general Harrison or his associates, is not to be credited but on the best authority. It will be recollected that Tecumseh, when but a youth, succeeded by his personal influence, in putting an end to the custom of burning prisoners, then common among a branch of the Shawanoes. In 1810, at a conference with general Harrison, in Vincennes, he made an agreement that prisoners and women and children, in the event of hostilities between the whites and the Indians, should be protected; and there is no evidence that this compact was ever violated by him; or indeed, that through the whole course of his eventful life, he ever committed violence upon a prisoner, or suffered others to do so without promptly interfering for the captive. To suppose, then, that he really intended to permit general Harrison, or those who fought with him on the Wabash, to be burned, would have been at variance with the whole tenor of his life; and particularly with his manly and magnanimous conduct at the close of the assault upon fort Meigs. [Footnote A: The Chillicothe Fredonian.] The prisoners captured on the fifth, were, taken down to Proctor's head-quarters and confined in fort Miami, where the Indians were permitted to amuse, themselves by firing at the crowd, or at any particular individual. Those whose taste led them to inflict a more cruel and savage death, led their victims to the gateway, where, under the eye of general Proctor and his officers, they were coolly tomahawked and scalped. Upwards of twenty prisoners were thus, in the course of two hours, massacred in cold blood, by those to whom they had voluntarily surrendered. At the same time, the chiefs of the different tribe were holding a council to determine the fate of the remaining captives, when Tecumseh and colonel Elliott came down from the batteries to the scene of carnage. A detailed account of the noble conduct of the former in regard to these captives is contained in the following extract from a letter,[A] upon the accuracy of which reliance may be placed. The writer, after contrasting the brave and humane Tecumseh with the cruel and reckless Proctor, says: "The most unfortunate event of that contest, I presume you will admit to have been the defeat of colonel Dudley. I will give you a statement made to me by a British officer who was present. He states, that when colonel Dudley landed his troops, Tecumseh, the brave but unfortunate commander, was on the south side of the river, annoying the American garrison with his Indians; and that Proctor, with a part of his troops and a few Indians, remained on the opposite side at the batteries. Dudley attacked him, and pursued him two miles. During this time, Harrison had sent out a detachment to engage Tecumseh; and that the contest with him continued a considerable length of time, before he was informed of what was doing on the opposite side. He immediately retreated, swam over the river and fell in the rear of Dudley, and attacked him with great fury. Being thus surrounded and their commander killed, the troops marched up to the British line and surrendered. Shortly afterwards, commenced the scene of horrors which I dare say is yet fresh in your memory; but I shall recall it to your recollection for reasons I will hereafter state. They (the American troops) were huddled together in an old British garrison, with the Indians around them, selecting such as their fancy dictated, to glut their savage thirst for murder. And although they had surrendered themselves prisoners of war, yet, in violation of the customs of war, the inhuman Proctor did not yield them the least protection, nor attempt to screen them from the tomahawk of the Indians. Whilst this blood-thirsty carnage was raging, a thundering voice was heard in the rear, in the Indian tongue, when, turning round, he saw Tecumseh coming with all the rapidity his horse could carry him, until he drew near to where two Indians had an American, and were in the act of killing him. He sprang from his horse, caught one by the throat and the other by the breast, and threw them to the ground; drawing his tomahawk and scalping knife, he ran in between the Americans and Indians, brandishing them with the fury of a mad man, and daring any one of the hundreds that surrounded him, to attempt to murder another American. They all appeared confounded, and immediately desisted. His mind appeared rent with passion, and he exclaimed almost with tears in his eyes, 'Oh! what will become of my Indians.' He then demanded in an authoritative tone, where Proctor was; but casting his eye upon him at a small distance, sternly enquired why he had not put a stop to the inhuman massacre. 'Sir,' said Proctor, 'your Indians cannot be commanded.' 'Begone' retorted Tecumseh, with the greatest disdain, 'you are unfit to command; go and put on petticoats.'" [Footnote A: This letter is from Mr. Wm. G. Ewing, formerly of Piqua, O., and is addressed, under date of May 2d, 1818, to John H. James, Esq. now of Urbana.] This was not the only occasion on which Tecumseh openly manifested the contempt which he felt for the character and conduct of general Proctor. Among other instances, it is stated by an officer of the United States' army, in a letter, under date of 28th September, 1813,[A] that in a conversation between these two commanders of the allied British army, Tecumseh said to Proctor, "I conquer to save, and you to murder;"--an expression founded in truth, and worthy of the magnanimous hero from whose lips it fell. [Footnote A: Niles' Register.] There is another incident connected with the defeat of Dudley, which justice to the character of Tecumseh requires should be recorded. Shortly after he had put a stop to the horrid massacre of the prisoners, his attention was called to a small group of Indians occupied in looking at some object in their midst. Colonel Elliott observed to him, "Yonder are four of your nation who have been taken prisoners; you may take charge of them, and dispose of them as you think proper." Tecumseh walked up to the crowd, where he found four Shawanoes, two brothers by the name of Perry, Big Jim, and the Soldier. "Friends," said he, "colonel Elliott has placed you under my charge, and I will send you back to your nation with a talk to our people." He accordingly took them on with the army as far as the river Raisin, from which point their return home would be less dangerous, and then appointed two of his followers to accompany them, with some friendly messages to the chiefs of the Shawanoe nation. They were thus discharged under their parole, not to fight against the British during the war. CHAPTER XIII. Tecumseh present at the second attack on fort Meigs--his stratagem of a sham-battle to draw out general Clay--is posted in the Black swamp with two thousand warriors at the time of the attack on fort Stephenson--from thence passes by land to Malden--compels general Proctor to release an American prisoner--threatens to desert the British cause--urges an attack upon the American fleet--opposes Proctor's retreat from Malden--delivers a speech to him on that occasion. After abandoning the siege of fort Meigs, general Proctor and Tecumseh returned to Malden, where the Canadian militia were disbanded, and the Indians, who had not already left the army, for their respective villages, were stationed at different cantonments. The Chippewas preferred going home; the Potawatamies were placed six miles up the river Rouge; the Miamis and Wyandots at Brownstown and up the Detroit river, as far as Maguaga. They were successively employed by the British commander as scouts, a party being sent regularly, once a week, to reconnoiter fort Meigs, and other points in that vicinity. They planted no corn and hunted but little, being regularly supplied with provisions from Detroit and Malden. Early in July, the allies of the British again made their appearance in the vicinity of fort Meigs. Dickson, an influential Scotch trader among the Indians, having returned from the north-west with a large body of savages, general Proctor was urged to renew the attack on the fort, and it was accordingly done. Late on the evening of the 20th of July, the garrison discovered the boats of the British army ascending the river. On the following morning general Clay, now in command of this post, despatched a picket guard of ten men to a point three hundred yards below the fort, where it was surprised by the Indians, and seven of the party either killed or captured. The combined army of British and Indians, were soon afterwards encamped on the north side of the river, below the old British fort Miami. For a short time, the Indians took a position in the woods, in the rear of the fort, from which they occasionally fired upon the garrison, but without doing any injury. In the night, captain William Oliver, accompanied by captain M'Cune, was sent express to general Harrison, then at Lower Sandusky, with information that fort Meigs was again invested; and, that the united force of the enemy did not fall far short of five thousand men. The general directed captain M'Cune to return to the fort, with information to the commander, that so soon as the necessary troops could be assembled, he would march to his relief. The general doubted, however, whether any serious attack was meditated against the place. He believed, and the result showed the accuracy of his judgment, that the enemy was making a feint at the Rapids, to call his attention in that direction, while Lower Sandusky or Cleveland, would be the real point of assault. On the 23d Tecumseh, with about eight hundred Indians, passed up the river, with the intention, as general Clay supposed, of attacking fort Winchester: this movement, as was subsequently ascertained, being also intended to deceive the commander of the fort. On the 25th the enemy removed to the south side of the river, and encamped behind a point of woods which partly concealed them from the view of the garrison. This, taken in connection with other circumstances, led general Clay to think that an effort would be made to carry the post by assault. Early on the morning of the 26th captain M'Cune reached the fort in safety. In the afternoon of that day, the enemy practised a well devised stratagem for the purpose of drawing general Clay and his troops from their fastness. On the Sandusky road, just before night, a heavy firing of rifles and muskets was heard: the Indian yell broke upon the ear, and the savages were seen attacking with great impetuosity a column of men, who were soon thrown into confusion; they, however, rallied, and in turn the Indians gave way. The idea flew through the fort that general Harrison was approaching with a body of reinforcements; and the troops under general Clay seized their arms, and with nearly all the officers in the garrison, demanded to be led to the support of their friends. General Clay was unable to explain the firing, but wisely concluded, from the information received in the morning by captain M'Cune, that there could be no reinforcements in the neighborhood of the fort. He had the prudent firmness to resist the earnest importunity of his officers and men, to be led to the scene of action. The enemy finding that the garrison could not be drawn out, and a heavy shower of rain beginning to fall, terminated their sham-battle. It was subsequently ascertained that this was a stratagem, devised by Tecumseh, for the purpose of decoying out a part of the force under general Clay, which was to have been attacked and cut off by the Indians; while the British troops were to carry the fort by storm. But for the opportune arrival of the express in the morning of this day, and the cool judgment of the commander, there is great reason to suppose that this admirably planned manoeuvre would have succeeded; which must have resulted in the total destruction of the garrison, the combined force of the enemy, then investing fort Meigs, being about five thousand in number, while the troops under general Clay were but a few hundred strong. The enemy remained around the fort but one day after the failure of this ingenious stratagem, and on the 28th embarked with their stores, and proceeded down the lake. As had been anticipated by general Harrison, immediately after the siege was raised, the British troops sailed round into Sandusky bay, while a portion of the Indians marched across the land, to aid in the meditated attack upon fort Stephenson, at lower Sandusky. Tecumseh, in the mean time, with about two thousand warriors, took a position in the great swamp, between that point and fort Meigs, ready to encounter any reinforcement that might have been started to the relief of general Clay, to fall upon the camp at Seneca, or upon Upper Sandusky, according to circumstances. The gallant defence of fort Stephenson by captain Croghan, put a sudden stop to the offensive operations of the army under Proctor and Tecumseh; and very shortly afterwards transferred the scene of action to a new theatre on the Canada shore, where these commanders were, in turn, thrown upon the defensive. Immediately after the signal defeat of general Proctor at fort Stephenson, he returned with the British troops to Malden by water, while Tecumseh and his followers passed over land round the head of lake Erie and joined him at that point. At this time, an incident occurred which illustrates the character of Tecumseh, while it shows the contumely with which he was accustomed to treat general Proctor, who did not dare to disobey him. A citizen of the United States, captain Le Croix, had fallen into the hands of Proctor, and was secreted on board one of the British vessels, until he could be sent down to Montreal. Tecumseh had a particular regard for captain Le Croix, and suspected that he had been captured. He called upon general Proctor, and in a peremptory manner demanded if he knew any thing of his friend. He even ordered the British general to tell him the _truth_, adding, "If I ever detect you in a falsehood, I, with my Indians, will immediately abandon you." The general was obliged to acknowledge that Le Croix was in confinement. Tecumseh, in a very imperious tone, insisted upon his immediate release. General Proctor wrote a line stating, that the "king of the woods" desired the release of captain Le Croix, and that he must be set at liberty; which was done without delay.[A] [Footnote A: Alden Collection.] Discouraged by the want of success, and having lost all confidence in general Proctor, Tecumseh now seriously meditated a withdrawal from the contest. He assembled the Shawanoes, Wyandots and Ottawas, who were under his command, and declared his intention to them. He told them, that at the time they took up the tomahawk and agreed to join their father, the king, they were promised plenty of white men to fight with them; "but the number is not now greater," said he, "than at the commencement of the war; and we are treated by them like the dogs of snipe hunters; we are always sent ahead to _start the game_: it is better that we should return to our country, and let the Americans come on and fight the British." To this proposition his followers agreed; but the Sioux and Chippewas, discovering his intention, went to him and insisted that inasmuch as he had first united with the British, and had been instrumental in bringing their tribes into the alliance, he ought not to leave them; and through their influence he was finally induced to remain.[A] [Footnote A: Anthony Shane.] Tecumseh was on the island of Bois Blanc, in the Detroit river, when commodore Perry made the first display of his fleet before Malden. He appeared much pleased at the appearance of these vessels, and assured the Indians by whom he was surrounded, that the British fleet would soon destroy them. The Indians hastened to the shore to witness the contest, but the harbour of Malden presented no evidence that commodore Barclay intended to meet the American commander. Tecumseh launched his canoe, and crossed over to Malden to make enquiries on the subject. He called on general Proctor, and adverting to the apparent unwillingness of commodore Barclay to attack the American fleet, he said "a few days since, you were boasting that you commanded the waters--why do you not go out and meet the Americans? See yonder, they are waiting for you, and daring you to meet them: you must and shall send out your fleet and fight them." Upon his return to the island, he stated to the Indians, with apparent chagrin, that "the big canoes of their great father were not yet ready, and that the destruction of the Americans must be delayed for a few days."[A] [Footnote A: Ibid.] When the battle was finally fought, it was witnessed by the Indians from the shore. On the day succeeding the engagement, general Proctor said to Tecumseh, "my fleet has whipped the Americans, but the vessels being much injured, have gone into Put-in Bay to refit, and will be here in a few days." This deception, however, upon the Indians, was not of long duration. The sagacious eye of Tecumseh soon perceived indications of a retreat from Malden, and he promptly enquired into the matter. General Proctor informed him that he was only going to send their valuable property up the Thames, where it would meet a reinforcement, and be safe. Tecumseh, however, was not to be deceived by this shallow device; and remonstrated most urgently against a retreat. He finally demanded, in the name of all the Indians under his command, to be heard by the general, and, on the 18th of September, delivered to him, as the representative of their great father, the king, the following speech: "Father, listen to your children! you have them now all before you. "The war before this, our British father gave the hatchet to his red children, when our old chiefs were alive. They are now dead. In that war our father was thrown on his back by the Americans; and our father took them by the hand without our knowledge; and we are afraid that our father will do so again at this time. "Summer before last, when I came forward with my red brethren and was ready to take up the hatchet in favor of our British father, we were told not to be in a hurry, that he had not yet determined to fight the Americans. "Listen! when war was declared, our father stood up and gave us the tomahawk, and told us that he was then ready to strike the Americans; that he wanted our assistance, and that he would certainly get our lands back, which the Americans had taken from us. "Listen! you told us at that time, to bring forward our families to this place, and we did so; and you promised to take care of them, and they should want for nothing, while the men would go and fight the enemy; that we need not trouble ourselves about the enemy's garrisons; that we knew nothing about them, and that our father would attend to that part of the business. You also told your red children that you would take good care of your garrison here, which made our hearts glad. "Listen! when we were last at the Rapids, it is true we gave you little assistance. It is hard to fight people who live like ground-hogs. "Father, listen! our fleet has gone out; we know they have fought; we have heard the great guns; but we know nothing of what has happened to our father with one arm.[A] Our ships have gone one way, and we are much astonished to see our father tying up every thing and preparing to run away the other, without letting his red children know what his intentions are. You always told us to remain here and take care of our lands; it made our hearts glad to hear that was your wish. Our great father, the king, is the head, and you represent him. You always told us you would never draw your foot off British ground; but now, father, we see that you are drawing back, and we are sorry to see our father doing so without seeing the enemy. We must compare our father's conduct to a fat dog, that carries his tail on its back, but when affrighted, drops it between its legs and runs off. "Father, listen! the Americans have not yet defeated us by land; neither are we sure that they have done so by water; _we, therefore, wish to remain here and fight our enemy, should they make their appearance._ If they defeat us, we will then retreat with our father. "At the battle of the Rapids, last war, the Americans certainly defeated us; and when we returned to our father's fort at that place, the gates were shut against us. We were afraid that it would now be the case; but instead of that, we now see our British father preparing to march out of his garrison. "Father, you have got the arms and ammunition which our great father sent for his red children. If you have an idea of going away, give them to us, and you may go and welcome, for us. Our lives are in the hands of the Great Spirit. We are determined to defend our lands, and if it be his will, we wish to leave our bones upon them." [Footnote A: Commodore Barclay, who had lost an arm in some previous battle.] General Proctor, in disregarding the advice of Tecumseh, lost his only opportunity of making an effective resistance to the American army. Had the troops under general Harrison been attacked by the British and Indians at the moment of their landing on the Canada shore, the result might have been far different from that which was shortly afterwards witnessed on the banks of the Thames. Of the authenticity of this able speech, there is no doubt. It has been the cause of some surprise that it should have been preserved by general Proctor, and translated into English, especially as it speaks of the commander of the allied army in terms the most disrespectful. We are enabled to state, on the authority of John Chambers, Esq. of Washington, Kentucky, who was one of the aids of general Harrison in the campaign of 1813, that the speech as given above, is truly translated; and was actually delivered to general Proctor under the circumstances above related. When the battle of the Thames had been fought, the British commander sought safety in flight. He was pursued by colonels Wood, Chambers, and Todd, and three or four privates. He escaped, but his baggage was captured. Colonel Chambers was present when his port-folio was opened, and among the papers, a translation of this speech was found. In remarking upon the fact subsequently, to some of the British officers, they stated to colonel Chambers that the speech was undoubtedly genuine; and that general Proctor had ordered it to be translated and exhibited to his officers, for the purpose of showing them the insolence with which he was treated by Tecumseh, and the necessity he was under of submitting to every species of indignity from him, to prevent that chief from withdrawing his forces from the contest or turning his army against the British troops. CHAPTER XIV. Retreat of the combined British and Indian army to the river Thames--skirmish at Chatham with the troops under general Harrison--Tecumseh slightly wounded in the arm--battle on the Thames on the 5th of October--Tecumseh's death. Shortly after the delivery of the speech quoted in the foregoing chapter, a considerable body of Indians abandoned general Proctor, and crossed the strait to the American shore. Tecumseh himself again manifested a disposition to take his final leave of the British service. Embittered by the perfidy of Proctor, his men suffering from want of clothes and provisions, with the prospect of a disgraceful flight before them, he was strongly inclined to withdraw with his followers; and leave the American general to chastise in a summary manner those who had so repeatedly deceived him and his Indian followers. The Sioux and Chippewas, however, again objected to this course. _They_ could not, they said, withdraw, and there was no other leader but Tecumseh, in whom they placed confidence: they insisted that he was the person who had originally induced them to join the British, and that he ought not to desert them in the present extremity. Tecumseh, in reply to this remonstrance remarked, that the battlefield had no terrors for him; he feared not death, and if they insisted upon it, he would remain with them. General Proctor now proposed to the Indians to remove their women and children to McGee's, opposite the river Rouge, where they would be furnished with their winter's clothing and the necessary supplies of food. To this proposition, Tecumseh yielded a reluctant assent; doubting, as he did, the truth of the statement. When they were about to start, he observed to young Jim Blue-Jacket, "we are now going to follow the British, and I feel well assured, that we shall never return." When they arrived at McGee's, Tecumseh found that there were no stores provided for them, as had been represented. Proctor made excuses; and again pledged himself to the Indians, that if they would go with him to the Thames, they would there find an abundance of every thing needful to supply their wants; besides a reinforcement of British troops, and a fort ready for their reception.[A] [Footnote A: Anthony Shane.] The retreat was continued towards the Thames. On the second of October, when the army had reached Dalson's farm, Proctor and Tecumseh, attended by a small guard, returned to examine the ground at a place called Chatham, where a deep, unfordable creek falls into the Thames. They were riding together in a gig, and after making the necessary examination, the ground was approved of; and general Proctor remarked, upon that spot they would either defeat general Harrison or there lay their bones. With this determination Tecumseh was highly pleased, and said, "it was a good place, and when he should look at the two streams, they would remind him of the Wabash and the Tippecanoe." Perhaps no better position could have been chosen for meeting the American army than this place presented. The allied force of British and Indians, had they made a stand upon it, would have been protected in front by a deep unfordable stream, while their right flank would have been covered by the Thames, and their left by a swamp. But general Proctor changed his mind; and leaving Tecumseh with a body of Indians to defend the passage of the stream, moved forward with the main army. Tecumseh made a prompt and judicious arrangement of his forces; but it is said that his Indians, in the skirmish which ensued, did not sustain their previous reputation as warriors. It is probable, however, that their leader did not intend to make any decided resistance to the American troops at this point, not being willing that general Proctor and his army should escape a meeting with the enemy. In this action Tecumseh was slightly wounded in the arm by a ball. General Harrison, in his official report of this affair, says: "Below a place called Chatham, and four miles above Dalson's, is the third unfordable branch of the Thames: the bridge over its mouth had been taken up by the Indians, as well as that at M'Gregor's mills, one mile above--several hundred of the Indians remained to dispute our passage, and upon the arrival of the advanced guard, commenced a heavy fire from the opposite bank of the creek, as well as that of the river. Believing that the whole force of the enemy was there, I halted the army, formed in order of battle, and brought up our two six pounders, to cover the party that were ordered to repair the bridge. A few shot from these pieces soon drove off the Indians, and enabled us in two hours to repair the bridge and cross the troops. Colonel Johnson's mounted regiment being upon the right of the army, had seized the remains of the bridge at the mills, under a heavy fire from the Indians. Our loss upon this occasion was two killed, and three or four wounded; that of the enemy was ascertained to be considerably greater. A house near the bridge, containing a very considerable number of muskets, had been set on fire; but it was extinguished by our troops and the arms saved." Tecumseh and his party overtook they main army near the Moravian towns, situated on the north side of the Thames. Here he resolved that he would retreat no further; and the ground being favorable for forming the line of battle, he communicated his determination to general Proctor, and compelled him, as there is every reason for believing, to put an end to his retreat, and prepare for meeting the pursuing army. After the Indians were posted in the swamp, in the position occupied by them during the battle, Tecumseh remarked to the chiefs by whom he was surrounded, "brother warriors! we are now about to enter into an engagement from which I shall never come out--my body will remain on the field of battle." He then unbuckled his sword, and placing it in the hands of one of them, said, "when my son becomes a noted warrior, and able to wield a sword, give this to him." He then laid aside his British military dress, and took his place in the line, clothed only in the ordinary deer-skin hunting shirt.[A] [Footnote A: Anthony Shane, and colonel Baubee of the British army.] The position selected by the enemy was eminently judicious. The British troops, amounting to eight or nine hundred, were posted with their left upon the river, which was unfordable at that point; their right extended to and across a swamp, and united them with the Indians, under Tecumseh, amounting to near eighteen hundred. The British artillery was placed in the road along the margin of the river, near to the left of their line. At from two to three hundred yards from the river, a swamp extends nearly parallel to it, the intermediate ground being dry. This position of the enemy, with his flank protected on the left by the river and on the right by the swamp, filled with Indians, being such as to prevent the wings from being turned, general Harrison made arrangements to concentrate his forces against the British line. The first division, under major general Henry, was formed in three lines at one hundred yards from each other; the front line consisting of Trotter's brigade, the second of Chiles', and the reserve of King's brigade. These lines were in front of, and parallel to, the British troops. The second division, under major general Desha, composed of Allen's and Caldwell's brigades, was formed _en potence_, or at right angles to the first division. Governor Shelby, as senior major general of the Kentucky troops, was posted at this crotchet, formed between the first and second divisions. Colonel Simrall's regiment of light infantry was formed in reserve, obliquely to the first division, and covering the rear of the front division; and, after much reflection as to the disposition to be made of colonel Johnson's mounted troops, they were directed, as soon as the front line advanced, to take ground to the left, and forming upon that flank, to endeavor to turn the right of the Indians. A detachment of regular troops, of the 26th United States infantry, under colonel Paul, occupied the space between the road and the river, for the purpose of seizing the enemy's artillery; and, simultaneously with this movement, forty friendly Indians were to pass under the bank of the stream to the rear of the British line, and by their fire and war-cry, induce the enemy to think their own Indians were turning against them. At the same time, colonel Wood had been instructed to make preparations for using the enemy's artillery, and to rake their own line by a flank fire. By refusing the left or second division, the Indians were kept _in the air_, that is, in a position in which they would be useless. It will be seen, as the commander anticipated, that they waited in their position the advance of the second division, while the British left was contending with the American right. Johnson's corps consisted of nine hundred men, and the five brigades under governor Shelby amounted to near eighteen hundred, in all, not exceeding two thousand seven hundred men. In the midst of these arrangements, and just as the order was about to be given to the front line to advance, at the head of which general Harrison had placed himself with his staff, colonel Wood approached him with intelligence, that having reconnoitered the enemy, he had ascertained the singular fact, that the British lines, instead of the usual close order, were drawn up at _open order_. This fact at once induced general Harrison to adopt the novel expedient of charging the British lines with Johnson's mounted regiment. "I was within a few feet of him," says the gallant colonel John O'Fallon, "when the report of colonel Wood was made, and he instantly remarked, that he would make a novel movement by ordering colonel Johnson's mounted regiment to charge the British line of regulars, which, thus drawn up, contrary to the habits and usages of that description of troops, always accustomed to _the touch_, could be easily penetrated and thrown into confusion, by a spirited charge of colonel Johnson's regiment." This determination was presently made known to the colonel, who was directed to draw up his regiment in close column, with its right fifty yards from the road--that it might be partially protected by the trees from the artillery--its left upon the swamp, and to charge at full speed upon the enemy. At this juncture, general Harrison, with his aids-de-camp, attended likewise by general Cass and commodore Perry, advanced from the right of the front line of infantry, to the right of the front column of mounted troops, led by colonel James Johnson. The general, personally, gave the direction for the charge to be made. "When the right battalion of the mounted men received the first fire of the British, the horses in the front column recoiled; another fire was given by the enemy, but our column getting in motion, broke through the enemy with irresistible force. In one minute the contest was over. The British officers seeing no prospect of reducing their disordered ranks to order, and seeing the advance of the infantry, and our mounted men wheeling upon them and pouring in a destructive fire, immediately surrendered."[A] [Footnote A: Official Despatch.] Colonel Richard M. Johnson, by the extension of his line, was brought in contact with the Indians, upon whom he gallantly charged, but was unfortunately severely wounded by the first fire of the enemy, and was immediately taken off the field, not, however, it has been stated, until he had despatched an Indian by a pistol shot. The fire of the Indians having made some impression upon Johnson's men, and upon the left of Trotter's brigade, general Harrison despatched an order to governor Shelby to bring up Simrall's regiment to reinforce the point pressed by the Indians; and then the general passed to the left, to superintend the operations in that quarter. The governor, however, had anticipated the wishes of his commander, being in the act of leading up the regiment, when the order reached him. He and the general met near the crochet, where after a severe contest of several minutes, the battle finally ceased. The particulars of the charge made by colonel Johnson on the Indians, are thus given by an intelligent officer[A] of his corps. In a letter to the late governor Wickliffe of Kentucky, under date of Frankfort, September 7, 1840, he says: "I was at the head or right of my company, on horseback, waiting orders, at about fifty or sixty yards from the line of the enemy. Colonel Johnson rode up and explained to me the mode of attack, and said in substance, 'captain Davidson, I am directed by general Harrison to charge and break through the Indian line, and form in the rear. My brother James will charge in like manner through the British line at the same time. The sound of the trumpet will be the signal for the charge.' In a few minutes the trumpet sounded, and the word 'charge' was given by colonel Johnson. The colonel charged within a few paces of me. We struck the Indian line obliquely, and when we approached within ten or fifteen yards of their line, the Indians poured in a heavy fire upon us, killing ten or fifteen of our men and several horses, and wounded colonel Johnson very severely. He immediately retired. Doctor Theobald, of Lexington, (I think) aided him off." [Footnote A: Captain James Davidson, of Kentucky.--See Cincinnati Republican.] The loss of the Americans in this battle was about twenty killed and between thirty and forty wounded. The British had eighteen killed and twenty-six wounded. The Indians left on the ground between fifty and sixty killed; and, estimating the usual proportion for the wounded, it was probably more than double that number. The British official account of this action is not before us. In a general order under date of Montreal, November 21, 1813, the adjutant general of the English forces, bears testimony to the good conduct of the Indian warriors, who gallantly maintained the conflict under the brave chief Tecumseh. This tribute to the Indians and their leader is well merited. Had general Proctor and his troops fought with the same valor that marked the conduct of Tecumseh and his men, the results of the day would have been far more creditable to the British arms. It has already been stated that Tecumseh entered this battle with a strong conviction on his mind that he should not survive it. Further flight he deemed disgraceful, while the hope of victory in the impending action, was feeble and distant. He, however, heroically resolved to achieve the latter or die in the effort. With this determination, he took his stand among his followers, raised the war-cry and boldly met the enemy. From the commencement of the attack on the Indian line, his voice was distinctly heard by his followers, animating them to deeds worthy of the race to which they belonged. When that well known voice was heard no longer above the din of arms, the battle ceased. The British troops having already surrendered, and the gallant leader of the Indians having fallen, they gave up the contest and fled. A short distance from where Tecumseh fell, the body of his friend and brother-in-law, Wasegoboah, was found. They had often fought side by side, and now, in front of their men, bravely battling the enemy, they side by side closed their mortal career.[A] [Footnote A: Anthony Shane.] James, a British historian,[A] in his account of the battle of the Thames, makes the following remarks upon the character and personal appearance of Tecumseh. "Thus fell the Indian warrior Tecumseh, in the 44th year of his age. He was of the Shawanoe tribe, five feet ten inches high, and with more than the usual stoutness, possessed all the agility and perseverance of the Indian character. His carriage was dignified, his eye penetrating, his countenance, which even in death, betrayed the indications of a lofty spirit, rather of the sterner cast. Had he not possessed a certain austerity of manners, he could never have controlled the wayward passions of those who followed him to battle. He was of a silent habit; but when his eloquence became roused into action by the reiterated encroachments of the Americans, his strong intellect could supply him with a flow of oratory that enabled him, as he governed in the field, so to prescribe in the council. Those who consider that in all territorial questions, the ablest diplomatists of the United States are sent to negociate with the Indians, will readily appreciate the loss sustained by the latter in the death of their champion. * * * * Such a man was the unlettered savage, Tecumseh, and such a man have the Indians lost forever. He has left a son, who, when his father fell, was about seventeen years old, and fought by his side. The prince regent, in 1814, out of respect to the memory of the old, sent out as a present to the young, Tecumseh, a handsome sword. Unfortunately, however, for the Indian cause and country, faint are the prospects that Tecumseh the son, will ever equal, in wisdom or prowess, Tecumseh the father." [Footnote A: Military Occurrences of the Late War.] Mr. James (p. 295,) asserts, that Tecumseh was not only scalped, but that his body was actually _flayed_, and the skin converted into razor-straps by the Kentuckians. We fear there is too much truth in this statement. It is confirmed by the testimony of several American officers and privates, who were in the battle of the Thames. It is painful to make an admission of this kind, but truth forbids the suppression of a fact, when fairly established, however revolting to the feelings of humanity, or degrading to a people. That there was any general participation of our troops in this inhuman and revolting deed, is not for a moment to be supposed. That it was the act of a few vulgar and brutish individuals, is, we think, just as certain, as that the great mass of the army were shocked at its perpetration. It is to be regretted that the names of the persons who committed this outrage have not been preserved, that their conduct on this occasion might have been held up to universal condemnation. CHAPTER XV. Critical examination of the question "who killed Tecumseh?"--colonel R. M. Johnson's claim considered. Tecumseh was a determined and subtle enemy of the United States, and during the palmy days of his bold career, wielded an influence over the north-western Indians which belonged to no other chief. His death was consequently an important circumstance in relation to the peace and safety of the frontiers. But whether he fell by a pistol shot from a field officer, or a rifle ball from a private soldier, however interesting as a matter of personal history, is certainly not one of national importance. Nevertheless, the question by whose hands he fell, has engaged public attention to some considerable extent ever since the memorable battle of the Thames. Its discussion has not been confined to the immediate friends of the several aspirants for the honor of having slain this distinguished warrior; it has enlivened the political canvass, and the halls of legislation; occupied the columns of journals and magazines, and filled no inconsiderable space on the pages of American and British histories. Under such circumstances, and as directly connected with the present biography, a fair presentation of all the testimony bearing on the case will now be attempted. It may at least gratify the public curiosity, if it do not definitively settle the long pending question in relation to the actual _slayer of Tecumseh_. M'Affee, in his History of the Late War, says, Tecumseh "was found among the dead, at the point where colonel Johnson had charged upon the enemy, in person, and it is generally believed, that this celebrated chief fell by the hand of the colonel. It is certain that the latter killed the Indian with his pistol, who shot him through his hand, at the very spot where Tecumseh lay; but another dead body lay at the same place, and Mr. King, a soldier in captain Davidson's company, had the honor of killing one of them." Brown, in his history of the same war, says, that "colonel Johnson, after receiving four wounds, perceived the daring Tecumseh commanding and attempting to rally his savage force; when he instantly put his horse towards him, and was shot by Tecumseh in the hand, as he approached him. Tecumseh advanced with a drawn weapon, a sword or tomahawk, at which instant the colonel, having reserved his fire, shot his ferocious antagonist dead at his feet; and that too, at the moment he was almost fainting with the loss of blood and the anguish of five wounds." The statement of Shawbeneh, a Potawatamie chief, lately published in the "Chicago Democrat," goes to prove that Tecumseh was wounded in the neck; and telling his warriors that he must die, rushed forward to kill colonel Johnson. Shawbeneh saw him fall, having been shot by the colonel, just as his arm had reached the necessary height to strike the fatal blow. Shawbeneh says that colonel Johnson was riding a large white horse, with occasionally a jet black spot. He further states that Tecumseh's body was not mutilated by the American troops. The testimony of another Potawatamie chief, Chamblee, as furnished us by captain Robert Anderson, of the U.S. army, is to this effect: He saw Tecumseh engaged in a personal rencontre with a soldier armed with a musket; that the latter made a thrust at the chief, who caught the bayonet under his arm, where he held it, and was in the act of striking his opponent with his tomahawk, when a horseman rode up, and shot Tecumseh dead with a pistol. The horseman had a red feather, (plume) in his hat, and was mounted on a spotted or red-roan horse; he further says, that he saw the body of Tecumseh a day or two after the battle, and that it was not mutilated. In a work entitled "History of the Indian Tribes of North America," there is the following note: "A Potawatamie chief was thus questioned: Were you at the battle of the Thames? Yes. Did you know Tecumseh? Yes. Were you near him in the fight? Yes. Did you see him fall? Yes. Who shot him? Don't know. Did you see the man that shot him? Yes. What sort of looking man was he? Short, thick man. What color was the horse he rode? Most white. How do you know this man shot Tecumseh? I saw the man ride up--saw his horse get tangled in some bushes--when the horse was most still, I saw Tecumseh level his rifle at the man and shoot--the man shook on his horse--soon the horse got out of the bushes, and the man spurred him up--horse came slow--Tecumseh right before him--man's left hand hung down--just as he got near, Tecumseh lifted his tomahawk and was going to throw it, when the man shot him with a short gun (pistol)--Tecumseh fell dead and we all ran." Mr. Garrett Wall, of Kentucky, who participated in the battle of the Thames, says: " ---- The men by this time had collected in groups; and it was remarked that colonel R. M. Johnson was dead, but I contradicted the report; also, that the great Indian commander, Tecumseh, was slain; I asked by what authority? I was told that Anthony Shane, who had known him from a small boy, said so, and had seen him among the slain. In a short time I saw Shane with a small group of men, walking towards a dead Indian; as he approached the body, I asked him if he knew that Indian. He said it was, in his opinion, Tecumseh; but he could tell better if the blood was taken from his face. I examined the Indian. He was shot in the left side of the breast with several balls or buck shot, all entering near and above the left nipple. There was also a wound in his head, too small for a rifle ball to make." Atwater, in his History of Ohio, remarks, that two Winnebago chiefs, Four-Legs and Carymaunee, told him, that Tecumseh, at the commencement of the battle of the Thames, lay with his warriors in a thicket of underbrush on the left of the American army, and that they were, at no period of the battle, out of their covert--that no officer was seen between them and the American troops--that Tecumseh fell the very first fire of the Kentucky dragoons, pierced by thirty bullets, and was carried four or five miles into the thick woods and there buried by the warriors, who told the story of his fate. In 1838, a writer in the Baltimore American published Black Hawk's account of the fall of Tecumseh. It is as follows: " ---- Shortly after this, the Indian spies came in and gave word of the near approach of the Americans. Tecumseh immediately posted his men in the edge of a swamp, which flanked the British line, placing himself at their head. I was a little to his right with a small party of Sauks. It was not long before the Americans made their appearance; they did not perceive us at first, hid as we were by the undergrowth, but we soon let them know where we were, by pouring in one or two vollies as they were forming into line to oppose the British. They faltered a little; but very soon we perceived a large body of horse (colonel Johnson's regiment of mounted Kentuckians) preparing to charge upon us in the swamp. They came bravely on; yet we never stirred until they were so close that we could see the flints in their guns, when Tecumseh, springing to his feet, gave the Shawanoe war-cry, and discharged his rifle. This was the signal for us to commence the battle, but it did not last long; the Americans answered the shout, returning our fire, and at the first discharge of their guns, I saw Tecumseh stagger forwards over a fallen tree, near which he was standing, letting his rifle drop at his feet. As soon as the Indians discovered that he was killed, a sudden fear came over them, and thinking the Great Spirit was angry, they fought no longer, and were quickly put to flight. That night we returned to bury our dead; and search for the body of Tecumseh. He was found lying where he had first fallen; a bullet had struck him above the hip, and his skull had been broken by the butt end of the gun of some soldier, who had found him, perhaps, when life was not yet quite gone. With the exception of these wounds, his body was untouched: lying near him was a large fine looking Potawatamie, who had been killed, decked off in his plumes and war-paint, whom the Americans no doubt had taken for Tecumseh for he was scalped and every particle of skin flayed from his body. Tecumseh himself had no ornaments about, his person, save a British medal. During the night, we buried our dead, and brought off the body of Tecumseh, although we were in sight of the fires of the American camp." James, a British historian,[A] after describing the battle of the Thames, remarks: "It seems extraordinary that general Harrison should have omitted to mention in his letter, the death of a chief, whose fall contributed so largely to break down the Indian spirit, and to give peace and security to the whole north-western frontier of the United States. Tecumseh, although he had received a musket ball in the left arm, was still seeking the hottest of the fire, when he encountered colonel Richard M. Johnson, member of congress from Kentucky. Just as the chief, having discharged his rifle, was rushing forward with his tomahawk, he received a ball in the head from the colonel's pistol. Thus fell the Indian warrior, Tecumseh, in the forty-fourth year of his age. * * * * The body of Tecumseh was recognized, not only by the British officers, who were prisoners, but by commodore Perry, and several American officers." [Footnote A; "Military Occurrences of the Late War between Great Britain and the United States, by William James, 2 vols. London, 1818."] This writer adds, that Tecumseh was scalped and his body flayed by the Kentuckians. In Butler's History of Kentucky, there is a letter from the reverend Obediah B. Brown, of Washington city, then a clerk in the general post-office, under date of 18th September, 1834, in which the writer says, in substance: That colonel Johnson, while leading the advance upon the left wing of the Indians, saw an Indian commander, who appeared to be a rallying point for his savage companions, and whose costume indicated the superiority of his rank; that colonel Johnson, sitting upon his horse, covered with wounds and very feint with the loss of blood, and having a pistol in his right hand loaded with a ball and three buck-shot, thought that the fate of the battle depended upon killing this formidable chief, and he accordingly rode round a fallen tree for this purpose; that the chief, perceiving his approach, levelled his rifle and shot the colonel in the left hand; that the colonel continued to advance upon him, and at the moment when the Indian was raising his tomahawk, shot him dead with his pistol; that this deed spread consternation among the savages, and with hideous yells, they began from that point their retreat; that as soon as the battle ended, the Indian killed by colonel Johnson was recognized as Tecumseh; and before the colonel had so far recovered from the effects of his wounds as to be able to speak, word ran through the army that he had killed Tecumseh; and finally, that a medal was taken from the body which was known to have been presented to this chief by the British government. Mr. Brown further states, that a conversation which he had with Anthony Shane, some years since, strengthened his belief that Tecumseh fell by the hand of colonel Johnson; that Shane told him he went, after the battle, to the spot where it was reported the colonel had killed an Indian, and there he saw the dead body of Tecumseh, and that he must have been killed by a horseman, as a ball and three buck-shot had entered the breast and passed downwards; that he could not be mistaken as to the body of Tecumseh, as he had a remarkable scar upon his thigh, which, upon examination, was found as he had described it. By recurring to the foregoing statements, it will be seen that eight Indians have borne testimony in relation to the death of Tecumseh. Of these, four assert that he was killed by the first fire from the American line; and four that he fell by the hands of a horseman, some time after the commencement of the action. One of these witnesses states that Tecumseh was shot in the neck; another, that he was hit above or in the eyes; two others that he was killed by a ball in the hip; and again two others, that he was pierced by thirty bullets on the first fire of our troops. Three of these witnesses testify that the body of the fallen chief was mutilated by taking the skin from off the thigh, and three that it was not. One of them saw the body the day after the action, lying on the battle ground; a second bears witness that it was buried on the spot the night of the battle; and a third, that it was carried four or five miles into the woods, and there interred. A further examination of the testimony will show that these eight witnesses concur but in one single point,--that Tecumseh was killed in the battle of the Thames. As to the nature of his wounds, the mutilation of his body, the time when, the spot where, and by whose hands, he fell, these various statements are wholly irreconcilable with each other, and leave the main question involved in additional doubt and obscurity. As the claim of colonel Johnson to the honor of having killed Tecumseh, has been recently and earnestly urged upon the public consideration, we propose, even at the risk of some repetition, to examine in detail the testimony which bears upon this point. It will be recollected that the Potawatamie chief, whose narrative is quoted from the "History of the Indian Tribes of North America," testifies that Tecumseh met his death by a wound above or in the eyes; and, that upon his fall the Indians ran. If these statements be true, Tecumseh could not have been killed by colonel Johnson, as will be satisfactorily established in the course of this examination. Shawbeneh, another Potawatamie chief, states that Tecumseh was mortally wounded in the neck, before he rushed upon the individual who killed him. All the other witnesses, except one, say that Tecumseh remained stationary, and that the horseman who fired the fatal shot, advanced upon him. Chamblee, the third Potawatamie who testifies in the case, states that Tecumseh was engaged in a personal conflict with a soldier armed with a musket, when a horseman, on a spotted horse, rode up and shot him dead with a pistol. This account is not sustained by any other witness. Captain M'Affee, who belonged to the mounted regiment, and who has written a history of the late war, says, it is _generally believed that Tecumseh fell by the hand of colonel Johnson_; but the historian candidly admits that there was another dead Indian at the spot where Tecumseh lay, and that Mr. King, of captain Davidson's company, killed one of them. It May be questioned whether there is or ever has been any _general belief_,--whatever vague reports may have been circulated,--that colonel Johnson killed this chief; but even if such were the case, it does not by any means establish the allegation. Brown, another historian of the late war, says, in general terms, that Tecumseh advanced upon the colonel with a sword or tomahawk, and that the colonel shot him dead. Tecumseh wore no sword in that action, nor did he advance upon colonel Johnson. Mr. Brown cites no authorities for his loose and general statements. Garrett Wall testifies that he went to the spot where he was told colonel Johnson had fought, and there questioned Anthony Shane about the dead Indian before them. Shane remarked that he could tell better whether it was Tecumseh, if the blood was washed from the face. It does not appear that this was done, nor that Shane became satisfied as to the identity of the dead Indian. Mr. Wall infers that Tecumseh fell by a shot from colonel Johnson, because it was so reported, and because they both led their warriors to the charge, and the desire of victory brought them together. Mr. Wall cites no evidence to prove that the body over which Shane was doubting, fell by the colonel--a link in the chain of testimony, altogether important in making out his case. The Rev. Obediah B. Brown, however, at Washington, is by far the most precise in his statements, of all the witnesses. But it is proper, before entering upon the examination of his testimony, to state that he was not at the battle of the Thames; and that his letter, in regard to Tecumseh's death, was written in 1834, more than twenty years after the action was fought, and upon the eve of a political campaign, in which his friend, colonel Johnson, was an aspirant for a high and honorable office. Mr. Brown, it is further proper to add, derived his information from "several persons," but he has inadvertently omitted the names of all but one. He commences by saying, that colonel Johnson saw an Indian known to be a chief by his costume. Now it has been already shown that Tecumseh entered the action dressed in the plain deer-skin garb of his tribe, having nothing about him which would indicate his rank. The colonel thought, continues Mr. B., that the fate of the day depended upon the fall of this chief. The question might be asked whether the thoughts of colonel Johnson, at this particular juncture, became known to the witness by a logical process of ratiocination, or by a direct personal communication from his distinguished friend? He states further, that the colonel rode up within a few feet of the chief, received his fire, and then shot him dead with his pistol. This act, says the witness, caused the savages to retreat in consternation: now, the fact is well established, that the Indians, at this very point, fought bravely for twenty or twenty-five minutes after colonel Johnson was compelled, by his wounds, to leave the scene of action: it is further stated by Mr. B. that before the colonel was so far recovered from his wounds, as to be able to speak, it ran through the army that he had killed Tecumseh. Mr. Wall, who was in the action, says, that after colonel Johnson had retired from the contest, and was lifted from his horse, he said to those around him, "my brave men, the battle continues, leave me, and do not return until you bring me an account of the victory." Thus it would seem that the colonel, within a few minutes after receiving his last wound, was giving orders to his men, and in the mean time, according to Mr. B., "word ran through the army that he had killed Tecumseh." This is more remarkable, when it is recollected, that the only person, except the commanding general, who could identify the fallen chief, was Anthony Shane, and he was in a different part of the field, (on the bank of the Thames) and did not visit this part of the line until the action was entirely over! The witness further states, that no other chief of high rank was killed in this part of the line, but Tecumseh. Anthony Shane says that Tecumseh's brother-in-law, and principal chief, Wasegoboah, was killed ten or fifteen steps from where Tecumseh fell. Black Hawk also testifies, that near Tecumseh, there was lying a large, fine looking Potawatamie, decked off in his plumes and war-paint, whom the Americans mistook for Tecumseh. Mr. B. says that a medal was taken from the body of the Indian killed by colonel Johnson, which was known to have been presented by the British government to Tecumseh. Where is the authority for this? When Shane was examining the body, and so much in doubt whether it was Tecumseh as to require the blood to be washed from the face, before he could decide with certainty, where was this medal, which of itself would have settled the question of identity? It is singular, that neither Shane nor Wall speaks of a medal. Mr. B. says that Tecumseh was killed by a ball and three buckshot, fired by a horseman, and as colonel Johnson was the only person in that part of the battle who fought on horseback, his pistols being loaded with a ball and three buckshot, settles the question, that the colonel killed Tecumseh. Again, the question may be asked, how Mr. B. knows the fact as to the manner in which these pistols were loaded? And if they were so loaded, who can say whether the chief was killed by this shot, the wound in the eyes, that in the neck, or the one in the hip? But again; colonel Johnson was not the only person who fought on horseback in this part of the battle. He led a "forlorn hope" of twenty men, all mounted; while on his left was Davidson's company of one hundred and forty men, also on horseback. Mr. Wall, who was one of the "forlorn hope," says, "the fighting became very severe, each party mingling with the other." Finally, Mr. B. closes his testimony with the remark, that it was well known and acknowledged, by the British and Indians, at the time, that Tecumseh received his death from the hand of colonel Johnson, as appears by James' History of the Late War. It is stated by the historian here cited, that colonel Johnson shot Tecumseh in the head--that the body was recognized not only by the British officers who were prisoners, but by commodore Perry and several other American officers: Mr. James also expresses his surprise that general Harrison should have omitted, in his official letter to the War Department, to mention the death of this chief. Now, we have the authority of several American officers, of high rank, for stating, that these British officers were not, on the evening of the day on which the action was fought, in that part of the line where Tecumseh fell; and that early on the ensuing morning, they were taken to a house two miles below the battle ground, and from thence to Detroit, without returning to the scene of their defeat, Mr. James is, therefore, incorrect on this point, as he certainly is, in saying that commodore Perry and other American officers recognized the body of Tecumseh. The commodore had never seen this chief prior to the afternoon of the battle in which he fell. General Harrison, it is believed, was the only American officer in the engagement, who had a personal knowledge of Tecumseh. The day after the battle, the general, attended by several of his officers, visited the battle ground. The body of the Indian, supposed to be that of Tecumseh, was pointed out to him, but owing to its swollen condition, he was unable to say whether it was Tecumseh, or a Potawatamie chief, who usually visited Vincennes in company with him: he felt confident it was one of the two, but further than this could not pronounce with certainty. Mr. James and Anthony Shane are Mr. Brown's chief witnesses. The first states that Tecumseh was shot with a musket ball in the arm, and finally killed by a ball in the head from colonel Johnson's pistol: the second testifies that he fell by a ball and three buckshot which entered his left breast, and that he was wounded in no other part: the former says that Tecumseh's body was literally flayed--the latter, that only a small piece of skin was cut from one of his thighs.[A] It remains for Mr. Brown to reconcile these glaring discrepancies in the testimony of his own witnesses. If this dissection of Mr. Brown's elaborated letter, presents him more in the light of the partizan advocate than that of the faithful historian, we are not responsible for it; and if he has failed to establish the fact that colonel Johnson killed Tecumseh, he must probably look for the reason of that failure in the weakness of his claims, rather than in any lack of zeal in advocating the colonel's cause. [Footnote A: See James Military Occurrences, and Anthony Shane's Narrative.] Our analysis of the testimony which has at different times been brought before the public, tending to establish the supposition that Tecumseh fell by the hands of colonel Johnson, is now closed; and we think it will be admitted, in reviewing the case, that the claims of the colonel have not been satisfactorily established, either by direct or circumstantial evidence. But we have further testimony to offer on this point. It is proved by a number of witnesses, and among them several who are relied upon to establish the fact, that colonel Johnson killed Tecumseh, that upon the fall of this chief, the action ceased and the Indians fled. Even the reverend Mr. Brown admits such to have been the case. Now, we propose to show that colonel Johnson was wounded and retired from the scene of action at its commencement; and that the contest lasted for twenty or thirty minutes afterwards. As to the first point, captain Davidson, who was by the side of colonel Johnson, says, "We struck the Indian line obliquely, and when we approached within ten or fifteen yards of their line, the Indians poured in a heavy fire upon us, killing ten or fifteen of our men and several horses, and wounding colonel Johnson very severely. He immediately retired."[A] Colonel Ambrose Dudley says, "As I passed to the left, near the crochet, after the firing had ceased on the right, I met colonel R.M. Johnson passing diagonally from the swamp towards the line of infantry, and spoke with him. He said he was badly wounded, his gray mare bleeding profusely in several places. The battle continued with the Indians on the left. The infantry, with some of colonel R. M. Johnson's troops mixed up promiscuously with them, continued the battle for half an hour after colonel Johnson was disabled and had ceased to command his men."[B] Doctor S. Theobald, of Lexington, Kentucky, one of the surgeons to the mounted regiment, says, "colonel Johnson was wounded in the onset of the battle. I had the honor to compose one of his 'forlorn hope,' and followed him in the charge. It is impossible, under such circumstances, to estimate time with precision; but I know the period was a very brief one from the firing of the first guns, which indeed was tremendously heavy, till colonel Johnson approached me covered with wounds, but still mounted. I think he said to me, I am severely wounded, which way shall I go? That I replied, follow me, which he did: and I conducted him directly across the swamp, on the margin of which we had charged, and to the point where doctor Mitchell, surgeon-general of Shelby's corps, was stationed. Some one hundred and fifty or two hundred yards in the rear, colonel Johnson was taken from his horse. He appeared faint and much exhausted. I asked him if he would have water, to which he answered, yes. I cast about immediately for some, but there was none at hand, nor any thing that I could see to bring it in, better than a common funnel, which I saw lying on the ground, and which I seized and ran to the river, (Thames) a distance probably of one hundred yards or more; and closing the extremity of the funnel with my finger, made use of it as a cup, from which I gave him drink. In a few minutes after this, Garret Wall, who also composed one of the 'forlorn hope,' and was thrown from his horse in the charge, came and solicited me to return with him to the ground on which we had charged, to aid him in recovering his lost saddle-bags. I assented. We crossed the narrow swamp, to which I have before alluded, and had not progressed far, before we came to the body of one of our men who had been killed, and who I recognized as Mansfield, of captain Stucker's company: a little further, that of Scott, of Coleman's company; and progressing some forty or fifty steps (it may have been more,) in advance of that, we found our venerable and brave old comrade, colonel Whitley, who was also of the 'forlorn hope.' Near him, in a moment, I well remember to have noticed, with a feeling and exclamation of exultation, the body of an Indian; and some twenty or thirty steps in advance of this, another Indian, which last was afterwards designated as the body of Tecumseh. I distinctly recollect, that as we returned to make this search, the firing was still kept up some distance off on our left"[C] [Footnote A: Cincinnati Republican, 30th September, 1840] [Footnote B: See Cincinnati Republican, 30th September, 1840. ] [Footnote C: Dr. Theobald's letter, dated 27th November, 1840, in possession of the author of this work.] Testimony on these points might be multiplied, but could add nothing to the force of that which is here cited. The letter of Dr. Theobald is conclusive as to the time when colonel Johnson was wounded, and the period during which the action continued after he retired from the battle ground. It seems the colonel was disabled at the beginning of the action with the Indians, and immediately rode from the field; that the action lasted for near half an hour; that Tecumseh fell at or near the close of it; and that he could not, therefore, have fallen by the hand of colonel Johnson. Whether the leader of the "forlorn hope" can claim the credit of having actually killed an Indian chief on this memorable day, is not the immediate question before us: that he acted with dauntless bravery, in promptly charging the Indian line, during the brief period which he remained unwounded, is universally admitted; but that he is entitled to the honor, (if such it may be called,) of having personally slain the gifted "king of the woods," will not be so readily conceded. James, the British historian, from whose "Military Occurrences" we have already quoted, having charged general Harrison with designedly omitting, in his official report, all reference to the death of Tecumseh, leaves the inference to be drawn by the reader, that the omission was prompted by a feeling of envy towards colonel Johnson, who had done the deed. It is due to the cause of truth, not less than to the reputation of the American commander, that this charge should be impartially examined. It is true, that the official account of the battle of the Thames does not mention the death of Tecumseh, and the propriety of this omission will be sufficiently obvious from the following narrative. General Harrison and Anthony Shane, so far as it is known, were the only persons in the American army who were personally acquainted with Tecumseh. It is possible that some of the friendly Indians, commanded by Shane, may have known him; but it does not appear that any of them undertook to identify the body after the battle was over. Shane was under the impression, on the evening of the action, that he had found the body of Tecumseh among the slain; but, as Mr. Wall testifies, expressed himself with caution. General Harrison himself was not, on the following day, enabled to identify with certainty the body of this chief, as appears from the testimony of a member of the general's military family, which we here quote, as having a direct bearing on the question under consideration: "I am authorised," says colonel Charles S. Todd,[A] "by several officers of general Harrison's staff, who were in the battle of the Thames, to state most unequivocally their belief, that the general neither knew nor could have known the fact of the death of Tecumseh, at the date of his letter to the war department. It was the uncertainty which prevailed, as to the fact of Tecumseh's being killed, that prevented any notice of it in his report. On the next day after the battle, general Harrison, in company with commodore Perry and other officers, examined the body of an Indian supposed to be Tecumseh; but from its swollen and mutilated condition, he was unable to decide whether it was that chief or a Potawatamie who usually visited him at Vincennes, in company with Tecumseh; and I repeat most unhesitatingly, that neither commodore Perry nor any officer in the American army, excepting general Harrison, had ever seen Tecumseh previously to the battle; and even though he had recognized the body which he examined to be that of the celebrated chief, it was manifestly impossible that he could have known whether he was killed by Johnson's corps, or by that part of the infantry which participated in the action. No official or other satisfactory report of his death, was made to him by those engaged on that part of the battle ground where he fell. It was not until after the return of the army to Detroit, and after the date of general Harrison's despatches,[B] that it was ascertained from the enemy, that Tecumseh was _certainly_ killed; and even then the opinion of the army was divided as to the person by whose hands he fell. Some claimed the credit of it for colonel Whitley, some for colonel Johnson; but others, constituting a majority, including governor Shelby, entertained the opinion that he fell by a shot from David King, a private in captain Davidson's company, from Lincoln county, Kentucky. In this state of the case, even had the fact of Tecumseh's death been fully ascertained, at the date of general Harrison's letter, it would have been manifestly unjust, not to say impracticable, for the commander-in-chief to have expressed an opinion as to the particular individual to whose personal prowess his death was to be attributed."[C] [Footnote A: One of the aids of general Harrison, and inspector-general of the United States army, during the late war.] [Footnote B: Early on the 7th, general Harrison left the army under the command of governor Shelby, and returned to Detroit. His report of the battle, was dated on the 9th. The army did not reach Sandwich, opposite Detroit, until the 10th.] [Footnote C: See Louisville Journal.] In taking leave of this branch of our subject, it may be remarked, that the strong terms of approbation in which general Harrison, in his official account of the battle of the Thames, speaks of the bravery and bearing of colonel Johnson in the conflict, should have shielded him from the suspicion that any unkind feeling towards that officer was allowed to sway his judgment in the preparation of his report. We now proceed to give some testimony in favor of other individuals, whose friends have claimed for them the credit of having slain Tecumseh. It has been already stated, that before our army left the field of battle, it was reported and believed by many of the troops, that colonel Whitley, of Johnson's corps of mounted men, had killed the Indian commander in the action of the Thames. The only testimony, in confirmation of this report, which has fallen under our observation, is contained in the two following communications. The first is a letter from Mr. Abraham Scribner, now of Greenville, Ohio, under date of September 8th, 1840. The writer says--"I had never seen Tecumseh, until the body was shown to me on the battle ground on the river Thames: by whose hand he fell must always be a matter of uncertainty. My own opinion was, the day after the battle, and is yet, that Tecumseh fell by a ball from the rifle of colonel Whitley, an old Indian fighter: two balls passed through colonel Whitley's head, at the moment that Tecumseh fell; he (colonel Whitley,) was seen to take aim at the Indian said to be Tecumseh, and his rifle was found empty." The second is from colonel Ambrose Dudley, of Cincinnati, under date of 24th February, 1841, and is in the following words: "The morning after the battle of the Thames, in company with several other persons, I walked over the ground, to see the bodies of those who had been slain in the engagement. After passing from the river a considerable distance, and the latter part of the way along what was termed a swamp, viewing the slain of the British army, we came to a place where some half a dozen persons were standing, and three dead Indians were lying close together. One of the spectators remarked, that he had witnessed that part of the engagement which led to the death of these three Indians and two of our troops, whose bodies had been removed the evening before for burial. He proceeded to point out the position of the slain as they lay upon the ground, with that of our men. He said old colonel Whitley rode up to the body of a tree, which lay before him, and behind which lay an Indian: he (the Indian,) attempted to fire, but from some cause did not succeed, and then Whitley instantly shot him. This Indian was recognized by one of the persons present as Tecumseh: the next Indian was pointed out as having killed Whitley; then the position of another of our troops who killed that Indian, and the Indian who killed him, with the position of the man who shot the third Indian--making three Indians and two Americans who had fallen on a very small space of ground. From the manner of the narrator, and the facts related at the time, I did not doubt the truth of his statement, nor have I ever had any reason to doubt it since. The Indian pointed out as Tecumseh, was wearing a bandage over a wound in the arm, and as it was known that Tecumseh had been slightly wounded in the arm the day before, while defending the passage of a creek, my conviction was strengthened by this circumstance, that the body before us was that of Tecumseh." The reader will decide for himself how far this testimony sustains the plea that has been raised for colonel Whitley. It is certainly clear and to the point, and presents a plausible case in support of his claim. Mr. David King is the other individual to whom reference has been made as entitled to the credit of having killed the great Shawanoe chief. He was a private in captain James Davidson's company of mounted men, belonging to Johnson's corps. The statement given below in support of King's claim, was written by the editor of the Frankfort (Ky.) Commentator, and published in that journal in 1831. It is given on the authority of captain Davidson and his brother, two highly respectable citizens of Kentucky, both of whom belonged to colonel Johnson's mounted regiment, and were in the battle of the Thames. We have omitted the first part of this statement as irrelevant to the point in issue. "While these things were acting in this part of the field, and towards the close of the action, which did not last long--for though much was done, it was done quickly--when the enemy was somewhat thinned and considerably scattered, and our men were scattered amongst them, Clark, one of the men mentioned above, suddenly called out to his comrade, David King, to 'take care of the Indian that was near to him.' The warrior turned upon Clark; at the same instant, King fired at him with Whitley's gun, and lodged the two balls which he knew it was loaded with, in the chieftain's breast--for when Whitley fell, King threw away his own gun, and took the better one and the powder horn of the old Indian fighter. The Indian droped upon King's fire:--'Whoop--by G----' exclaimed King, 'he was every inch a soldier. I have killed one d----d yellow bugger,' and passed on. Giles saw this occurrence as well as Clark, and so did Von Treece--they were all together. From the commencement of the fight, the voice of an Indian commander had been distinctly heard and observed by our soldiers. About this time it ceased, and was heard no more: _Tecumseh was dead._ Presently a cry of '_how! how!_' was raised among the Indians; upon which they turned and fled, pursued by our soldiers. "Upon the return of the volunteers from the pursuit, King proposed to Sam Davidson, his friend and relative, and to other comrades, to go round with him by the spot where he had killed the Indian, because he wanted to get his fine leggins. They had noticed a particular tree and a log, near to which the Indian fell. They found the tree without difficulty, but the body was not discovered quite so readily; but King insisted that it must be somewhere thereabouts. Sam Davidson first discovered it. It was lying behind a tree, face downward. '_Here he is_,' said Davidson, 'but I see no wound upon him.' '_Roll him over_,' said King, 'and if it is my Indian, you will find two bullet holes in his left breast.' It was done; and there were the two bullet holes, an inch apart, just below the left pap--the same, no doubt, where King's balls had entered. The Indian, from his dress, was evidently a chief. His fanciful leggins, (King's main object in hunting out the body,) his party-colored worsted sash, his pistols, his two dirks, all his dress and equipments, were the _undisputed_ spoils of King. He kept one of the dirks, the sash, and moccasins for himself; the rest he distributed as presents among his messmates. "Now, _it was this very Indian_, which was afterwards identified by those who had known him, as TECUMSEH--_this and no other_." This testimony, coming as it does from a highly respectable quarter, would seem to be conclusive in favor of the claim of King. It contains, however, statements which, if true, greatly weaken its force; and, indeed, in our opinion, dissipate at once the idea that the Indian killed by King was Tecumseh. The narrative states that "the Indian, from his dress, was evidently a chief. His fanciful leggins, his party-colored worsted sash, his pistols, his two dirks, all his dress and equipments, were the undisputed spoils of King." Now, if there be any one fact connected with the fall of Tecumseh which is fully and fairly established upon unimpeachable authority, it is, that he entered the battle of the Thames, dressed in the ordinary deerskin garb of his tribe. There was nothing in his clothes, arms or ornaments, indicating him to have been a chief. On this point the testimony of Anthony Shane is explicit; and his statement is confirmed by colonel Baubee of the British army, who was familiarly acquainted with Tecumseh. This officer, the morning after the action, stated to one of the aids of general Harrison, that he saw Tecumseh just before the battle commenced, and that he was clothed in his usual plain deer-skin dress, and in that garb took his position in the Indian line, where he heroically met his fate. The testimony in favor of Mr. King's claim, while it proves very satisfactorily that he killed an Indian, is equally conclusive, we think, in establishing the fact that that Indian was not the renowned Tecumseh. With the statement of one other person, upon this vexed question, we shall take our final leave of it. Major William Oliver, of Cincinnati, in a communication to the author, under date of 23d December, 1840, says:-- "In 1819, I lodged with Anthony Shane, at what was then called 'the Second Crossing of the St. Mary's.' I had known Shane intimately for a long time, indeed, from my first settlement at fort Wayne, in 1806. In speaking of the battle of the Thames, and the fall of Tecumseh, he said, the most authentic information he had obtained upon this point, was from two brothers of his wife, who were in the battle, and near the person of Tecumseh when he fell. They stated, in positive terms, that Tecumseh was shot by a private of the Kentucky troops; and Shane seemed so well satisfied with the truth of their statement, that he informed me it was entitled to belief." To John Johnston, of Piqua, late Indian agent, and others, Shane, at this early period, expressed the opinion that Tecumseh did not fall by the hands of the commander of the mounted regiment. The reader of this volume will recollect, that long subsequent to the period when these opinions were expressed, and upon the eve of a political campaign, in which colonel R.M. Johnson was a candidate for a high and honorable office, Anthony Shane is represented by the reverend O.B. Brown, as having stated to him his belief, that Tecumseh did meet his death by a shot from the colonel. Shane, who, we believe, is now deceased, sustained, through life, a character for integrity. Whether, in his latter years, his memory had failed him, by which he was led to express these contradictory opinions, or whether Mr. Brown misunderstood the import of his language, when talking upon this matter, we shall not undertake to decide. The reader who feels an interest in the point at issue will settle the question for himself, whether, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, the early or late declarations of Shane were the genuine expression of his belief on this subject. CHAPTER XVI. Mr. Jefferson's opinion of the Prophet--brief sketch of his character--anecdotes of Tecumseh--a review of the great principles of his plan of union among the tribes--general summary of his life and character. Mr. Jefferson, in a letter to John Adams,[A] says: "The Wabash Prophet is more rogue than fool, if to be a rogue is not the greatest of all follies. He rose to notice while I was in the administration, and became, of course, a proper subject for me. The inquiry was made with diligence. His declared object was the reformation of his red brethren, and their return to their pristine manner of living. He pretended to be in constant communication with the Great Spirit; that he was instructed by Him to make known to the Indians that they were created by Him distinct from the whites, of different natures, for different purposes, and placed under different circumstances, adapted to their nature and destinies; that they must return from all the ways of the whites to the habits and opinions of their forefathers; they must not eat the flesh of hogs, of bullocks, of sheep, &c., the deer and buffalo having been created for their food; they must not make bread of wheat, but of Indian corn; they must not wear linen nor woollen, but dress like their fathers, in the skins and furs of animals; they must not drink ardent spirits; and I do not remember whether he extended his inhibitions to the gun and gunpowder, in favor of the bow and arrow. I concluded, from all this, that he was a visionary, enveloped in their antiquities, and vainly endeavoring to lead back his brethren to the fancied beatitudes of their golden age. I thought there was little danger of his making many proselytes from the habits and comforts they had learned from the whites, to the hardships and privations of savagism, and no great harm if he did. We let him go on, therefore, unmolested. But his followers increased until the British thought him worth corrupting, and found him corruptible. I suppose his views were then changed; but his proceedings in consequence of them, were after I left the administration, and are, therefore, unknown to me; nor have I ever been informed what were the particular acts on his part, which produced an actual commencement of hostilities on ours. I have no doubt, however, that his subsequent proceedings are but a chapter apart, like that of Henry and Lord Liverpool, in the book of the Kings of England." [Footnote A: Jefferson's Correspondence, vol. 10. p. 171.] Mr. Jefferson's account of the Prophet's "budget of reform," is correct as far as it goes: it embraced, however, many other matters, looking to the amelioration of savage life. Whatever may have been his original object, in the promulgation of his new code of ethics, there is enough, we think, in the character and conduct of this individual to warrant the opinion, that he was really desirous of doing good to his race; and, that with many foibles, and some positive vices, he was not destitute of benevolent and generous feelings. That in assuming the character of a prophet, he had, in connection with his brother, ulterior objects in view, is not to be doubted. It so happened, that the adoption of his doctrines was calculated to promote harmony among the tribes; and this was the very foundation of the grand confederacy, to which he and Tecumseh were zealously devoting the energies of their minds. After the premature and, to the Indians, disastrous battle of Tippecanoe, the Prophet began to fall into obscurity. The result of that action materially diminished the wide spread influence which he had attained over his countrymen. The incantations, by means of which he had played upon their imaginations, and swayed their conduct, lost their potency. The inspired messenger of the Great Spirit, as he openly proclaimed himself, had boldly promised his followers an easy victory over their enemies. A battle was fought--the Indians were defeated--and the gory form of many a gallant, but credulous "brave," attested that the renowned Prophet had lost, amid the carnage of that nocturnal conflict, his office and his power. At the time when this battle was fought, Tecumseh was on a mission to the southern Indians, with the view of extending his warlike confederacy. He had left instructions with the Prophet, to avoid any hostile collision with the whites; and from the deference which the latter usually paid to the wishes of the former, it is not probable that the battle would have occurred, had not extraneous influence been brought to bear upon the leader. The reason assigned by the Prophet to his brother, for this attack upon the army under general Harrison, is not known; but some of the Indians who were in this engagement, subsequently stated that the Winnebagoes forced on the battle contrary to the wishes of the Prophet. This is not improbable; yet, admitting it to be true, if he had taken a bold and decided stand against the measure, it might, in all probability, have been prevented. The influence of the Prophet, however, even at this time, was manifestly on the wane, and some of his followers were beginning to leave his camp. He doubtless felt that it was necessary to do something to sustain himself: a signal victory over the whites would accomplish this end; and hence he consented the more readily, to the wishes of the Winnebagoes, that an attack should be made, in the hope that it would prove successful. Within a few months after this battle, war was declared against England by the United States. Tecumseh and the Prophet, discouraged in regard to their union of the tribes, decided on joining the British standard. The love of fighting, however, was not a remarkable trait of the Prophet's character. He won no military laurels during the continuance of that war; and although in the vicinity of the Moravian town on the 5th of October, 1813, he did not choose to participate in the action at the Thames. After the return of peace, he resided in the neighborhood of Malden for some time, and finally returned to Ohio: from whence, with a band of Shawanoes, he removed west of the Mississippi, where he resided until the period of his death, which occurred in the year 1834. It is stated, in a foreign periodical,[A] that the British government allowed him a pension from the year 1813, to the close of his life. [Footnote A: The United Service Journal--London.] In forming an estimate of the Prophet's character, it seems unjust to hold him responsible for all the numerous aggressions which were committed by his followers upon the property and persons of the whites. His first proselytes were from the most worthless and vicious portion of the tribes from which they were drawn. "The young men especially, who gathered about him, like the young men who brought on the war of King Philip, were wrought up until the master spirit himself, lost his control over them; and to make the matter worse, most of them were of such a character in the first instance, that horse stealing and house breaking were as easy to them as breathing. Like the refugees of Romulus, they were outcasts, vagabonds and criminals; in a great degree brought together by the novelty of the preacher's reputation, by curiosity to hear his doctrines, by the fascination of extreme credulity, by restlessness, by resentment against the whites, and by poverty and unpopularity at home."[A] To preserve an influence over such a body of men, to use them successfully as propagandists of his new doctrines, and, at the same time, prevent their aggressions upon the whites, who were oftentimes themselves the aggressors, required no small degree of talent; and called into activity the utmost powers of the Prophet's mind. In addition to these adverse circumstances, he had to encounter the opposition of all the influential chiefs in the surrounding tribes; and a still more formidable adversary in the poverty and extreme want of provisions, which, on several occasions, threatened the total disruption of his party, and undoubtedly led to many of the thefts and murders on the frontiers, of which loud and frequent complaints were made by the agents of the United States. In a word, difficulties of various kinds were constantly recurring, which required the most ceaseless vigilance and the shrewdest sagacity on the part of the two brothers to obviate or overcome. The Prophet had a clear head, if not an honest heart; courteous and insinuating in his address, with a quick wit and a fluent tongue, he seldom came out of any conference without rising in the estimation of those who composed it. He was no warrior, and from the fact of his never having engaged in a battle, the presumption has been raised that he was wanting in physical courage. With that of cowardice, the charge of cruelty has been associated, from the cold-blooded and deliberate manner in which he put to death several of those who were suspected of having exercised an influence adverse to his plans, or calculated to lessen the value of the inspired character which he had assumed. Finally, it may be said of him, that he was a vain, loquacious and cunning man, of indolent habits and doubtful principles. Plausible but deceitful, prone to deal in the marvellous, quick of apprehension, affluent in pretexts, winning and eloquent, if not powerful in debate, the Prophet was peculiarly fitted to play the impostor, and to excite into strong action, the credulous fanaticism of the stern race to which he belonged. Few men, in any age of the world, have risen more rapidly into extended notoriety; wielded, for the time being, a more extraordinary degree of moral influence, or sunk more suddenly into obscurity, than the Prophet. [Footnote A: North American Review.] TECUMSEH was near six feet in stature, with a compact, muscular frame, capable of great physical endurance. His head was of a moderate size, with a forehead full and high; his nose slightly aquiline, teeth large and regular, eyes black, penetrating and overhung with heavy arched brows, which increased the uniformly grave and severe expression of his countenance. He is represented by those who knew him, to have been a remarkably fine looking man, always plain but neat in his dress, and of a commanding personal presence. His portrait, it is believed, was never painted, owing probably to his strong prejudices against the whites. In the private and social life of Tecumseh there were many things worthy of notice. He was opposed, on principle, to polygamy, a practice almost universal among his countrymen. He was married but once; and this union, which took place at the age of twenty-eight, is said to have been more in compliance with the wishes of others than in obedience to the unbiassed impulse of his feelings or the dictates of his judgment. Mamate, his wife, was older than himself, and possessed few personal or mental qualities calculated to excite admiration. A son, called Pugeshashenwa, (a panther in the act of seizing its prey,) was the only fruit of this union. The mother died soon after his birth, and he was left to the care of his aunt, Tecumapease.[A] This son is now residing with the Shawanoes west of the Mississippi, but is not distinguished for talents, or renowned as a warrior. The British government, however, since the death of Tecumseh, has recognized its obligations to the father by the extension of an annual stipend to the son. [Footnote A: Recollections of John Johnston, and Anthony Shane.] From his boyhood, Tecumseh was remarkable for temperance and the strictest integrity. He was hospitable, generous and humane; and these traits were acknowledged in his character long before he rose to distinction, or had conceived the project of that union of the tribes, on which the energies of his manhood were fruitlessly expended. He was, says an intelligent Shawanoe, who had known him from childhood, kind and attentive to the aged and infirm, looking personally to their comfort, repairing their frail wigwams when winter approached, giving them skins for moccasins and clothing, and sharing with them the choicest game which the woods and the seasons afforded. Nor were these acts of kindness bestowed exclusively on those of rank or reputation. On the contrary, he made it his business to search out the humblest objects of charity, and in a quick, unostentatious manner, relieve their wants. The moral and intellectual qualities of Tecumseh place him above the age and the race in which his lot was cast. "From the earliest period of his life," says Mr. Johnston, the late Indian agent at Piqua, "Tecumseh was distinguished for virtue, for a strict adherence to truth, honor, and integrity. He was sober[A] and abstemious, never indulging in the use of liquor nor eating to excess." Another respectable individual,[B] who resided for near twenty years as a prisoner among the Shawanoes, and part of that time in the family of Tecumseh, writes to us, "I know of no _peculiarity_ about him that gained him popularity. His talents, rectitude of deportment, and friendly disposition, commanded the respect and regard of all about him. In short, I consider him a very great as well as a very good man, who, had he enjoyed the advantages of a liberal education, would have done honor to any age or any nation." [Footnote A: Major James Galloway, of Xenia, states, that on one occasion, while Tecumseh was quite young, he saw him intoxicated. This is the only aberration of the kind, which we have heard charged upon him.] [Footnote B: Mr. Stephen Ruddell.] Tecumseh had, however, no education, beyond that which the traditions of his race, and his own power of observation and reflection, afforded him. He rarely mingled with the whites, and very seldom attempted to speak their language, of which his knowledge was extremely limited and superficial. When Burns, the poet, was suddenly transferred from his plough in Ayrshire to the polished circles of Edinburg, his ease of manner, and nice observance of the rules of good-breeding, excited much surprise, and became the theme of frequent conversation. The same thing has been remarked of Tecumseh: whether seated at the tables of generals McArthur and Worthington, as he was during the council at Chillicothe in 1807, or brought in contact with British officers of the highest rank, his manners were entirely free from vulgarity and coarseness: he was uniformly self-possessed, and with the tact and ease of deportment which marked the poet of the heart, and which are falsely supposed to be the result of civilization and refinement only, he readily accommodated himself to the novelties of his new position, and seemed more amused than annoyed by them. The humanity of his character has been already portrayed in the pages of this work. His early efforts to abolish the practice of burning prisoners--then common among the Indians--and the merciful protection which he otherwise invariably showed to captives, whether taken by himself or his companions, need no commendation at our hands. Rising above the prejudices and customs of his people, even when those prejudices and customs were tacitly sanctioned by the officers and agents of Great Britain, Tecumseh was never known to offer violence to prisoners, nor to permit it in others. So strong was his sense of honor, and so sensitive his feelings of humanity, on this point, that even frontier women and children, throughout the wide space in which his character was known, felt secure from the tomahawk of the hostile Indians, if Tecumseh was in the camp. A striking instance of this confidence is presented in the following anecdote. The British and Indians were encamped near the river Raisin; and while holding a talk within eighty or one hundred yards of Mrs. Ruland's house, some Sauks and Winnebagoes entered her dwelling, and began to plunder it. She immediately sent her little daughter, eight or nine years old, requesting Tecumseh to come to her assistance. The child ran to the council house, and pulling Tecumseh (who was then speaking) by the skirt of his hunting-shirt, said to him, "Come to our house--there are bad Indians there." Without waiting to close his speech, the chief started for the house in a fast walk. On entering, he was met by two or three Indians dragging a trunk towards the door: he seized his tomahawk and levelled one of them at a blow: they prepared for resistance, but no sooner did they hear the cry, "dogs! I am Tecumseh!" than under the flash of his indignant eye, they fled from the house: and "you," said Tecumseh, turning to some British officers, "are _worse_ than dogs, to break your faith with prisoners." The officers expressed their regrets to Mrs. Ruland, and offered to place a guard around the house: this she declined, observing, that so long as that man, pointing to Tecumseh, was near them, she felt safe.[A] [Footnote A: On the authority of colonel John Ruland.] Tecumseh entertained a high and proper sense of personal character--was equally bold in defending his own conduct, and condemning that which was reprehensible in others. In 1811, he abandoned his intention of visiting the President, because he was not permitted to march to Washington at the head of a party of his warriors. As an officer in the British army, he never lost sight of the dignity of his rank, nor suffered any act of injustice towards those under his command to pass without resenting it. On one occasion, while the combined British and Indian forces were quartered at Malden, there was a scarcity of provisions, the commissary's department being supplied with salt beef only, which was issued to the British soldiers, while horse flesh was given to the Indians. Upon learning this fact, Tecumseh promptly called on general Proctor, remonstrated against the injustice of the measure, and complained, indignantly, of the insult thus offered to himself and his men. The British general appeared indifferent to what was said; whereupon, the chief struck the hilt of Proctor's sword with his hand, then touched the handle of his own tomahawk, and sternly remarked, "You are Proctor--I am Tecumseh;" intimating, that if justice was not done to the Indians, the affair must be settled by a personal rencontre between the two commanders. General Proctor prudently yielded the point.[A] [Footnote A: On the authority of the Rev. Wm. H. Raper.] But few of the numerous speeches made by Tecumseh have been preserved. Tradition speaks in exalted terms of several efforts of this kind, of which no record was made. All bore evidence of the high order of his intellectual powers. They were uniformly forcible, sententious and argumentative; always dignified, frequently impassioned and powerful. He indulged neither in sophism nor circumlocution, but with bold and manly frankness, gave utterance to his honest opinions. Mr. Ruddell, who knew him long and intimately, says, that "he was naturally eloquent, very fluent, graceful in his gestures, but not in the habit of using many; that there was neither vehemence nor violence in his style of delivery, but that his eloquence always made a strong impression on his hearers." Dr. Hunt, of Clark county, Ohio, has remarked, that the first time he heard Henry Clay make a speech, his manner reminded him, very forcibly, of that of Tecumseh, in the council at Springfield, in the year 1807, on which occasion he made one of his happiest efforts. Our present minister to France, Mr. Cass, has said, with his usual discrimination, that "the character of Tecumseh, in whatever light it may be viewed, must be regarded as remarkable in the highest degree. That he proved himself worthy of his rank as a general officer in the army of his Britannic majesty, or even of his reputation as a great warrior among all the Indians of the north-west, is, indeed, a small title to distinction. Bravery is a savage virtue, and the Shawanoes are a brave people: too many of the American nation have ascertained this fact by experience. His oratory speaks more for his genius. It was the utterance of a great mind roused by the strongest motives of which human nature is susceptible; and developing a power and a labor of reason, which commanded the admiration of the civilized, as justly as the confidence and pride of the savage." There was one subject, far better calculated than all others, to call forth his intellectual energies, and exhibit the peculiar fascination of his oratory. "When he spoke to his brethren on the glorious theme that animated all his actions, his fine countenance lighted up, his firm and erect frame swelled with deep emotion, which his own stern dignity could scarcely repress; every feature and gesture had its meaning, and language flowed tumultuously and swiftly, from the fountains of his soul." Another writer, Judge Hall, long resident in the west, and devoted to the study of aboriginal history, has thus summed up the character of this chief: "At this period the celebrated Tecumseh appeared upon the scene. He was called the Napoleon of the west; and so far as that title was deserved by splendid genius, unwavering courage, untiring perseverance, boldness of conception and promptitude of action, it was fairly bestowed upon this accomplished savage. He rose from obscurity to the command of a tribe to which he was alien by birth. He was, by turns, the orator, the warrior and the politician; and in each of these capacities, towered above all with whom he came in contact. As is often the case with great minds, one master passion filled his heart, prompted all his designs, and gave to his life its character. This was hatred to the whites, and, like Hannibal, he had sworn that it should be perpetual. He entertained the same vast project of uniting the scattered tribes of the west into one grand confederacy, which had been acted on by King Philip and Little Turtle. He wished to extinguish all distinctions of tribe and language, to bury all feuds, and to combine the power and the prejudices of all, in defence of the rights and possessions of the whole, as the aboriginal occupants of the country." It may be truly said, that what Hannibal was to the Romans, Tecumseh became to the people of the United States. From his boyhood to the hour when he fell, nobly battling for the rights of his people, he fostered an invincible hatred to the whites. On one occasion, he was heard to declare, that he could not look upon the face of a white man, without feeling the flesh crawl upon his bones. This hatred was not confined, however, to the Americans. Circumstances made him the ally of the British, and induced him to fight under their standard, but he neither loved nor respected them. He well understood their policy; they could not deceive his sagacious mind; he knew that their professions of regard for the Indians were hollow, and that when instigating him and his people to hostilities against the United States, the agents of Britain had far less anxiety about the rights of the Indians, than the injuries which, through their instrumentality, might be inflicted upon the rising republic. This feeling towards the whites, and especially to the people of the United States, had a deeper foundation than mere prejudice or self-interest. Tecumseh was a patriot, and his love of country made him a statesman and a warrior. He saw his race driven from their native land, and scattered like withered leaves in an autumnal blast; he beheld their morals debased, their independence destroyed, their means of subsistence cut off, new and strange customs introduced, diseases multiplied, ruin and desolation around and among them; he looked for the cause of these evils and believed he had found it in the flood of white immigration which, having surmounted the towering Alleghenies, was spreading itself over the hunting grounds of Kentucky, and along the banks of the Scioto, the Miami and the Wabash, whose waters, from time immemorial, had reflected the smoke of the rude but populous villages of his ancestors. As a statesman, he studied the subject, and, having satisfied himself that justice was on the side of his countrymen, he tasked the powers of his expansive mind, to find a remedy for the mighty evil which threatened their total extermination. The original, natural right of the Indians to the occupancy and possession of their lands, has been recognized by the laws of congress, and solemnly sanctioned by the highest judicial tribunal of the United States. On this principle, there is no disagreement between our government and the Indian nations by whom this country was originally inhabited.[A] [Footnote A: 6 Wheaton's Reports, 515.] In the acquisition of these lands, however, our government has held that its title was perfect when it had purchased of the tribe in actual possession. It seems, indeed, to have gone farther and admitted, that a tribe might acquire lands by conquest which it did not occupy, as in the case of the Iroquois, and sell the same to us; and, that the title thus acquired, would be valid. Thus we have recognized the principles of international law as operative between the Indians and us on this particular point, while on some others, as in not _allowing_ them to sell to individuals, and giving them tracts used as hunting grounds by other tribes beyond the Mississippi, we have treated them as savage hordes, not sufficiently advanced in civilization to be admitted into the family of nations. Our claim to forbid their selling to individuals, and our guarantying to tribes who would not sell to us in our corporate capacity, portions of country occupied as hunting grounds, by more distant tribes, can only be based on the right of discovery, taken in connection with a right conferred by our superior civilization; and seems never in fact to have been fully acknowledged by them. It was not, at least, admitted by Tecumseh. His doctrine seems to have been that we acquired no rights over the Indians or their country either by discovery or superior civilization; and that the possession and jurisdiction can only be obtained by conquest or negociation. In regard to the latter, he held that purchase from a single tribe, although at the time sojourners on the lands sold, was not valid as it respected other tribes. That no particular portion of the country belonged to the tribe then within its limits--though in reference to other tribes, its title was perfect; that is, possession excluded other tribes, and would exclude them forever; but did not confer on the tribe having it, the right to sell the soil to us; for that was the common property of all the tribes who were near enough to occupy or hunt upon it, in the event of its being at any time vacated, and could only be vacated by _the consent of the whole_. As a conclusion from these premises, he insisted that certain sales made in the west were invalid, and protested against new ones on any other than his own principles. It must be acknowledged that these views have much plausibility, not to grant to them any higher merit. If the Indians had been in a nomadic instead of a hunter state, and in summer had driven their flocks to the Allegheny mountains--in winter to the banks of the Wabash and Tennessee rivers, it could scarcely be denied that each tribe would have had an interest in the whole region between, and as much right as any other tribe to be heard on a question of sale. The Indians were not shepherds, wandering _with_ their flocks of sheep and cattle in quest of new pastures, but hunters, roaming after deer and bison, and changing their location, as the pursuit from year to year, or from age to age, might require. We do not perceive a difference in principle in the two cases; and while we admit the difficulty of acquiring their territory on the plan of Tecumseh, we feel bound also to admit, that as far as its preservation to themselves was concerned, his was the only effective method. In its support he displayed in council the sound and logical eloquence for which he was distinguished--in war the prowess which raised him into the highest rank of Indian heroes. At what period of his life he first resolved upon making an effort to stop the progress of the whites west of the mountains, is not certainly known. It was probably several years anterior to the open avowal of his plan of union, which occurred in 1805 or '6. The work before him was herculean in character, and beset with difficulties on every side; but these only quickened into more tireless activity his genius and his patriotic resolution. To unite the tribes as he proposed, prejudices must be overcome, their original manners and customs re-established, the use of ardent spirits utterly abandoned, and finally, all intercourse with the whites cut off. Here was a field for the display of the highest moral and intellectual powers. He had already gained the reputation of a brave and sagacious warrior, a cool headed, upright and wise counsellor. He was neither a war nor a peace chief, and yet he wielded the power and influence of both. The time had now arrived for action. To win savage attention, some bold and striking movement was necessary. He imparted his plan to his brother, a smart, cunning and pliable fellow, who adroitly and quickly prepared himself for the part he was appointed to play, in this great drama of savage life. Tecumseh well understood, that excessive superstition is every where a prominent trait in the Indian character, and readily availed himself of it. Suddenly, his brother begins to dream dreams, and see visions, he is an inspired Prophet, favored with a divine commission from the Great Spirit; the power of life and death is placed in his hands; he is the appointed agent for preserving the property and lands of the Indians, and for restoring them to their original, happy condition. He commences his sacred work; the public mind is aroused; unbelief gradually gives way; credulity and wild fanaticism begin to spread in circles, widening and deepening until the fame of the Prophet, and the divine character of his mission, have reached the frozen shores of the lakes, and overrun the broad plains which stretch far beyond the Mississippi. Pilgrims from remote tribes, seek, with fear and trembling, the head-quarters of the mighty Prophet. Proselytes are multiplied, and his followers increase in number. Even Tecumseh becomes a believer, and, seizing upon the golden opportunity, he mingles with the pilgrims, wins them by his address, and, on their return, sends a knowledge of his plan of concert and union to the most distant tribes. And now commenced those bodily and mental labors of Tecumseh, which were never intermitted for the space of five years. During the whole of this period, we have seen that his life was one of ceaseless activity. He traveled, he argued, he commanded: to-day, his persuasive voice was listened to by the Wyandots, on the plains of Sandusky--to-morrow, his commands were issued on the banks of the Wabash--anon, he was paddling his bark canoe across the Mississippi; now, boldly confronting the governor of Indiana territory in the council-house at Viacennes, and now carrying his banner of union among the Creeks and Cherokees of the south. He was neither intoxicated by success, nor discouraged by failure; and, but for the desperate conflict at Tippecanoe, would have established the most formidable and extended combination of Indians, that has ever been witnessed on this continent That he could have been successful in arresting the progress of the whites, or in making the Ohio river the boundary between them and the Indians of the north-west, even if that battle had not been fought, is not to be supposed. The ultimate failure of his plan was inevitable from the circumstances of the case. The wonder is not that he did not succeed, but that he was enabled to accomplish so much. His genius should neither be tested by the magnitude of his scheme, nor the failure in its execution, but by the extraordinary success that crowned his patriotic labors. These labors were suddenly terminated in the hour when the prospect of perfecting the grand confederacy was brightest. By the battle of Tippecanoe--fought in violation of his positive commands and during his absence to the south,--the great object of his ambition was frustrated, the golden bowl was broken at the fountain; that ardent enthusiasm which for years had sustained him, in the hour of peril and privation, was extinguished. His efforts were paralyzed, but not his hostility to the United States. He joined the standard of their enemy, and fought beneath it with his wonted skill and heroism. At length the contest on the Thames was at hand. Indignant at the want of courage or military skill, which prompted the commander of the British forces to shrink from meeting the American army on the shore of lake Erie, he sternly refused to retreat beyond the Moravian towns. There, at the head of his warriors, he took his stand, resolved, as he solemnly declared, to be victorious, or leave his body upon the field of battle, a prey to the wolf and the vulture. The result has been told. The Thames is consecrated forever, by the bones of the illustrious Shawanoe statesman, warrior and patriot, which repose upon its bank. In whatever aspect the genius and character of Tecumseh may be viewed, they present the evidence of his having been a remarkable man; and, to repeat the language of a distinguished statesman and general, who knew him long and intimately, who has often met him in the council and on the field of battle, we may venture to pronounce him, one of those uncommon geniuses which spring up occasionally to produce revolutions, and overturn the established order of things; and, who, but for the power of the United States, would, perhaps, have been the founder of an empire which would have rivalled that of Mexico or Peru. THE END. E. MORGAN & CO. BOOKSELLERS & STATIONERS. Publishers, Printers and Binders, No. 131 Main Street, Cincinnati. * * * * * They have in their Printing establishment a careful and experienced Superintendent, and five POWER PRESSES in good order, propelled by water, each of which can throw off daily, five thousand impressions; and have also superior facilities for drying and pressing sheets as fast as printed. The style of Printing done on their Power Presses can be seen by examining Judge M'Lean's Reports, Howard's Reports, Cincinnati in 1841, and the Life of Tecumseh;--the Eclectic Series of School Books, and Music books, published by Truman & Smith;--the Family Magazine, a large 8vo. with many plates, and the Political Text-book, a small 32mo., published by J.A. James &, Co.;--the Farmer and Gardener, the Texian Emigrant, and Watts' Psalms and Hymns, published by George Conclin. E.M. & Co. have also an extensive BINDERY, with a first rate Ruling Machine, under the charge of a skillful workman; and, in addition to binding and re-binding books in any manner that may be wanted, are prepared to make every description of BLANK BOOKS, ruled to any pattern, and bound in the neatest and most substantial manner. Their style of binding blank work may be seen in the Commercial, Franklin, and Lafayette banks. [Symbol: hand] Circulars, Cards, Bills of Lading, Notes and Check books, printed at the shortest notice;--and Blank forms of any kind printed, ruled and bound to order. 
6843	----	This file was produced from images generously made available by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions. TECUMSEH _A DRAMA_ BY CHARLES MAIR. "When the white men first set foot on our shores, they were hungry; they had no places on which to spread their blankets or to kindle their fires. They were feeble; they could do nothing for themselves. Our fathers commiserated their distress, and shared freely with them whatever the Great Spirit had given to his red children." _From_ TECUMSEH'S _speech to the Osages_. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. INDIANS: TECUMSEH _(Chief of the Shawanoes)_. THE PROPHET _(Brother of Tecumseh)_. TARHAY _(A Chief in love with Iena)_. STAYETA _(Chief of the Wyandots)_. MIAMI, DELAWARE, KICKAPOO and DAHCOTA CHIEFS. _Warriors, Braves, Josakeeds and Runners_. MAMATEE _(Wife of Tecumseh)_. IENA _(Niece of Tecumseh)_. WEETAMORE, WINONA _and other Indian Maidens_. AMERICANS: GENERAL HARRISON _(Governor of Indiana Territory)_. GENERAL HULL. COLONEL CASS. BARRON _(An Indian Agent)_. TWANG, SLAUGH, GERKIN and BLOAT _(Citizens of Vincennes)_. _Five Councillors of Indiana Territory, Officers, Soldiers, Volunteers, Orderlies and Scouts_. BRITISH AND CANADIANS: GENERAL BROCK _(Administrator of the Government of Upper Canada)_. COLONEL _(afterwards General)_ PROCTOR. GLEGG, MACDONELL, _Aides-de-camp to General Brock_. NICHOL, BABY, ELIOTT, _Colonels of Canadian Volunteers_. McKEE, ROBINSON, _Captains of Canadian Volunteers_. LEFROY _(A poet-artist, enamoured of Indian life, and in love with IENA.)_ _Two Old men of York, U. E. Loyalists, and other Citizens, Alien Settlers, Officers, Soldiers, Volunteers, Orderlies and Messengers_. TECUMSEH ACT I. SCENE FIRST.--THE FOREST NEAR THE PROPHET'S TOWN ON THE TIPPECANOE. _Enter the_ PROPHET. PROPHET. Twelve moons have wasted, and no tidings still! Tecumseh must have perished! Joy has tears As well as grief, and mine will freely flow-- Sembling our women's piteous privilege-- Whilst dry ambition ambles to its ends. My schemes have swelled to greatness, and my name Has flown so far upon the wings of fear That nations tremble at its utterance. Our braves abhor, yet stand in awe of me, Who ferret witchcraft out, commune with Heaven, And ope or shut the gloomy doors of death. All feelings and all seasons suit ambition! Yet my vindictive nature hath a craft, In action slow, which matches mother-earth's: First seed-time--then the harvest of revenge. Who works for power, and not the good of men, Would rather win by fear than lose by love. Not so Tecumseh--rushing to his ends, And followed by men's love--whose very foes Trust him the most. Rash fool! Him do I dread, And his imperious spirit. Twelve infant moons Have swung in silver cradles o'er these woods, And, still no tidings of his enterprise, Which--all too deep and wide--has swallowed him. And left me here unrivalled and alone. _Enter an_ INDIAN RUNNER. Ha! There's a message in your eyes--what now? RUNNER. Your brother, great Tecumseh, has returned, And rests himself a moment ere he comes To counsel with you here. [_Exit Runner_.] PROPHET. He has returned! So then the growing current of my power Must fall again into the stately stream Of his great purpose. But a moment past I stood upon ambition's height, and now My brother comes to break my greatness up, And merge it in his own. I know his thoughts-- That I am but a helper to his ends; And, were there not a whirlpool in my soul Of hatred which would fain ingulf our foes, I would engage my cunning and my craft 'Gainst his simplicity, and win the lead. But, hist, he comes! I must assume the role By which I pander to his purposes. _Enter_ TECUMSEH. TECUMSEH. Who is this standing in the darkened robes? PROPHET. The Prophet! Olliwayshilla, who probes The spirit-world, and holds within his ken Life's secrets and the fateful deeds of men. The "One-Eyed!" Brother to the Shooting Star-- TECUMSEH. With heart of wax, and hands not made for war. PROPHET. Would that my hands were equal to my hate! Then would strange vengeance traffic on the earth; For I should treat our foes to what they crave-- Our fruitful soil--yea, ram it down their throats, And choke them with the very dirt they love. 'Tis you Tecumseh! You, are here at last, And welcome as the strong heat-bearing Spring Which opens up the pathways of revenge. What tidings from afar? TECUMSEH. Good tidings thence. I have not seen the Wyandots, but all The distant nations will unite with us To spurn the fraudful treaties of Fort Wayne. From Talapoosa to the Harricanaw I have aroused them from their lethargy. From the hot gulf up to those confines rude, Where Summer's sides are pierced with icicles, They stand upon my call. What tidings here? PROPHET. No brand has struck to bark our enterprise Which grows on every side. The Prophet's robe, That I assumed when old Pengasega died-- With full accord and countenance from you-- Fits a strong shoulder ampler far than his; And all our people follow me in fear. TECUMSEH. Would that they followed you in love! Proceed! My ears are open to my brother's tongue. PROPHET. I have myself, and by swift messengers, Proclaimed to all the nations far and near, I am the Open-Door, and have the power To lead them back to life. The sacred fire Must burn forever in the red-man's lodge, Else will that life go out. All earthly goods By the Great Spirit meant for common use Must so be held. Red shall not marry white, To lop our parent stems; and never more Must vile, habitual cups of deadliness Distort their noble natures, and unseat The purpose of their souls. They must return To ancient customs; live on game and maize; Clothe them with skins, and love both wife and child, Nor lift a hand in wrath against their race. TECUMSEH. These are wise counsels which are noised afar, And many nations have adopted them And made them law. PROPHET. These counsels were your own! Good in themselves, they are too weak to sway Our fickle race. I've much improved on them Since the Great Spirit took me by the hand. TECUMSEH. Improved! and how? Your mission was to lead Our erring people back to ancient ways-- Too long o'ergrown--not bloody sacrifice. They tell me that the prisoners you have ta'en-- Not captives in fair fight, but wanderers Bewildered in our woods, or such as till Outlying fields, caught from the peaceful plough-- You cruelly have tortured at the stake. Nor this the worst! In order to augment Your gloomy sway you craftily have played Upon the zeal and frenzy of our tribes, And, in my absence, hatched a monstrous charge Of sorcery amongst them, which hath spared Nor feeble age nor sex. Such horrid deeds Recoil on us! Old Shataronra's grave Sends up its ghost, and Tetaboxti's hairs-- White with sad years and counsel--singed by you! In dreams and nightmares, float on every breeze. Ambition's madness might stop short of this, And shall if I have life. PROPHET. The Great Spirit Hath urged me, and still urges me to all. He puts his hand to mine and leads me on. Do you not hear him whisper even now-- "Thou art the Prophet?" All our followers Behold in me a greater than yourself, And worship me, and venture where I lead. TECUMSEH. Your fancy is the common slip of fools, Who count the lesser greater being near. Dupe of your own imposture and designs, I cannot bind your thoughts! but what you do Henceforth must be my subject; so take heed, And stand within my sanction lest you fall. PROPHET. You are Tecumseh--else you should choke for this! [_Haughtily crosses the stage and pauses._] Stay! Let me think! I must not break with him-- 'Tis premature. I know his tender part, And I shall touch it. [_Recrosses the stage._] Brother, let me ask, Do you remember how our father fell? TECUMSEH. Who can forget Kanawha's bloody fray? He died for home in battle with the whites. PROPHET. And you remember, too, that boyish morn, When all our braves were absent on the chase-- That morn when you and I half-dreaming lay In summer grass, but woke to deadly pain Of loud-blown bugles ringing through the air. They came!--a rush of chargers from the woods, With tramplings, cursings, shoutings manifold, And headlong onset, fierce with brandished swords, Of frontier troopers eager for the fight. Scarce could a lynx have screened itself from sight, So sudden the attack--yet, trembling there, We crouched unseen, and saw our little town Stormed, with vile slaughter of small babe and crone, And palsied grandsire--you remember it? TECUMSEH. Remember it! Alas, the echoing Of that wild havoc lingers in my brain! O wretched age, and injured motherhood, And hapless maiden-wreck! PROPHET. Yet this has been Our endless history, and it is this Which crams my very veins with cruelty. My pulses bound to see those devils fall Brained to the temples, and their women cast As offal to the wolf. TECUMSEH. Their crimes are great-- Our wrongs unspeakable! yet my revenge Is open war. It never shall be said Tecumseh's hate went armed with cruelty. There's reason in revenge; but spare our own! These gloomy sacrifices sap our strength; And henceforth from your wizard scrutinies I charge you to forbear. But who's the white You hold as captive? PROPHET. He is called LEFROY-- A captive, but too free to come and go. Our warriors struck his trail by chance, and found His tent close by the Wabash, where he lay With sprained ankle, foodless and alone. He had a book of pictures with him there Of Long-Knife forts, encampments and their chiefs-- Most recognizable; so, reasoning thence, Our warriors took him for a daring spy, And brought him here, and tied him to the stake. Then he declared he was a Saganash-- No Long-Knife he! but one who loved our race, And would adopt our ways--with honeyed words, Couched in sweet voice, and such appealing eyes That Iena, our niece--who listened near-- Believing, rushed, and cut him from the tree. I hate his smiles, soft ways, and smooth-paced tread, And would, ere now, have killed him but for her; For ever since, unmindful of her race, She has upheld him, and our matrons think That he has won her heart. TECUMSEH. But not her hand! This cannot be, and I must see to it: Red shall not marry white--such is our law. But graver matters are upon the wing, Which I must open to you. Know you, then, The nation that has doomed our Council-Fires-- Splashed with our blood--will on its Father turn, Once more, whose lion-paws, stretched o'er the sea, Will sheathe their nails in its unnatural tides, Till blood will flow, as free as pitch in spring, To gum the chafed seams of our sinking bark. This opportunity, well-nursed, will give A respite to our wrongs, and heal our wounds; And all our nations, knit by me and ranged In headship with our Saganash allies, Will turn the mortal issue 'gainst our foes, And wall our threatened frontiers with their slain. But till that ripened moment, not a sheaf Of arrows should be wasted, not a brave Should perish aimlessly, nor discord reign Amongst our tribes, nor jealousy distrain The large effects of valour. We must now Pack all our energies. Our eyes and ears No more must idle with the hour, but work As carriers to the brain, where we shall store, As in an arsenal, deep schemes of war! [_A noise and shouting without._] But who is this? [_Enter_ BARRON _accompanied and half-dragged by warriors. The_ PROPHET _goes forward to meet him._] BARRON. I crave protection as a messenger And agent sent by General Harrison. Your rude, unruly braves, against my wish, Have dragged me here as if I were a spy. PROPHET. What else! Why come you here if not a spy? Brouillette came, and Dubois, who were spies-- Now you are here. Look on it! There's your grave. [_Pointing to the ground at_ BARRON'S _feet._] TECUMSEH. (_Joining them_.) Unhand this man! He is a messenger, And not a spy. Your life, my friend, is safe In these rough woods as in your general's town. But, quick--your message? BARRON. The Governor of Indiana sends This letter to you, in the which he says (_Reading letter_) "You are an enemy to the Seventeen Fires. I have been told that you intend to lift The hatchet 'gainst your father, the great Chief, Whose goodness, being greater than his fear Or anger at your folly, still would stretch His bounty to his children who repent, And ask of him forgiveness for the past. Small harm is done which may not be repaired, And friendship's broken chain may be renewed; But this is in your doing, and depends Upon the choice you make. Two roads Are lying now before you: one is large, Open and pleasant, leading unto peace, Your own security and happiness; The other--narrow, crooked and constrained-- Most surely leads to misery and death. Be not deceived! All your united force Is but as chaff before the Seventeen Fires. Your warriors are brave, but so are ours; Whilst ours are countless as the forest leaves, Or grains of sand upon the Wabash shores. Rely not on the English to protect you! They are not able to protect themselves. They will not war with us, for, if they do, Ere many moons have passed our battle flag Shall wave o'er all the forts of Canada. What reason have you to complain of us? What have we taken? or what treaties maimed? You tell us we have robbed you of your lands-- Bought them from nameless braves and village chiefs Who had no right to sell--prove that to us, And they will be restored. I have full power To treat with you. Bring your complaint to me, And I, in honor, pledge your safe return." TECUMSEH. Is this it all? BARRON. Yes, all. I have commands To bear your answer back without delay. PROPHET. This is our answer, then, to Harrison: Go tell that bearded liar we shall come, With forces which will pledge our own return! TECUMSEH. What shall my answer be? PROPHET. Why, like my own--There is no answer save that we shall go. TECUMSEH. (_To_ BARRON.) I fear that our complaint lies all too deep For your Chief's curing. The Great Spirit gave The red men this wide continent as theirs, And in the east another to the white; But, not content at home, these crossed the sea, And drove our fathers from their ancient seats. Their sons in turn are driven to the Lakes, And cannot further go unless they drown. Yet now you take upon yourselves to say This tract is Kickapoo, this Delaware, And this Miami; but your Chief should know That all our lands are common to our race! How can one nation sell the rights of all Without consent of all? No! For my part I am a Red Man, not a Shawanoe, And here I mean to stay. Go to your chief, And tell him I shall meet him at Vincennes. [_Exeunt all but_ TECUMSEH.] What is there in my nature so supine That I must ever quarrel with revenge? From vales and rivers which were once our own The pale hounds who uproot our ancient graves Come whining for our lands, with fawning tongues, And schemes and subterfuge and subtleties. O for a Pontiac to drive them back And whoop them to their shuddering villages! O for an age of valour like to his, When freedom clothed herself with solitude, And one in heart the scattered nations stood, And one in hand. It comes! and mine shall be The lofty task to teach them to be free-- To knit the nations, bind them into one, And end the task great Pontiac begun! SCENE II.--ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST. _Enter_ LEFROY, _carrying his rifle, and examining a knot of wild flowers._ LEFROY. This region is as lavish of its flowers As Heaven of its primrose blooms by night. This is the Arum which within its root Folds life and death; and this the Prince's Pine, Fadeless as love and truth--the fairest form That ever sun-shower washed with sudden rain. This golden cradle is the Moccasin Flower, Wherein the Indian hunter sees his hound; And this dark chalice is the Pitcher-Plant Stored with the water of forgetfulness. Whoever drinks of it, whose heart is pure, Will sleep for aye 'neath foodful asphodel, And dream of endless love. I need it not! I am awake, and yet I dream of love. It is the hour of meeting, when the sun Takes level glances at these mighty woods, And Iena has never failed till now, To meet me here! What keeps her? Can it be The Prophet? Ah, that villain has a thought, Undreamt of by his simple followers, Dark in his soul as midnight! If--but no-- He fears her though he hates! What shall I do? Rehearse to listening woods, or ask these oaks What thoughts they have, what knowledge of the past? They dwarf me with their greatness, but shall come A meaner and a mightier than they, And cut them down. Yet rather would I dwell With them, with wildness and its stealthy forms-- Yea, rather with wild men, wild beasts and birds, Than in the sordid town that here may rise. For here I am a part of Nature's self, And not divorced from her like men who plod The weary streets of care in search of gain. And here I feel the friendship of the earth: Not the soft cloying tenderness of hand Which fain would satiate the hungry soul With household honey-combs and parloured sweets, But the strong friendship of primeval things-- The rugged kindness of a giant heart, And love that lasts. I have a poem made Which doth concern earth's injured majesty-- Be audience, ye still untroubled stems! (_Recites_) There was a time on this fair continent When all things throve in spacious peacefulness. The prosperous forests unmolested stood, For where the stalwart oak grew there it lived Long ages, and then died among its kind. The hoary pines--those ancients of the earth-- Brimful of legends of the early world, Stood thick on their own mountains unsubdued. And all things else illumined by the sun, Inland or by the lifted wave, had rest. The passionate or calm pageants of the skies No artist drew; but in the auburn west Innumerable faces of fair cloud Vanished in silent darkness with the day. The prairie realm--vast ocean's paraphrase-- Rich in wild grasses numberless, and flowers Unnamed save in mute Nature's inventory No civilized barbarian trenched for gain. And all that flowed was sweet and uncorrupt. The rivers and their tributary streams, Undammed, wound on forever, and gave up Their lonely torrents to weird gulfs of sea, And ocean wastes unshadowed by a sail. And all the wild life of this western world Knew not the fear of man; yet in those woods, And by those plenteous streams and mighty lakes, And on stupendous steppes of peerless plain, And in the rocky gloom of canyons deep, Screened by the stony ribs of mountains hoar Which steeped their snowy peaks in purging cloud, And down the continent where tropic suns Warmed to her very heart the mother earth, And in the congeal'd north where silence self Ached with intensity of stubborn frost, There lived a soul more wild than barbarous; A tameless soul--the sunburnt savage free-- Free, and untainted by the greed of gain: Great Nature's man content with Nature's food. But hark! I hear her footsteps in the leaves-- And so my poem ends. _Enter_ IENA, _downcast._ My love! my love! What! Iena in tears! your looks, like clouds, O'erspread my joy which, but a moment past, Rose like the sun to high meridian. Ah, how is this? She trembles, and she starts, And looks with wavering eyes through oozing tears, As she would fly from me. Why do you weep? IENA. I weep, for I have come to say--farewell. LEFROY. Farewell! I have fared well in love till now; For you are mine, and I am yours, so say Farewell, farewell, a thousand times farewell. IENA. How many meanings has the word? since yours Is full of joy, but mine, alas, of pain. The pale-face and the Shawanoe must part. LEFROY. Must part? Yes part--we parted yesterday-- And shall to-day--some dream disturbs my love. IENA. Oh, that realities were dreams! 'Tis not A dream that parts us, but a stern command. Tecumseh has proclaimed it as his law-- Red shall not marry white; so must you leave; And therefore I have come to say farewell. LEFROY. That word is barbed, and like an arrow aimed. The maid who saved my life would mar it too! IENA. Speak not of that! Your life's in danger now. Tecumseh has returned, and--knowing all-- Has built a barrier betwixt our loves, More rigid than a palisade of oak. LEFROY. What means he? And what barrier is this? IENA. The barrier is the welfare of our race-- Wherefore his law--"Red shall not marry white." His noble nature halts at cruelty, So fear him not! But in the Prophet's hand, Dark, dangerous and bloody, there is death, And, sheltered by Tecumseh's own decree, He who misprizes you, and hates, will strike-- Then go at once! Alas for Iena, Who loves her race too well to break its law. LEFROY. I love you better than I love my race; And could I mass my fondness for my friends, Augment it with my love of noble brutes, Tap every spring of reverence and respect, And all affections bright and beautiful-- Still would my love for you outweigh them all. IENA. Speak not of love! Speak of the Long-Knife's hate! Oh, it is pitiful to creep in fear O'er lands where once our fathers stept in pride! The Long-Knife strengthens, whilst our race decays, And falls before him as our forests fall. First comes his pioneer, the bee, and soon The mast which plumped the wild deer fats his swine. His cattle pasture where the bison fed; His flowers, his very weeds, displace our own-- Aggressive as himself. All, all thrust back! Destruction follows us, and swift decay. Oh, I have lain for hours upon the grass, And gazed into the tenderest blue of heaven-- Cleansed as with dew, so limpid, pure and sweet-- All flecked with silver packs of standing cloud Most beautiful! But watch them narrowly! Those clouds will sheer small fleeces from their sides, Which, melting in our sight as in a dream, Will vanish all like phantoms in the sky. So melts our heedless race! Some weaned away, And wedded to rough-handed pioneers, Who, fierce as wolves in hatred of our kind, Yet from their shrill and acid women turn, Prizing our maidens for their gentleness. Some by outlandish fevers die, and some-- Caught in the white man's toils and vices mean-- Court death, and find it in the trader's cup. And all are driven from their heritage, Far from our fathers' seats and sepulchres, And girdled with the growing glooms of war; Resting a moment here, a moment there, Whilst ever through our plains and forest realms Bursts the pale spoiler, armed, with eager quest, And ruinous lust of land. I think of all-- And own Tecumseh right. 'Tis he alone Can stem this tide of sorrows dark and deep; So must I bend my feeble will to his, And, for my people's welfare, banish love. LEFROY. Nay, for your people's welfare keep your love! My heart is true: I know that braggart nation, Whose sordid instincts, cold and pitiless, Would cut you off, and drown your Council-Fires. I would defend you, therefore keep me here! My love is yours alone, my hand I give, With this good weapon in it, to your race. IENA. Oh, heaven help a weak untutored maid, Whose head is warring 'gainst a heart that tells, With every throb, I love you. Leave me! Fly! LEFROY. I kneel to you--it is my leave-taking, So, bid me fly again, and break my heart! (IENA _sings_.) Fly far from me, Even as the daylight flies, And leave me in the darkness of my pain! Some earlier love will come to thee again, And sweet new moons will rise, And smile on it and thee. Fly far from me, Even whilst the daylight wastes-- Ere thy lips burn me in a last caress; Ere fancy quickens, and my longings press, And my weak spirit hastes For shelter unto thee! Fly far from me, Even whilst the daylight pales-- So shall we never, never meet again! Fly! for my senses swim--Oh, Love! Oh, Pain!-- Help! for my spirit fails-- I cannot fly from thee! [IENA _sinks into_ LEFROY'S _arms_.] LEFROY. No Iena! You cannot fly from me-- My heart is in your breast, and yours in mine; Therefore our love-- _Enter_ TECUMSEH, _followed by_ MAMATEE. TECUMSEH. False girl! Is this your promise? Would that I had a pale-face for a niece-- Not one so faithless to her pledge! You owe All duty and affection to your race, Whose interest--the sum of our desires-- Traversed by alien love, drops to the ground. IENA. Tecumseh ne'er was cruel until now. Call not love alien which includes our race-- Love for our people, pity for their wrongs! He loves our race because his heart is here-- And mine is in his breast. Oh, ask him there, And he will tell you-- LEFROY. Iena, let me speak! Tecumseh, we as strangers have become Strangely familiar through sheer circumstance, Which often breeds affection or disdain, Yet lighting but the surface of the man, Shows not his heart. I know not what you think, And care not for your favour or your love, Save as desert may crown me. Your decree, "Red shall not marry white," is arbitrary, And off the base of nature; for if they Should marry not, then neither should they love. Yet Iena loves me, and I love her. Be merciful! I ask not Iena To leave her race; I rather would engage These willing arms in her defence and yours. Heap obligation up, conditions stern-- But send not your cold "Nay" athwart our lives. IENA. Be merciful! Oh, uncle, pity us! TECUMSEH. My pity, Iena, goes with reproach, Blunting the edge of anger; yet my will Is fixed, and the command to be obeyed-- This stranger must depart--you to your lodge! MAMATEE. Tecumseh, I am in the background here, As ever I have been in your affection. For I have ne'er known what good women prize-- Earth's greatest boon to them--a husband's love. TECUMSEH. My nation has my love, in which you share, With special service rendered to yourself; So that your cabin flows with mouffles sweet, And hips of wapiti and bedded robes. Teach me my duty further if you will! My love is wide, and broods upon my race. MAMATEE. The back is clad--the heart, alas! goes bare. Oh, I would rather shiver in the snow-- My heart downed softly with Tecumseh's love-- Than sleep unprized in warmest couch of fur. I know your love is wide, and, for that I Share but a millionth part of it, and feel Its meagreness, I plead most eagerly For this poor white, whose heart is full of love, And gives it all to her. TECUMSEH. It cannot be! You know not what you ask. 'Tis 'gainst our law, Which, breached, would let our untamed people through. LEFROY. I care not for your cruel law! The heart Has statutes of its own which make for love. TECUMSEH. You'd cross me too! This child's play of the heart, Which sterner duty has repressed in me, Makes even captives bold. (_Aside_.) I like his courage! MAMATEE. If duty makes Tecumseh's heart grow cold, Then shame on it! and greater shame on him Who ever yet showed mercy to his foes, Yet, turning from his own, in pity's spite Denies it to a girl. See, here I kneel! IENA. And I! O uncle, frown not on our love! TECUMSEH. By the Great Spirit this is over much! My heart is made for pity, not for war, Since women's tears unman me. Have your will! I shall respect your love, (_To Lefroy_.) your safety too. I go at once to sound the Wyandots Concerning some false treaties with the whites. The Prophet hates you, therefore come with me. [_The_ PROPHET _rushes in with a band of Braves._] PROPHET. She's here! Take hold of her and bear her off! TECUMSEH. (_Menacingly_) Beware! Lay not a finger on the girl! [_The Braves fall back_.] PROPHET. There is no law Tecumseh will not break, When women weep, and pale-face spies deceive. MAMATEE. Ah, wretch! not all our people's groans could wring A single tear from out your murderous eye. PROPHET. This is my captive, and his life is mine! [_Seizing_ LEFROY, _and lifting his hatchet_.] IENA. (_Rushing to_ LEFROY) Save him! Save him! TECUMSEH. Your life will go for his-- One blow and you are doomed! [TECUMSEH _grasps the_ PROPHET'S _uplifted axe_.] END OF FIRST ACT. ACT II. SCENE FIRST:--BEFORE THE PROPHET'S TOWN. _Enter_ TECUMSEH _and_ LEFROY. TECUMSEH. No guard or outlook--here! This is most strange. Chance reigns where prudence sleeps! _Enter a_ BRAVE. Here comes a brave With frenzy in his face Where is the Prophet? BRAVE. He fasts alone within the medicine-lodge, And talks to our Great Spirit. All our braves, Huddling in fear, stand motionless without, Thrilled by strange sounds, and voices not of earth. TECUMSEH. How long has it been thus? BRAVE. Four nights have passed And none have seen his face; but all have heard His dreadful tongue, in incantations deep, Fetch horrors up--vile beings flashed from hell, Who fought as devils fight, until the lodge Shook to its base with struggling, and the earth Quaked as, with magic strength, he flung them down. These strove with him for mastery of our fate; But, being foiled, Yohewa has appeared, And, in the darkness of our sacred lodge, Communes with him. TECUMSEH. Our Spirit great and good! He comes not here for nought. What has he promised? BRAVE. Much! for henceforth we are invulnerable. The bullets of the Long-Knives will rebound, Like petty hailstones, from our naked breasts; And, in the misty morns of our attack, Strange lights will shine on them to guide our aim, Whilst clouds of gloom will screen us from their sight. TECUMSEH. The Prophet is a wise interpreter, And all his words, by valour backed, will stand; For valour is the weapon of the soul, More dreaded by our vaunting enemies Than the plumed arrow, or the screaming ball. What wizardry and witchcraft has he found Conspiring 'gainst our people's good? BRAVE. Why, none! Wizard and witch are weeded out, he says; Not one is left to do us hurt. TECUMSEH. 'Tis well! My brother has the eyeball of the horse, And swerves from danger. (_Aside_.) Bid our warriors come! I wait them here. [_Exit_ BRAVE.] The Prophet soon will follow. LEFROY. Now opportunity attend my heart Which waits for Iena! True love's behest, Outrunning war's, will bring her to my arms Ere cease the braves from gasping wonderment. TECUMSEH. First look on service ere you look on love; You shall not see her here. LEFROY. My promises Are sureties of my service-- TECUMSEH. But your deeds, Accomplishments; our people count on deeds. Be patient! Look upon our warriors Roped round with scars and cicatrized wounds, Inflicted in deep trial of their spirit Their skewered sides are proofs of manly souls, Which--had one groan escaped from agony-- Would all have sunk beneath our women's heels, Unfit for earth or heaven. So try your heart, And let endurance swallow all love's sighs. Yoke up your valour with our people's cause, And I, who love your nation, which is just, When deeds deserve it, will adopt you here, By ancient custom of our race, and join Iena's hand to yours. LEFROY. Your own hand first In pledge of this! TECUMSEH. It ever goes with truth! LEFROY. Now come some wind of chance, and show me her But for one heavenly moment! as when leaves Are blown aside in summer, and we see The nested oriole. [_Enter Chiefs and warriors--The warriors cluster around_ TECUMSEH, _shouting and discharging their pieces_.] TECUMSEH. My chiefs and braves! MIAMI CHIEF. Fall back! Fall back! Ye press too close on him. TECUMSEH. My friends! our joy is like to meeting streams, Which draw into a deep and prouder bed. [_Shouts from the warriors_.] DELAWARE CHIEF. Silence, ye braves! let great Tecumseh speak! [_The warriors fall back_.] TECUMSEH. Comrades, and faithful warriors of our race! Ye who defeated Hartnar and St Clair, And made their hosts a winter's feast for wolves! I call on you to follow me again, Not now for war, but as forearmed for fight. As ever in the past so is it still: Our sacred treaties are infringed and torn; Laughed out of sanctity, and spurned away; Used by the Long-Knife's slave to light his fire, Or turned to kites by thoughtless boys, whose wrists Anchor their fathers' lies in front of heaven. And now we're asked to Council at Vincennes; To bend to lawless ravage of our lands, To treacherous bargains, contracts false, wherein One side is bound, the other loose as air! Where are those villains of our race and blood Who signed the treaties that unseat us here; That rob us of rich plains and forests wide; And which, consented to, will drive us hence To stage our lodges in the Northern Lakes, In penalties of hunger worse than death? Where are they? that we may confront them now With your wronged sires, your mothers, wives and babes, And, wringing from their false and slavish lips Confession of their baseness, brand with shame The traitor hands which sign us to our graves. MIAMI CHIEF. Some are age-bent and blind, and others sprawl, And stagger in the Long-Knife's villages; And some are dead, and some have fled away, And some are lurking in the forest here, Sneaking, like dogs, until resentment cools. KICKAPOO CHIEF. We all disclaim their treaties. Should they come, Forced from their lairs by hunger, to our doors, Swift punishment will light upon their heads. TECUMSEH. Put yokes upon them! let their mouths be bound! For they are swine who root with champing jaws Their fathers' fields, and swallow their own offspring. _Enter the_ PROPHET _in his robe--his face discoloured_. The Prophet! Welcome, my brother, from the lodge of dreams! Hail to thee, sagest among men--great heir Of all the wisdom of Pengasega! PROPHET. This pale-face here again! this hateful snake, Who crawls between our people and their laws! (_Aside_.) Your greeting, brother, takes the chill from mine, When last we parted you were not so kind. TECUMSEH. The Prophet's wisdom covers all. He knows Why Nature varies in her handiwork, Moulding one man from snow, the next from fire-- PROPHET. Which temper is your own, and blazes up, In winds of passion like a burning pine. TECUMSEH. 'Twill blaze no more unless to scorch our foes. My brother, there's my hand--for I am grieved That aught befell to shake our proper love. Our purpose is too high, and full of danger; We have too vast a quarrel on our hands To waste our breath on this. [_Steps forward and offers his hand_.] PROPHET. My hand to yours. SEVERAL CHIEFS. Tecumseh and the Prophet are rejoined! TECUMSEH. Now, but one petty cloud distains our sky. My brother, this man loves our people well. [_Pointing to_ LEFROY.] LEFROY. I know he hates me, yet I hope to win My way into his heart. PROPHET. There--take my hand! I must dissemble. Would this palm were poison! (_Aside_.) (_To_ TECUMSEH) What of the Wyandots? And yet I know! I have been up among the clouds, and down Into the entrails of the earth, and seen The dwelling-place of devils. All my dreams Are from above, and therefore favour us. TECUMSEH. With one accord the Wyandots disclaim The treaties of Fort Wayne, and burn with rage. Their tryst is here, and some will go with me To Council at Vincennes. Where's Winnemac? MIAMI CHIEF. That recreant has joined our enemies, And with the peace-pipe sits beside their fire, And whins away our lives. KICKAPOO CHIEF. The Deaf-Chief, too, With head awry, who cannot hear us speak Though thunder shouted for us from the skies, Yet hears the Long-Knives whisper at Vincennes; And, when they jest upon our miseries, Grips his old leathern sides, and coughs with laughter. DELAWARE CHIEF. And old Kanaukwa--famed when we were young-- Has hid his axe, and washed his honours off. TECUMSEH. 'Tis honor he has parted with, not honors; Good deeds are ne'er forespent, nor wiped away. I know these men; they've lost their followers, And, grasping at the shadow of command, Where sway and custom once had realty, By times, and turn about, follow each other. They count for nought--but Winnemac is true, Though over-politic; he will not leave us. PROPHET. Those wizened snakes must be destroyed at once! TECUMSEH. Have mercy, brother--those poor men are old. PROPHET. Nay, I shall teaze them till they sting themselves; Their rusty fangs are doubly dangerous. TECUMSEH. What warriors are ready for Vincennes? WARRIORS. All! All are ready. Tecumseh leads us on--we follow him. TECUMSEH. Four hundred warriors will go with me, All armed, yet only for security Against the deep designs of Harrison. For 'tis my purpose still to temporize, Not break with him in war till once again I scour the far emplacements of our tribes. Then shall we close at once on all our foes. They claim our lands, but we shall take their lives; Drive out their thievish souls, and spread their bones To bleach upon the misty Alleghanies; Or make death's treaty with them on the spot, And sign our bloody marks upon their crowns For lack of schooling--ceding but enough Of all the lands they covet for their graves. MIAMI CHIEF. Tecumseh's tongue is housed in wisdom's cheeks; His valour and his prudence march together. DELAWARE CHIEF. 'Tis wise to draw the distant nations on. This scheme will so extend the Long-Knife force, In lines defensive stretching to the sea, Their bands will be but morsels for our braves. PROPHET. How long must this bold project take to ripen? Time marches with the foe, and his surveyors Already smudge our forests with their fires. It frets my blood and makes my bowels turn To see those devils blaze our ancient oaks, Cry "right!" and drive their rascal pickets down. Why not make war on them at once? TECUMSEH. Not now! Time will make room for weightier affairs. Be this the disposition for the hour: Our warriors from Vincennes will all return, Save twenty--the companions of my journey-- And this brave white, who longs to share our toil, And win his love by deeds in our defence. You, brother, shall remain to guard our town, Our wives, our children, all that's dear to us-- Receive each fresh accession to our strength; And from the hidden world, which you inspect, Draw a divine instruction for their souls. Go, now, ye noble chiefs and warriors! Make preparation--I'll be with you soon. To-morrow we shall make the Wabash boil, And beat its current, racing to Vincennes. [_Exeunt all but_ TECUMSEH _and the_ PROPHET.] PROPHET. I shall return unto our sacred lodge, And there invoke the Spirit of the Wind To follow you, and blow good tidings back. TECUMSEH. Our strait is such we need the help of heaven. Use all your wisdom, brother, but--beware! Pluck not our enterprise while it is green, And breed no quarrel here till I return. Avoid it as you would the rattling snake; And, when you hear the sound of danger, shrink, And face it not, unless with belts of peace. White wampum, not the dark, till we can strike With certain aim. Can I depend on you? PROPHET. Trust you in fire to burn, or cold to freeze? So may you trust in me. The heavy charge Which you have laid upon my shoulders now Would weigh the very soul of rashness down. [_Exit the_ PROPHET.] TECUMSEH. I think I can depend on him--I must! Yet do I know his crafty nature well-- His hatred of our foes, his love of self, And wide ambition. What is mortal man? Who can divine this creature that doth take Some colour from all others? Nor shall I Push cold conclusions 'gainst my brother's sum Of what is good--so let dependence rest! [_Exit_.] SCENE SECOND--VINCENNES--A STREET. _Enter Citizens_ GERKIN, SLAUGH and TWANG. GERKIN. Ain't it about time Barron was back, Jedge? TWANG. I reckon so. Our Guvner takes a crazy sight more pains than I would to sweetin thet ragin' devil Tecumseh's temper. I'd sweetin it wi' sugar o lead ef I had _my_ way. SLAUGH. It's a reekin' shame--dang me ef it aint. End thet two-faced, one-eyed brother o' his, the Prophet.-- I'll be darned ef folks don't say thet the Shakers in them 'ere parts claims him fer a disciple! TWANG. Them Shakers is a queer lot. They dance jest like wild Injuns, and thinks we orter be kind to the red rascals, end use them honestly. GERKIN. Wall! Thet's what our Guvner ses tew. But I reckon he's shammin' a bit Twist you and me, he's on the make like the rest o' us. Think o' bein' kind to a red devil thet would lift your har ten minutes arter! End as fer honesty--I say "set 'em up" every time, and then rob 'em. Thet's the way to clar them out o' the kentry. Whiskey's better 'n gunpowder, end costs less than fightin' 'em in the long run. _Enter_ CITIZEN BLOAT. TWANG. Thet's so! Hello, Major, what's up? You look kind o' riled to-day. BLOAT. Wall, Jedge, I dew feel right mad--have you heerd the noos? TWANG. No! has old Sledge bust you at the keerds again? BLOAT. Old Sledge be darned! I had jest clar'd him out o' continentals--fifty to the shillin'--at his own game, when in ript Roudi--the Eyetalian that knifed the Muskoe Injun for peekin' through his bar-room winder last spring--jest down from Fort Knox. You know the chap, General; you was on his jury. SLAUGH. I reckon I dew. The Court was agin him, but we acquitted him afore the Chief-Justice finished his charge, and gave him a vote o' thanks to boot. There's a heap o' furriners creepin' inter these parts--poor downtrodden cusses from Europe--end, ef they're all like Roudi, they'll dew--a'most as hendy wi' the knife as our own people. But what's up? BLOAT. Roudi saw Barron at Fort Knox, restin' thar on his way back from the Prophet's Town, end he sez thet red assassin Tecumseh's a-cumin' down wi' four hundred o' his painted devils to convarse wi' our Guvner. They're all armed, he sez, end will be here afore mid- day. SLAUGH. Wall! our Guvner notified him to come--he's only gettin' what he axed for. There'll be a deal o' loose har flitterin' about the streets afore night, I reckon. Harrison's a heap too soft wi' them red roosters; he h'aint got cheek enough. GERKIN. I've heerd say the Guvner, end the Chief Justice tew, thinks a sight o' this tearin' red devil. They say he's a great man. They say, tew, thet our treaty Injuns air badly used--thet they shouldn't be meddled wi' on their resarves, end should hev skoolin'. BLOAT. Skoolin'! That gits me! Dogoned ef I wouldn't larn them jest one thing--what them regler officers up to the Fort larns their dogs--"to drap to shot," only in a different kind o' way like; end, es fer their resarves, I say, give our farmers a chance--let them locate! TWANG. Thet's so, Major! What arthly use air they-- plouterin' about their little bits o' fields, wi' their little bits o' cabins, end livin' half the time on mush- rats? I say, let them move out, end give reliable citizens a chance. SLAUGH. Wall, I reckon our Guvner's kind's about played out. They call themselves the old stock--the clean pea --the rale gentlemen o' the Revolooshun. But, gentlemen, ain't we the Revolooshun? Jest wait till the live citizens o' these United States end Territories gits a chance, end we'll show them gentry what a free people, wi' our institooshuns, _kin_ do. There'll be no more talk o' skoolin fer Injuns, you bet! I'd give them Kernel Crunch's billet. GERKIN. What was thet, General? SLAUGH. Why, they say he killed a hull family o' redskins, and stuck 'em up as scar' crows in his wheat fields. Gentlemen, there's nothin' like original idees! TWANG. Thet war an original idee! The Kernel orter hev tuk out a patent. I think I've heerd o' Crunch. Wam't he wi' Kernel Crawford, o' the melish', at one time? SLAUGH Whar? TWANG. Why over to the Muskingum. You've heerd o' them Delaware Moravians over to the Muskingum, surely? SLAUGH. Oh, them convarted chaps! but I a'most forgit the carcumstance. TWANG. Wall, them red devils had a nice resarve thar-- as yieldin' a bit o' sile as one could strike this side o' the Alleghanies. They was all convarted by the Moravians, end pertended to be as quiet and peaceable as the Shakers hereabout But Kernel Crawford--who knew good sile when he sot his eyes on it--diskivered thet them prayin' chaps had helped a war-party from the North, wi' provisions--or thort they did, which was the same thing. So--one fine Sunday--he surrounds their church wi' his melish'--when the Injuns was all a- prayin'--end walks in himself, jest for a minute or two, end prays a bit so as not to skeer them tew soon, end then walks out, end locks the door. The Kernel then cutely--my heart kind o' warms to thet man--put a squad o' melish' at each winder wi' their bayonets pinted, end sot fire to the Church, end charred up the hull kit, preacher and all! The heft o' them was burnt; but some thet warn't thar skinned out o' the kentry, end got lands from the British up to the Thames River in Canady, end founded what they call the Moravian Towns thar; and thar they is still--fur them Britishers kind o' pampers the Injuns, so they may git at our scalps. SLAUGH. I reckon we'll hev a tussle wi' them gentry afore long. But for Noo England we'd a hed it afore now; but them Noo Englanders kind o' curries to the Britishers. A war would spile their shippin', end so they're agin it. But we h'aint got no ships to spile in this western kentry, end so I reckon we'll pitch in. GERKIN. We'd better git out o' this Injun fry-pan fust, old hoss! I could lick my own weight in wild-cats, but this ruck o' Injuns is jest a little tew hefty. BLOAT. Maybe they want to come to skool, end start store, end sich! GERKIN. Gentlemen--I mean to send my lady down stream, end I reckon you'd better dew the same wi' your 'uns-- jest fer safety like. My time's limited--will you liquor? ALL. You bet! BLOAT. (_Meditatively_) Skoolin! Wall, I'll be darned! [_Exeunt_.] SCENE THIRD. THE SAME. A ROOM IN GENERAL HARRISON'S HOUSE. _Enter_ GENERAL HARRISON, _and some Officers of the American Army_. HARRISON. What savage handiwork keeps Barron back? _Enter_ BARRON. Ah, here he comes, his looks interpreting Mischief and failure! It is as I feared. What answer do you bring? BARRON. Tecumseh comes To council, with four hundred men at back, To which, with all persuasion, I objected-- As that it would alarm our citizens, Whose hasty temper, by suspicion edged, Might break in broils of quarrel with his braves; But, sir, it was in vain--so be prepared! Your Council records may be writ in blood. HARRISON. Will he attack us, think you? BARRON. No, not now. His present thought is to intimidate. But, lest some rash and foulmouthed citizen Should spur his passion to the run, fore-arm! HARRISON. Tut! Arms are scarce as soldiers in our town, And I am sick of requisitioning. Nay, we must trust to something else than arms. Tecumseh is a savage but in name--Let's trust to him! What says he of our treaties? BARRON. O, he discharges them as heavy loads, Which borne by red men only, break their backs. All lands, he says, are common to his race; Not to be sold but by consent of all. HARRISON. Absurd! This proposition would prevent All purchase and all progress. No, indeed; We cannot tie our hands with such conditions. What of the Prophet? Comes he with the rest? BARRON. The Prophet stays behind. HARRISON. He is a foil Used by Tecumseh to augment his greatness; And, by good husbandry of incantation, And gloomy charms by night, this Prophet works So shrewdly on their braves that every man, Inflamed by auguries of victory, Would rush on death. 1ST OFFICER. Why, General, I heard He over-trumpt you once and won the trick. HARRISON. How so? 1ST OFFICER. Well, once, before his braves, 'tis said, You dared him to a trial of his spells, Which challenge he accepted, having heard From white men of a coming sun-eclipse. Then, shrewdly noting day and hour, he called Boldly his followers round him, and declared That he would hide the sun. They stood and gazed, And, when the moon's colossal shadow fell, They crouched upon the ground, and worshipped him. HARRISON. He caught me there, and mischief came of it. Oh, he is deep. How different those brothers! One dipt in craft, the dye of cruelty, The other frank and open as the day. _Enter an_ ORDERLY. ORDERLY. Tecumseh and his braves have reached the landing! [_Excitement. All rise hastily_.] HARRISON. This room is smaller than our audience: Take seats and benches to the portico-- There we shall treat with him. [_Exeunt all but_ GENERAL HARRISON.] Could I but strain My charge this chief might be our trusty friend. Yet I am but my nation's servitor; Gold is the king who overrides the right, And turns our people from the simple ways, And fair ideal of our fathers' lives. [_Exit_.] SCENE FOURTH.--THE SAME. THE PORTICO OF GENERAL HARRISON'S HOUSE. AN OPEN GROVE AT A LITTLE DISTANCE IN FRONT. [_Curtain rises and discovers_ GENERAL HARRISON, _army officers and citizens, of various quality, including_ TWANG, SLAUGH, GERKIN _and_ BLOAT, _seated in the portico. A sergeant and guard of soldiers near by. Enter_ TECUMSEH _and his followers with_ LEFROY _in Indian dress. They all stop at the grove_.] HARRISON. Why halts he there? Go tell him he is welcome to our house. [_An Orderly goes down with message_.] 1ST OFFICER. How grave and decorous they look-- "the mien Of pensive people born in ancient woods." But look at him! Look at Tecumseh there-- How simple in attire! that eagle, plume Sole ornament, and emblem of his spirit. And yet, far-scanned, there's something in his face That likes us not. Would we were out of this! HARRISON. Yes; even at a distance I can see His eyes distilling anger. 'Tis no sign Of treachery, which ever drapes with smiles The most perfidious purpose. Our poor strength Would fall at once should he break out on us; But let us hope 'tis yet a war of wits Where firmness may enact the part of force. [_Orderly returns_.] What answer do you bring? ORDERLY. Tecumseh says: "Houses are built for whites-- the red man's house, Leaf-roofed, and walled with living oak, is there-- [_Pointing to the grove_.] Let our white brother meet us in it!" 2ND OFFICER. Oh! White brother! So he levels to your height, And strips your office of its dignity. 3RD OFFICER. 'Tis plain he cares not for your dignity, And touchingly reminds us of our tenets. Our nation spurns the outward shows of state, And ceremony dies for lack of service. Pomp is discrowned, and throned regality Dissolved away in our new land and laws. Man is the Presence here! 1ST OFFICER. Well, for my part, I like not that one in particular. [_Pointing toward_ TECUMSEH.] 3RD OFFICER. No more do I! I wish I were a crab, And had its courtly fashion of advancing. HARRISON. Best yield to him, the rather that he now Invites our confidence. His heavy force Scants good opinion somewhat, yet I know There's honor, aye, and kindness in this Chief. [_Rising_.] 3RD OFFICER. Yes, faith, he loves us all, and means to keep Locks of our hair for memory. Here goes. [_All rise_.] _Servants and soldiers carry chairs and benches to the grove, followed by_ GENERAL HARRISON _and others, who seat themselves-- _TECUMSEH _and his followers still standing in the lower part of the grove_. HARRISON. We have not met to bury our respect, Or mar our plea with lack of courtesy. The Great Chief knows it is his father's wish That he should sit by him. TECUMSEH. My father's wish! My father is the sun; the earth my mother [_Pointing to each in turn_.] And on her mighty bosom I shall rest. [TECUMSEH _and his followers seat themselves on the grass_.] HARRISON. (_Rising_.) I asked Tecumseh to confer with me, Not in war's hue, but for the ends of peace. Our own intent--witness our presence here, Unarmed save those few muskets and our swords. How comes it, then, that he descends on us With this o'erbearing and untimely strength? Tecumseh's virtues are the theme of all; Wisdom and courage, frankness and good faith-- To speak of these things is to think of him! Yet, as one theft makes men suspect the thief-- Be all his life else spent in honesty-- So does one breach of faithfulness in man Wound all his after deeds. There is a pause In some men's goodness like the barren time Of those sweet trees which yield each second year, Wherein what seems a niggardness in nature; Is but good husbandry for future gifts. But this tree bears, and bears most treacherous fruit! Here is a gross infringement of all laws That shelter men in council, where should sit No disproportioned force save that of reason-- Our strong dependence still, and argument, Of better consequence than that of arms, If great Tecumseh should give ear to it. TECUMSEH. (_Rising_.) You called upon Tecumseh and he came! You sent your messenger, asked us to bring Our wide complaint to you--and it is here! [_Waving his arm toward his followers_.] Why is our brother angry at our force, Since every man but represents a wrong? Nay! rather should our force be multiplied! Fill up your streets and overflow your fields, And crowd upon the earth for standing room; Still would our wrongs outweigh our witnesses, And scant recital for the lack of tongues. I know your reason, and its bitter heart, Its form of justice, clad with promises-- The cloaks of death! That reason was the snare Which tripped our ancestors in days of yore-- Who knew not falsehood and so feared it not: Men who mistook your fathers' vows for truth, And took them, cold and hungry, to their hearts. Filled them with food, and shared with them their homes, With such return as might make baseness blush. What tree e'er bore such treacherous fruit as this? But let it pass! let wrongs die with the wronged! The red man's memory is full of graves. But wrongs live with the living, who are here-- Inheritors of all our fathers' sighs, And tears, and garments wringing wet with blood. The injuries which you have done to us Cry out for remedy, or wide revenge. Restore the forests you have robbed us of-- Our stolen homes and vales of plenteous com! Give back the boundaries, which are our lives, Ere the axe rise! aught else is reasonless. HARRISON. Tecumseh's passion is a dangerous flood Which sweeps away his judgment. Let him lift His threatened axe to hit defenceless heads! It cannot mar the body of our right, Nor graze the even justice of our claim: These still would live, uncancelled by our death. Let reason rule us, in whose sober light We read those treaties which offend him thus: What nation was the first established here, Settled for centuries, with title sound? You know that people, the Miamies, well. Long ere the white man tripped his anchors cold, To cast them by the glowing western isles, They lived upon these lands in peace, and none Dared cavil at their claim. We bought from them, For such equivalent to largess joined, That every man was hampered with our goods, And stumbled on profusion. But give ear! Jealous lest aught might fail of honesty-- Lest one lean interest or poor shade of right Should point at us--we made the Kickapoo And Delaware the sharer of our gifts, And stretched the arms of bounty over heads Which held but by Miami sufferance. But, you! whence came you? and what rights have you? The Shawanoes are interlopers here-- Witness their name! mere wanderers from the South! Spurned thence by angry Creek and Yamasee-- Now here to stir up strife, and tempt the tribes To break the seals of faith. I am surprised That they should be so led, and more than grieved Tecumseh has such ingrates at his back. TECUMSEH. Call you those ingrates who but claim their own, And owe you nothing but revenge? Those men Are here to answer and confront your lies. [_Turning to his followers_.] Miami, Delaware and Kickapoo! Ye are alleged as signers of those deeds-- Those dark and treble treacheries of Fort Wayne.-- Ye chiefs whose cheeks are tanned with battle-smoke, Stand forward then, and answer if you did it! KICKAPOO CHIEF. (_Rising_.) Not I! I disavow them! They were made By village chiefs whose vanity o'ercame Their judgment, and their duty to our race. DELAWARE CHIEF. (_Rising_.) And I reject the treaties in the name Of all our noted braves and warriors. They have no weight save with the palsied heads Which dote on friendly compacts in the past. MIAMI CHIEF. (_Rising_.) And I renounce them also. They were signed By sottish braves--the Long-Knife's tavern-chiefs-- Who sell their honor like a pack of fur, Make favour with the pale-face for his fee, And caper with the hatchet for his sport. I am a chief by right of blood, and fling Your false and flimsy treaties in your face. I am my nation's head, and own but one As greater than myself, and he is here! [_Pointing to_ TECUMSEH.] TECUMSEH. You have your answer, and from those whose rights Stand in your own admission. But from me-- The Shawanoe--the interloper here-- Take the full draught of meaning, and wash down Their dry and bitter truths. Yes! from the South My people came--fall'n from their wide estate Where Altamaha's uncongealing springs Kept a perpetual summer in their sight-- Sweet with magnolia blooms, and dropping balm, And scented breath of orange and of pine. And from the East the hunted Delawares came, Flushed from their coverts and their native streams; Your old allies, men ever true to you, Who, resting after long and weary flight, Are by your bands shot sitting on the ground. HARRISON. Those men got ample payment for their lands, Full recompense, and just equivalent. TECUMSEH. They flew from death to light upon it here! And many a tribe comes pouring from the East, Smitten with fire--their outraged women, maimed, Screaming in horror o'er their murdered babes, Whose sinless souls, slashed out by white men's swords, Whimper in Heaven for revenge. Oh, God!-- 'Tis thus the pale-face prays, then cries 'Amen':-- He clamours, and his Maker answers him, Whilst our Great Spirit sleeps! O, no, no, no,-- He does not sleep! He will avenge our wrongs! That Christ the white men murdered, and thought dead-- Who, if He died for mankind, died for us-- He is alive, and looks from heaven on this! Oh, we have seen your baseness and your guile; Our eyes are opened and we know your ways! No longer shall you hoax us with your pleas, Or with the serpent's cunning wake distrust, Range tribe 'gainst tribe--then shoot the remnant down, And in the red man's empty cabin grin, And shake with laughter o'er his desolate hearth. No, we are one! the red men all are one In colour as in love, in lands and fate! HARRISON. Still, with the voice of wrath Tecumseh speaks, And not with reason's tongue. TECUMSEH. O keep your reason! It is a thief which steals away our lands. Your reason is our deadly foe, and writes The jeering epitaphs for our poor graves. It is the lying maker of your books, Wherein our people's vengeance is set down, But not a word of crimes which led to it. These are hushed up and hid, whilst all our deeds, Even in self-defence, are marked as wrongs Heaped on your blameless heads. But to the point! Just as our brother's Seventeen Council Fires Unite for self-protection so do we. How can you blame us, since your own example Is but our model and fair precedent? The Long-Knife's craft has kept our tribes apart, Nourished dissensions, raised distinctions up, Forced us to injuries which, soon as done, Are made your vile pretexts for bloody war. But this is past our nations now are one-- Ready to rise in their imbanded strength. You promised to restore our ravaged lands On proof that they are ours--that proof is here, And by the tongues of truth has answered you. Redeem your sacred pledges, and no more Our "leaden birds" will sing amongst your corn: But love will shine on you, and startled peace Will come again, and build by every hearth. Refuse--and we shall strike you to the ground! Pour flame and slaughter on your confines wide, Till the charred earth, up to the cope of Heaven, Reeks with the smoke of smouldering villages, And steam of awful fires half-quenched with blood. [_Citizens converse in undertones_.] TWANG. Did you ever hear the like! Ef I hed my shootin'- iron darn me ef I wouldn't draw a bead on thet barkin' savage. The hungry devil gits under-holts on our Guvner every time. SLAUGH. You bet! I reckon he'd better put a lump o' bacon in his mouth to keep his bilin' sap o' passion down. BLOAT. Thet's mor'n I'd do. This is jest what we git for allowin' the skulkin' devils to live. I'd vittle 'em on lead pills ef I was Guvner. TWANG. Thet's so! Our civilizashun is jest this--we know what's what. Ef I hed _my_ way-- HARRISON. Silence, you fools! If you provoke him here your blood be on your heads. GERKIN. Right you air, Guvner! We'll close our dampers. TECUMSEH. My brother's ears have heard. Where is his tongue? HARRISON. My honest ears ache in default of reason. Tecumseh is reputed wise, yet now His fuming passions from his judgment fly, Like roving steeds which gallop from the catch, And kick the air, wasting in wantonness More strength than in submission. His threats fall On fearless ears. Knows he not of our force, Which in the East swarms like mosquitoes here? Our great Kentucky and Virginia fires? Our mounted men and soldier-citizens? These all have stings--let him beware of them! TECUMSEH. Who does not know your vaunting citizens! Well drilled in fraud and disciplined in crime; But in aught else--as honor, justice, truth-- A rabble, and a base disordered herd. We know them; and our nations, knit in one, Will challenge them, should this, our last appeal, Fall on unheeding ears. My brother, hearken! East of Ohio you possess our lands, Thrice greater than your needs, but west of it We claim them all; then, let us make its flood A common frontier, and a sacred stream Of which our nations both may drink in peace. HARRISON. Absurd! The treaties of Fort Wayne must stand. Your village chiefs are heads of civil rule, Whose powers you seek to centre in yourself, Or vest in warriors whose trade is blood. We bought from those, and from your peaceful men-- Your wiser brothers--who had faith in us. TECUMSEH. Poor, ruined brothers, weaned from honest lives! HARRISON. They knew our wisdom, and preferred to sell Their cabins, fields, and wilds of unused lands For rich reserves and ripe annuities. As for your nations being one like ours-- 'Tis false--else would they speak one common tongue. Nay, more! your own traditions trace you here-- Widespread in lapse of ages through the land-- From o'er the mighty ocean of the West. What better title have you than ourselves, Who came from o'er the ocean of the East, And meet with you on free and common ground? Be reasonable, and let wisdom's words Displace your passion, and give judgment vent Think more of bounty, and talk less of rights-- Our hands are full of gifts, our hearts of love. TECUMSEH. My brother's love is like the trader's warmth-- O'er with the purchase. Oh, unhappy lives-- Our gifts which go for yours! Once we were strong. Once all this mighty continent was ours, And the Great Spirit made it for our use. He knew no boundaries, so had we peace In the vast shelter of His handiwork, And, happy here, we cared not whence we came. We brought no evils thence--no treasured hate, No greed of gold, no quarrels over God; And so our broils, to narrow issues joined, Were soon composed, and touched the ground of peace. Our very ailments, rising from the earth, And not from any foul abuse in us, Drew back, and let age ripen to death's hand. Thus flowed our lives until your people came, Till from the East our matchless misery came! Since then our tale is crowded with your crimes, With broken faith, with plunder of reserves-- The sacred remnants of our wide domain-- With tamp'rings, and delirious feasts of fire, The fruit of your thrice-cursed stills of death, Which make our good men bad, our bad men worse, Aye! blind them till they grope in open day, And stumble into miserable graves. Oh, it is piteous, for none will hear! There is no hand to help, no heart to feel, No tongue to plead for us in all your land. But every hand aims death, and every heart, Ulcered with hate, resents our presence here; And every tongue cries for our children's land To expiate their crime of being born. Oh, we have ever yielded in the past, But we shall yield no more! Those plains are ours! Those forests are our birth-right and our home! Let not the Long-Knife build one cabin there-- Or fire from it will spread to every roof, To compass you, and light your souls to death! HARRISON. Dreams he of closing up our empty plains? Our mighty forests waiting for the axe? Our mountain steeps engrailed with iron and gold? There's no asylumed madness like to this! Mankind shall have its wide possession here; And these rough assets of a virgin world Stand for its coming, and await its hand. The poor of every land shall come to this, Heart-full of sorrows and shall lay them down. LEFROY. (_Springing to his feet_.) The poor! What care your rich thieves for the poor? Those graspers hate the poor, from whom they spring, More deeply than they hate this injured race. Much have they taken from it--let them now Take this prediction, with the red man's curse! The time will come when that dread power--the Poor-- Whom, in their greed and pride of wealth, they spurn-- Will rise on them, and tear them from their seats; Drag all their vulgar splendours down, and pluck Their shallow women from their lawless beds, Yea, seize their puling and unhealthy babes, And fling them as foul pavement to the streets. In all the dreaming of the Universe There is no darker vision of despairs! 1ST OFFICER. What man is that? 'Tis not an Indian. HARRISON. Madman, you rave!--you know not what you say. TECUMSEH. Master of guile, this axe should speak for him! [_Drawing his hatchet as if to hurl it at_ HARRISON.] 2ND OFFICER. This man means mischief! Quick! Bring up the guard! [GENERAL HARRISON _and officers draw their swords. The warriors spring to their feet and cluster about_ TECUMSEH, _their eyes fixed intently upon_ HARRISON, _who stands unmoved._ TWANG _and his friends disappear. The soldiers rush forward and take aim, but are ordered not to fire_.] END OF SECOND ACT. ACT III. SCENE FIRST.--VINCENNES.--A COUNCIL CHAMBER IN GENERAL HARRISON'S HOUSE. _Enter_ HARRISON _and five_ COUNCILLORS. HARRISON. Here are despatches from the President, As well as letters from my trusted friends, Whose tenor made me summon you to Council. [_Placing papers on table_.] 1ST COUNCILLOR. Why break good news so gently? Is it true War is declared 'gainst England? HARRISON. Would it were! That war is still deferred. Our news is draff, And void of spirit, since New England turns A fresh cheek to the slap of Britain's palm. Great God! I am amazed at such supineness. Our trade prohibited, our men impressed, Our flag insulted--still her people bend, Amidst the ticking of their wooden clocks, Bemused o'er small inventions. Out upon't! Such tame submission yokes not with my spirit, And sends my southern blood into my cheeks, As proxy for New England's sense of shame. 2ND COUNCILLOR. We all see, save New England, what to do; But she has eyes for her one interest-- A war might sink it. So the way to war Puzzles imagining. HARRISON. There is a way Which lies athwart the President's command. The reinforcements asked for from Monroe Are here at last, but with this strict injunction, They must not be employed save in defence, Or in a forced attack. [_Taking up a letter_.] Now, here is news, Fresh from the South, of bold Tecumseh's work, The Creeks and Seminoles have conjoined, Which means a general union of the tribes, And ravage of our Southern settlements. Tecumseh's master hand is seen in this, And these fresh tidings tally with his threats Before he left Vincennes. 3RD COUNCILLOR. You had a close Encounter with him here. HARRISON. Not over close, Nor dangerous--I saw he would not strike. His thoughts outran his threats, and looked beyond To wider fields and trials of our strength. 4TH COUNCILLOR. Our tree is now too bulky for his axe. HARRISON. Don't underrate his power! But for our States This man would found an empire to surpass Old Mexico's renown, or rich Peru. Allied with England, he is to be feared More than all other men. 1ST COUNCILLOR. You had some talk In private, ere he vanished to the South? HARRISON. Mere words, yet ominous. Could we restore Our purchases, and make a treaty line, All might be well; but who would stand to it? 2ND COUNCILLOR. It is not to be thought of. OTHER COUNCILLORS. No, no, no. HARRISON. In further parley at the river's edge, Scenting a coming war, he clapped his hands, And said the English whooped his people on, As if his braves were hounds to spring at us; Compared our nation to a whelming flood, And called his scheme a dam to keep it back-- Then proffered the old terms; whereat I urged A peaceful mission to the President. But, by apt questions, gleaning my opinion, Ere I was ware, of such a bootless trip, He drew his manly figure up, then smiled, And said our President might drink his wine In safety in his distant town, whilst we-- Over the mountains here--should fight it out: Then entering his bark, well-manned with braves, Bade me let matters rest till he returned From his far mission to the distant tribes, Waved an adieu, and, in a trice, was gone. 2ND COUNCILLOR. Your news is but an earnest of his work. 4TH COUNCILLOR. This Chief's dispatch should be our own example. Let matters rest, forsooth, till he can set Our frontier in a blaze! Such cheap advice Pulls with the President's, not mine. HARRISON. Nor mine! The sum of my advice is to attack The Prophet ere Tecumseh can return. 5TH COUNCILLOR. But what about the breach of your instructions? HARRISON. If we succeed we need not fear the breach-- In the same space we give and heal the wound. [_Enter a Messenger, who hands letters to_ HARRISON.] Thank you, Missouri and good Illinois-- Your governors are built of western clay. Howard and Edwards both incline with me, And urge attack upon the Prophet's force. This is the nucleus of Tecumseh's strength-- His bold scheme's very heart. Let's cut it out. Yes! yes! and every other part will fail. 1ST COUNCILLOR. Let us prepare to go at once! 2ND COUNCILLOR. Agreed. 3RD COUNCILLOR. I vote for war. 5TH COUNCILLOR. But should the Prophet win? 4TH COUNCILLOR. Why then, the Prophet, not Tecumseh, kills us-- Which has the keener axe? 1ST COUNCILLOR. Breech-clouted dogs! Let us attack them, and, with thongs of fire, Whip their red bodies to a deeper red. HARRISON. This feeling bodes success, and with success Comes war with England; for a well-won fight Will rouse a martial spirit in the land To emulate our deeds on higher ground. Now hasten to your duties and prepare: Bronzed autumn comes, when copper-colored oaks Drop miserly their stiff leaves to the earth; And ere the winter's snow doth silver them, Our triumph must be wrought. [_Exeunt_.] SCENE SECOND.--TECUMSEH'S CABIN IN THE PROPHET'S TOWN. [_Enter_ IENA _and_ MAMATEE, _agitated_.] IENA. My heart is sad, and I am faint with fear. My friend, my more than mother, go again-- Plead with the Prophet for a single day! Perchance within his gloomy heart will stir Some sudden pulse of pity for a girl. MAMATEE. Alas, my Iena, it is in vain! He swore by Manitou this very morn, That thou should'st wed the chief, Tarhay, to-night. IENA. Nay try once more, Oh Mamatee, once more! I had a dream, and heard the gusty breeze Hurtle from out a sea of hissing pines, Then dwindle into voices, faint and sweet, Which cried--we come! It was my love and yours! They spoke to me--I know that they are near, And waft their love to us upon the wind. MAMATEE. Some dreams are merely fancies in our sleep: I'll make another trial, but I feel Your only safety is in instant flight. IENA. Flight! Where and how--beset by enemies? My fear sits like the partridge in the tree, And cannot fly whilst these dogs bark at me. SCENE THIRD.--AN ELEVATED PLATEAU, DOTTED WITH HEAVY OAKS, WEST OF THE PROPHET'S TOWN. _Enter three of_ HARRISON'S _staff Officers_. 1ST OFFICER. Well, here's the end of all our northward marching! 2ND OFFICER. A peaceful end, if we can trust those chiefs Who parleyed with us lately. 3RD OFFICER. Yes, for if They mean to fight, why point us to a spot At once so strong and pleasant for our camp? 1ST OFFICER. Report it so unto our General! [_Exit_ 3RD OFFICER.] 'Tis worth our long march through the forest wild To view these silent plains! The Prophet's Town, Sequestered yonder like a hermitage, Disturbs not either's vast of solitude, But rather gives, like graveyard visitors, To deepest loneliness a deeper awe. [_Re enter_ 3RD OFFICER.] 3RD OFFICER. I need not go, for Harrison is here. [_Enter_ GENERAL HARRISON, _his force following_.] 1ST OFFICER. Methinks you like the place; some thanks we owe Unto the Prophet's chiefs for good advice. HARRISON. (_Looking around keenly_). These noble oaks, the streamlet to our rear, This rank wild grass--wood, water and soft beds! The soldier's luxuries are here together. 1ST OFFICER. Note, too, the place o'erlooks the springy plain Which lies betwixt us and the Prophet's Town. I think, sir, 'tis a very fitting place. HARRISON. A fitting place if white men were our foes; But to the red it gives a clear advantage. Sleep like the weasel here, if you are wise! 1ST OFFICER. Why, sir, their chiefs, so menacing at first, Became quite friendly at the last. They fear A battle, and will treat on any terms. The Prophet's tide of strength will ebb away, And leave his stranded bark upon the mire. HARRISON. 'Tis the mixed craft of old dissembling Nature! If I could look upon her smallest web, And see in it but crossed and harmless hairs, Then might I trust the Prophet's knotted seine. I did not like the manner of those chiefs Who spoke so fairly. What but highest greatness Plucks hatred from its seat, and in its stead Plants friendship in an instant? This our camp Is badly placed; each coulee and ravine Is dangerous cover for approach by night; And all the circuit of the spongy plain A treacherous bog to mire our cavalry. They who directed us so warmly here Had other than our comfort in their eye. 2ND OFFICER. Fear you a night-attack, sir? HARRISON. Fear it! No! I but anticipate, and shall prepare. 'Tis sunset, and too late for better choice, Else were the Prophet welcome to his ground. Pitch tents and draw our baggage to the centre; Girdle the camp with lynx-eyed sentinels; Detail strong guards of choice and wakeful men As pickets in advance of all oar lines; Place mounted riflemen on both our flanks; Our cavalry take post in front and rear, But still within the lines of infantry, Which, struck at any point, must hold the ground Until relieved. Cover your rifle pans-- The thick clouds threaten rain. I look to you To fill these simple orders to the letter. But stay! Let all our camp fires burn Till, if attacked, we form--then drown them out. The darkness falls--make disposition straight; Then, all who can, to sleep upon their arms. I fear me, ere night yields to morning pale, The warriors' yell will sound our wild reveille. SCENE FOURTH.--TECUMSEH'S CABIN. _Enter_ IENA. IENA. Tis night, and Mamatee is absent still! Why should this sorrow weigh upon my heart, And other lonely things on earth have rest? Oh, could I be with them! The lily shone All day upon the stream, and now it sleeps Under the wave in peace--in cradle soft Which sorrow soon may fashion for my grave. Ye shadows which do creep into my thoughts-- Ye curtains of despair! what is my fault, That ye should hide the happy earth from me? Once I had joy of it, when tender Spring, Mother of beauty, hid me in her leaves; When Summer led me by the shores of song, And forests and far-sounding cataracts Melted my soul with music. I have heard The rough chill harpings of dismantled woods, When Fall had stripped them, and have felt a joy Deeper than ear could lend unto the heart; And when the Winter from his mountains wild Looked down on death, and, in the frosty sky, The very stars seemed hung with icicles, Then came a sense of beauty calm and cold, That weaned me from myself, yet knit me still With kindred bonds to Nature. All is past, And he--who won from me such love for him, And he--my valiant uncle and my friend, Comes not to lift the cloud that drapes my soul, And shield me from the fiendish Prophet's power. [_Enter_ MAMATEE.] Give me his answer in his very words! MAMATEE. There is a black storm raging in his mind-- His eye darts lightning like the angry cloud Which hangs in woven darkness o'er the earth. Brief is his answer--you must go to him. The Long-Knife's camp fires gleam among the oaks Which dot yon western hill. A thousand men Are sleeping there cajoled to fatal dreams By promises the Prophet breaks to-night. Hark! 'tis the war-song. IENA. Dares the Prophet now Betray Tecumseh's trust, and break his faith? MAMATEE. He dares do anything will feed ambition. His dancing braves are frenzied by his tongue, Which prophesies revenge and victory. Before the break of day he will surprise The Long-Knife's camp, and hang our people's fate Upon a single onset. IENA. Should he fail? MAMATEE. Then all will fail;--Tecumseh's scheme will fail. IENA. It shall not! Let us go to him at once! MAMATEE. And risk your life? IENA. Risk hovers everywhere When night and man combine for darksome deeds. I'll go to him, and argue on my knees-- Yea, yield my hand--would I could give my heart! To stay his purpose and this act of ruin. MAMATEE. He is not in the mood for argument Rash girl! they die who would oppose him now. IENA. Such death were sweet as life--I go! But, first--Great Spirit! I commit my soul to Thee. [_Kneels_.] SCENE FIFTH.--AN OPEN SPACE IN THE FOREST NEAR THE PROPHET'S TOWN. A FIRE OF BILLETS BURNING. WAR CRIES ARE HEARD FROM THE TOWN. _Enter the_ PROPHET. PROPHET. My spells do work apace! Shout yourselves hoarse, Ye howling ministers by whom I climb! For this I've wrought until my weary tongue, Blistered with incantation, flags in speech, And half declines its office. Every brave Inflamed by charms and oracles, is now A vengeful serpent, who will glide ere morn To sting the Long-Knife's sleeping camp to death. Why should I hesitate? My promises! My duty to Tecumseh! What are these Compared with duty here? Where I perceive A near advantage, there my duty lies; Consideration strong which overweighs All other reason. Here is Harrison-- Trepanned to dangerous lodgment for the night-- Each deep ravine which grooves the prairie's breast A channel of approach; each winding creek A screen for creeping death. Revenge is sick To think of such advantage flung aside. For what? To let Tecumseh's greatness grow, Who gathers his rich harvest of renown Out of the very fields that I have sown! By Manitou, I will endure no more! Nor, in the rising flood of our affairs, Fish like an osprey for this eagle longer. But, soft! It is the midnight hour when comes Tarhay to claim his bride, (_calls_) Tarhay! Tarhay! [_Enter_ TARHAY _with several braves_.] TARHAY. Tarhay is here! PROPHET. The Long-Knives die to-night. The spirits which do minister to me Have breathed this utterance within my ear. You know my sacred office cuts me off From the immediate leadership in fight. My nobler work is in the spirit-world, And thence come promises which make us strong. Near to the foe I'll keep the Magic Bowl, Whilst you, Tarhay, shall lead our warriors on. TARHAY. I'll lead them; they are wild with eagerness. But fill my cold and empty cabin first With light and heat! You know I love your niece, And have the promise of her hand to-night. PROPHET. She shall be yours! (_To the braves_) Go bring her here at once--But, look! Fulfilment of my promise comes In her own person. _Enter_ IENA _and_ MAMATEE. Welcome, my sweet niece! You have forestalled my message by these braves, And come unbidden to your wedding place. IENA. Uncle! you know my heart is far away-- PROPHET. But still your hand is here! this little hand! (_Pulling her forward_) IENA. Dare you enforce a weak and helpless girl, Who thought to move you by her misery? Stand back! I have a message for you too. What means the war-like song, the dance of braves, And bustle in our town? PROPHET. It means that we Attack the foe to-night. IENA. And risk our all? O that Tecumseh knew! his soul would rush In arms to intercept you. What! break faith, And on the hazard of a doubtful strife, Stake his great enterprise and all our lives! The dying curses of a ruined race Will wither up your wicked heart for this! PROPHET. False girl! your heart is with our foes; Your hand I mean to turn to better use. IENA. Oh, could it turn you from your mad intent How freely would I give it! Drop this scheme, Dismiss your frenzied warriors to their beds; And, if contented with my hand, Tarhay Can have it here. TARHAY. I love you, Iena! IENA. Then must you love what I do! Love our race! 'Tis this love nerves Tecumseh to unite Its scattered tribes--his fruit of noble toil, Which you would snatch unripened from his hand, And feed to sour ambition. Touch it not-- Oh, touch it not Tarhay! and though my heart Breaks for it, I am yours. PROPHET. His anyway, Or I am not the Prophet! TARHAY. For my part I have no leaning to this rash attempt, Since Iena consents to be my wife. PROPHET. Shall I be thwarted by a yearning fool! _(Aside.)_ This soft, sleek girl, to outward seeming good, I know to be a very fiend beneath-- Whose sly affections centre on herself, And feed the gliding snake within her heart. TARHAY. I cannot think her so-- MAMATEE. She is not so! There is the snake that creeps among our race; Whose venomed fangs would bite into our lives, And poison all our hopes. PROPHET. She is the head-- The very neck of danger to me here, Which I must break at once! (_aside_) Tarhay--attend! I can see dreadful visions in the air; I can dream awful dreams of life and fate; I can bring darkness on the heavy earth; I can fetch shadows from our fathers' graves, And spectres from the sepulchres of hell Who dares dispute with me, disputes with death! Dost hear, Tarhay? [TARHAY and braves cower before the PROPHET.] TARHAY. I hear, and will obey. Spare me! Spare me! PROPHET. As for this foolish girl, The hand she offers you on one condition, I give to you upon a better one; And, since she has no mind to give her heart Which, rest assured, is in her body stity There,--take it at my hands! _Flings_ IENA _violently toward_ TARHAY, _into whose arms she falls fainting, and is then borne away by_ MAMATEE. (_To_ TARHAY.) Go bring the braves to view the Mystic Torch And belt of Sacred Beans grown from my flesh One touch of it makes them invulnerable Then creep, like stealthy panthers, on the foe! SCENE SIXTH.--MORNING. THE FIELD OF TIPPECANOE AFTER THE BATTLE. THE GROUND STREWN WITH DEAD SOLDIERS AND WARRIORS. _Enter_ HARRISON, _officers and soldiers and_ BARRON. HARRISON. A costly triumph reckoned by our slain! Look how some lie still clenched with savages In all-embracing death, their bloody hands Glued in each other's hair! Make burial straight Of all alike in deep and common graves: Their quarrel now is ended. 1ST OFFICER. I have heard. The red man fears our steel--'twas not so here; From the first shots, which drove our pickets in, Till daylight dawned they rushed upon our lines, And flung themselves upon our bayonet points In frenzied recklessness of bravery. BARRON. They trusted in the Prophet's rites and spells, Which promised them immunity from death. All night he sat on yon safe eminence, Howling his songs of war and mystery, Then fled, at dawn, in fear of his own braves. [_Enter an AIDE_] HARRISON. What tidings bring you from the Prophet's Town? AIDE. The wretched women with their children fly To distant forests for concealment. In Their village is no living thing save mice Which scampered as we oped each cabin door. Their pots still simmered on the vacant hearths, Standing in dusty silence and desertion. Naught else we saw, save that their granaries Were crammed with needful corn. HARRISON. Go bring it all-- Then burn their village down! [_Exit_ AIDE.] 2ND OFFICER. This victory Will shake Tecumseh's project to the base Were I the Prophet I should drown myself Rather than meet him. BARRON. We have news of him-- Our scouts report him near in heavy force. HARRISON. 'Twill melt or draw across the British line, And wait for war. But double the night watch, Lest he should strike, and give an instant care To all our wounded men: to-morrow's sun Must light us on our backward march for home Thence Rumour's tongue will spread so proud a story New England will grow envious of our glory; And, greedy for renown so long abhorred, Will on old England draw the tardy sword! SCENE SEVENTH.--THE RUINS OF THE PROPHET'S TOWN. [_Enter the_ PROPHET, _who gloomily surveys the place_.] PROPHET. Our people scattered, and our town in ashes! To think these hands could work such madness here-- This envious head devise this misery! Tecumseh, had not my ambition drawn Such sharp and fell destruction on our race You might have smiled at me! for I have matched My cunning 'gainst your wisdom, and have dragged Myself and all into a sea of ruin. [_Enter_ TECUMSEH.] TECUMSEH. Devil! I have discovered you at last! You sum of treacheries, whose wolfish fangs Have torn our people's flesh--you shall not live! [_The_ PROPHET _retreats facing and followed by_ TECUMSEH.] PROPHET. Nay--strike me not! I can explain it all! It was a woman touched the Magic Bowl, And broke the brooding spell. TECUMSEH. Impostor! Slave! Why should I spare you? [_Lifts his hand as if to strike._] PROPHET. Stay, stay, touch me not! One mother bore us in the self-same hour. TECUMSEH. Then good and evil came to light together. Go to the corn-dance, change your name to villain! Away! Your presence tempts my soul to mischief. [_Exit the_ PROPHET _hastily_.] Would that I were a woman, and could weep, And slake hot rage with tears! O spiteful fortune, To lure me to the limit of my dreams, Then turn and crowd the ruin of my toil Into the narrow compass of a night. My brother's deep disgrace--myself the scorn Of envious harriers and thieves of fame, Who fain would rob me of the lawful meed Of faithful services and duties done-- Oh, I could bear it all! But to behold Our ruined people hunted to their graves-- To see the Long-Knife triumph in their shame-- This is the burning shaft, the poisoned wound That rankles in my soul! But, why despair? All is not lost--the English are our friends. My spirit rises--manhood bear me up! I'll haste to Malden, join my force to theirs, And fall with double fury on our foes. Farewell ye plains and forests, but rejoice! Ye yet shall echo to Tecumseh's voice. [_Enter_ LEFROY.] LEFROY. What tidings have you gleaned of Iena? TECUMSEH. My brother meant to wed her to Tarhay-- The chief who led his warriors to ruin; But, in the gloom and tumult of the night, She fled into the forest all alone. LEFROY. Alone! In the wide forest all alone! Angels are with her now, for she is dead. TECUMSEH. You know her to be skilful with the bow. 'Tis certain she would strike for some great Lake-- Erie or Michigan. At the Detroit Are people of our nation, and perchance She fled for shelter there. I go at once To join the British force. [_Exit_ TECUMSEH.] LEFROY. But yesterday I climbed to Heaven upon the shining stairs Of love and hope, and here am quite cast down. My little flower amidst a weedy world, Where art thou now? In deepest forest shade? Or onward, where the sumach stands arrayed In Autumn splendour, its alluring form Fruited, yet odious with the hidden worm? Or, farther, by some still sequestered lake, Loon-haunted, where the sinewy panthers slake Their noon-day thirst, and never voice is heard Joyous of singing waters, breeze or bird, Save their wild waitings.--(_A halloo without_) 'Tis Tecumseh calls! Oh Iena! If dead, where'er thou art-- Thy saddest grave will be this ruined heart! [_Exit_.] END OF THIRD ACT. ACT IV. _Enter_ CHORUS. War is declared, unnatural and wild, By Revolution's calculating sons! So leave the home of mercenary minds, And wing with me, in your uplifted thoughts, Away to our unyielding Canada! There to behold the Genius of the Land, Beneath her singing pine and sugared tree, Companioned with the lion, Loyalty. SCENE FIRST.--A ROOM IN FORT GEORGE. [_Enter_ GENERAL BROCK _reading a despatch from Montreal_.] BROCK. Prudent and politic Sir George Prevost! Hull's threatened ravage of our western coast, Hath more breviloquence than your despatch. Storms are not stilled by reasoning with air, Nor fires quenched by a syrup of sweet words. So to the wars, Diplomacy, for now Our trust is in our arms and arguments Delivered only from the cannon's mouth! [_Rings_.] [_Enter an_ ORDERLY. ] ORDERLY. Your Exc'llency? BROCK. Bid Colonel Proctor come! [_Exit Orderly_.] Now might the head of gray Experience Shake o'er the problems that surround us here. I am no stranger to the brunt of war, But all the odds so lean against our side That valour's self might tremble for the issue, Could England stretch its full, assisting hand Then might I smile though velvet-footed time Struck all his claws at once into our flesh; But England, noble England, fights for life, Couching the knightly lance for liberty 'Gainst a new dragon that affrights the world. And, now, how many noisome elements Would plant their greed athwart this country's good! How many demagogues bewray its cause! How many aliens urge it to surrender! Our present good must match their present ill, And, on our frontiers, boldest deeds in war, Dismay the foe, and strip the loins of faction. [_Enter_ COLONEL PROCTOR. ] Time waits not our conveniency; I trust Your preparations have no further needs. PROCTOR. All is in readiness, and I can leave For Amherstburg at once. BROCK. Then tarry not, For time is precious to us now as powder. You understand my wishes and commands? PROCTOR. I know them and shall match them with obedience. BROCK. Rest not within the limit of instructions If you can better them, for they should bind The feeble only; able men enlarge And shape them to their needs. Much must be done That lies in your discretion. At Detroit Hull vaunts his strength, and meditates invasion, And loyalty, unarmed, defenceless, bare, May let this boaster light upon our shores Without one manly motion of resistance. So whilst I open Parliament at York, Close it again, and knit our volunteers, Be yours the task to head invasion off. Act boldly, but discreetly, and so draw Our interest to the balance, that affairs May hang in something like an even scale, Till I can join you with a fitting force, And batter this old Hull until he sinks. So fare-you-well--success attend your mission! PROCTOR. Farewell, sir! I shall do my best in this, And put my judgment to a prudent use In furtherance of all. [_Exit_ PROCTOR.] BROCK. Prudent he will be--'tis a vice in him. For in the qualities of every mind There's one o'ergrows, and prudence in this man Tops all the rest. 'Twill suit our present needs. But, boldness, go with me! for, if I know My nature well, I shall do something soon Whose consequence will make the nation cheer, Or hiss me to my grave. [_Re-enter_ ORDERLY. ] ORDERLY. Your Exc'llency, Some settlers wait without. BROCK. Whence do they come? [_Enter_ COLONEL MACDONELL.] ORDERLY. From the raw clearings up Lake Erie, Sir. BROCK. Go bring them here at once. [_Exit_ ORDERLY.] The very men Who meanly shirk their service to the crown! A breach of duty to be remedied, For disaffection like an ulcer spreads Until the caustic ointment of the law, Sternly applied, eats up and stays corruption. [(_Enter_ DEPUTATION OF YANKEE SETTLERS).] Good morrow, worthy friends; I trust you bear Good hopes in loyal hearts for Canada. 1ST SETTLER. That kind o' crop's a failure in our county. Gen'ral, we came to talk about this war With the United States. It ain't quite fair To call out settlers from the other side. BROCK. From it yet on it too! Why came you thence? Is land so scarce in the United States? Are there no empty townships, wilds or wastes In all their borders but you must encroach On ours? And, being here, how dare you make Your dwelling-places harbours of sedition And furrow British soil with alien ploughs To feed our enemies? There is not scope, Not room enough in all this wilderness For men so base. 2ND SETTLER. Why, General, we thought You wanted settlers here. BROCK. Settlers indeed But with the soldier's courage to defend The land of their adoption. This attack On Canada is foul and unprovoked; The hearts are vile, the hands are traitorous That will not help to hurl invasion back. Beware the lariat of the law! 'Tis thrown With aim so true in Canada it brings Sedition to the ground at every cast. 1ST SETTLER. Well, General, we're not your British sort, But if we were we know that Canada Is naught compared with the United States. We have no faith in her, but much in them. BROCK. You have no faith! Then take a creed from me! For I believe in Britain's Empire, and In Canada, its true and loyal son, Who yet shall rise to greatness, and shall stand At England's shoulder helping her to guard True liberty throughout a faithless world. Here is a creed for arsenals and camps, For hearts and heads that seek their country's good; So, go at once, and meditate on it! I have no time to parley with you now-- But think on this as well! that traitors, spies, And aliens who refuse to take up arms, Forfeit their holdings, and must leave this land, Or dangle nearer Heaven than they wish. So to your homes, and ponder your condition. [_Exeunt Settlers ruefully_.] This foreign element will hamper us. Its alien spirit ever longs for change, And union with the States. MACDONELL. O fear it not, Nor magnify the girth of noisy men! Their name is faction, and their numbers few. While everywhere encompassing them stands The silent element that doth not change; That points with steady finger to the Crown-- True as the needle to the viewless pole, And stable as its star! BROCK. I know it well, And trust to it alone for earnestness, Accordant counsels, loyalty and faith. But give me these--and let the Yankees come! With our poor handful of inhabitants, We can defend our forest wilderness, And spurn the bold invader from our shores. [_Re-enter_ ORDERLY.] ORDERLY. Your boat is ready, sir! BROCK. Man it at once--I shall forthwith to York. [_Exeunt_.] SCENE SECOND.--YORK THE CAPITAL OF UPPER CANADA. THE SPACE IN FRONT OF OLD GOVERNMENT HOUSE. [_Enter two_ U. E. LOYALISTS, _separately_.] 1ST U.E. LOYALIST. Well met, my friend! A stirrer like myself. 2ND U. E. LOYALIST. Yes, affairs make me so. Such stirring times Since Brock returned and opened Parliament! Read you his speech? 1ST U. E. LOYALIST. That from the Throne? 2ND U.E. LOYALIST. Ay, that! 1ST U.E. LOYALIST. You need not ask, since 'tis on every tongue, Unstaled by repetition. I affirm Words never showered upon more fruitful soil To nourish valour's growth. 2ND U. E. LOYALIST. That final phrase-- Oh it struck home: a sentence to be framed And hung in every honourable heart For daily meditation. "_We are engaged in an awful and eventful contest. By unanimity and dispatch in our councils, and by vigour in our operations, we may teach the enemy this lesson, that a country defended by free men, enthusiastically devoted to the cause of their king and constitution, can never be conquered._" 1ST U. E. LOYALIST. That reaches far; a text to fortify Imperial doctrine and Canadian rights. Sedition skulks, and feels its blood a-cold, Since first it fell upon the public ear. 2ND U. E. LOYALIST. There is a magic in this soldier's tongue. O language is a common instrument; But when a master touches it--what sounds! 1ST U. E. LOYALIST. What sounds indeed! But Brock can use his sword Still better than his tongue. Our state affairs, Conned and digested by his eager mind Draw into form, and even now his voice Cries, Forward! To the Front! 2ND U. E. LOYALIST. Look--here he comes! 1ST U.E. LOYALIST. There's matter in the wind; let's draw a-near. [_Enter_ GENERAL BROCK, _accompanied by_ MACDONELL, NICHOL, ROBINSON _and other Canadian Officers and friends conversing_.] BROCK. 'Tis true our Province faces heavy odds: Of regulars but fifteen hundred men To guard a frontier of a thousand miles; Of volunteers what aidance we can draw From seventy thousand widely scattered souls. A meagre showing 'gainst the enemy's If numbers be the test. But odds lie not In numbers only, but in spirit too-- Witness the might of England's little isle! And what made England great will keep her so-- The free soul and the valour of her sons; And what exalts her will sustain you now If you contain her courage and her faith. So not the odds so much are to be feared As private disaffection, treachery-- Those openers of the door to enemies-- And the poor crouching spirit that gives way Ere it is forced to yield. ROBINSON. No fear of that! BROCK. I trust there is not; yet I speak of it As what is to be feared more than the odds. For like to forests are communities-- Fair at a distance, entering you find The rubbish and the underbrush of states, 'Tis ever the mean soul that counts the odds, And, where you find this spirit, pluck it up-- 'Tis full of mischief. MACDONELL. It is almost dead. England's vast war, our weakness, and the eagle Whetting his beak at Sandwich, with one claw Already in our side, put thought to steep In cold conjecture for a time, and gave A text to alien tongues. But, since you came, Depression turns to smiling, and men see That dangers well-opposed may be subdued Which shunned would overwhelm us. BROCK. Hold to this! For since the storm has struck us we must face it. What is our present count of volunteers? NICHOL. More than you called for have assembled, Sir-- The flower of York and Lincoln. BROCK. Some will go To guard our frontier at Niagara. Which must be strengthened even at the cost Of York itself. The rest to the Detroit, Where, with Tecumseh's force, our regulars, And Kent and Essex loyal volunteers, We'll give this Hull a taste of steel so cold His teeth will chatter at it, and his scheme Of easy conquest vanish into air. [_Enter a_ COMPANY _of_ MILITIA _with their_ OFFICERS, _unarmed. They salute, march across the stage, and make their exit_.] What men are those? Their faces are familiar. ROBINSON. Some farmers whom you furloughed at Fort George, To tend their fields, which still they leave half- reaped To meet invasion. BROCK. I remember it! The jarring needs of harvest-time and war, Twixt whose necessities grave hazards lay. ROBINSON. They only thought to save their children's bread, And then return to battle with light hearts. For, though their hard necessities o'erpoised Their duty for the moment, these are men. Who draw their pith from loyal roots, their sires, Dug up by revolution, and cast out To hovel in the bitter wilderness, And wring, with many a tussle, from the wolf Those very fields which cry for harvesters. BROCK. O I observed them closely at Fort George-- Red-hot for action in their summer-sleeves, And others drilling in their naked feet-- Our poor equipment (which disgraced us there) Too scanty to go round. See they get arms, An ample outfit and good quarters too. NICHOL. They shall be well provided for in all. [_Enter_ COLONELS BABY [Footnote: Pronounced Baw- bee.] _and_ ELLIOTT.] BROCK. Good morning both; what news from home, Baby? BABY. None, none your Excellency--whereat we fear This Hull is in our rear at Amherstburg. BROCK. Not yet; what I unsealed last night reports Tecumseh to have foiled the enemy In two encounters at the Canard bridge. A noble fellow; as I hear, humane, Lofty and bold and rooted in our cause. BABY. I know him well; a chief of matchless force. If Mackinaw should fall--that triple key To inland seas and teeming wilderness-- The bravest in the west will flock to him. BROCK. 'Twere well he had an inkling of affairs. My letters say he chafes at my delay, Not mine, but thine, thou dull and fatuous House-- Which, in a period that whips delay, When men should spur themselves and flash in action, Let'st idly leak the unpurchasable hours From our scant measure of most precious time! BABY. 'Tis true, Your Exc'llency, some cankered minds Have been a daily hind'rance in our House. No measure so essential, bill so fair, But they would foul it by some cunning clause, Wrenching the needed statute from its aim By sly injection of their false opinion. But this you cannot charge to us whose hearts Are faithful to our trust; nor yet delay; For, Exc'llency, you hurry on so fast That other men wheeze after, out of breath, And haste itself, disparaged, lags behind. BROCK. Friends, pardon me, you stand not in reproof. But haste, the evil of the age in peace, Is war's auxiliary, confederate With time himself in urgent great affairs. So must we match it with the flying hours! I shall prorogue this tardy Parliament, And promptly head our forces for Detroit Meanwhile, I wish you, in advance of us, To speed unto your homes. Spread everywhere Throughout the West, broad tidings of our coming, Which, by the counter currents of reaction, Will tell against our foes and for our friends. As for the rest, such loyal men as you Need not our counsel; so, good journey both! BABY. We shall not spare our transport or ourselves. [_Enter a travel-stained_ MESSENGER.] ELLIOTT. Good-bye. BABY. Tarry a moment, Elliott! Here comes a messenger-- let's have his news. MESSENGER. It is his Excellency whom I seek. I come, sir, with despatches from the west. BROCK. Tidings I trust to strengthen all our hopes. MESSENGER. News of grave interest, this not the worst. [_Handing a letter to_ GENERAL BROCK.] BROCK. No, by my soul, for Mackinaw is ours! That vaunted fort, whose gallant capture frees Our red allies. This is important news! What of Detroit! MESSENGER. Things vary little there. Hull's soldiers scour our helpless settlements, Our aliens join them, but the loyal mass-- Sullen, yet overawed, longs for relief. BROCK. I hope to better this anon. You, sirs, [_To his aides_.] Come with me; here is matter to despatch At once to Montreal. Farewell, my friends. [_To Baby and Elliott._] BABY. We feel now what will follow this, farewell! [_Exeunt_ BABY, ELLIOTT _and_ MESSENGER.] BROCK. Now, gentlemen, prepare against our needs, That no neglect may check us at the start, Or mar our swift advance. And, for our cause, As we believe it just in sight of God, So should it triumph in the sight of man, Whose generous temper, at the first, assigns Right to the weaker side, yet coldly draws Damning conclusions from its failure. Now Betake you to your tasks with double zeal; And, meanwhile, let our joyful tidings spread! [_Exeunt._] SCENE THIRD.--THE SAME. _Enter two_ OLD MEN _of York, severally_. 1ST OLD MAN. Good morrow, friend! a fair and fitting time To take our airing, and to say farewell. 'Tis here, I think, we bid our friends God-speed, A waftage, peraventure, to their graves. 2ND OLD MAN. 'Tis a good cause they die for, if they fall By this grey pate, if I were young again, I would no better journey. Young again! This hubbub sets old pulses on the bound As I were in my teens. _Enter_ a CITIZEN. What news afoot? CITIZEN. Why everyone's afoot and coming here. York's citizens are turned to warriors; The learned professions go a-soldiering, And gentle hearts beat high for Canada! For, as you pass, on every hand you see, Through the neglected openings of each house-- Through doorways, windows--our Canadian maids Strained by their parting lovers to their breasts; And loyal matrons busy round their lords, Buckling their arms on, or, with tearful eyes, Kissing them to the war! 1ST OLD MAN. The volunteers Will pass this way? CITIZEN. Yes, to the beach, and there Embark for Burlington, whence they will march To Long Point, taking open boats again, To plough the shallow Erie's treacherous flood. Such leaky craft as farmers market with: Rare bottoms, one sou-wester-driven wave Would heave against Lake Erie's wall of shore, And dash to fragments. 'Tis an awful hazard-- A danger which in apprehension lies, Yet palpable unto the spirit's touch, As earth to finger. 1ST OLD MAN. Let us hope a calm May lull this fretful and ill-tempered lake Whilst they ascend. [_Military music is heard._] CITIZEN. Hark! here our soldiers come. _Enter_ GENERAL BROCK, _with his aides,_ MACDONELL _and_ GLEGG, NICHOL, _and other Officers, followed by the Volunteers in companies. A concourse of citizens._ MACDONELL. Our fellows show the mark of training, sir, And many, well in hand, yet full of fire, Are burning for distinction. BROCK. This is good: Love of distinction is the fruitful soil From which brave actions spring; and, superposed On love of country, these strike deeper root, And grow to greater greatness. Cry a halt-- A word here--then away! [_Flourish. The volunteers halt, form line, and order arms._] Ye men of Canada! Subjects with me of that Imperial Power Whose liberties are marching round the earth: I need not urge you now to follow me, Though what befalls will try your stubborn faith In the fierce fire and crucible of war. I need not urge you, who have heard the voice Of loyalty, and answered to its call. Who has not read the insults of the foe-- The manifesto of his purposed crimes? That foe, whose poison-plant, false-liberty, Runs o'er his body politic and kills Whilst seeming to adorn it, fronts us now! Threats our poor Province to annihilate, And should he find the red men by our side-- Poor injured souls, who but defend their own-- Calls black Extermination from its hell, To stalk abroad, and stench your land with slaughter. These are our weighty arguments for war, Wherein armed justice will enclasp its sword, And sheath it in its bitter adversary; Wherein we'll turn our bayonet-points to pens, And write in blood:--_Here lies the poor invader_; Or be ourselves struck down by hailing death; Made stepping-stones for foes to walk upon-- The lifeless gangways to our country's ruin. For now we look not with the eye of fear; We reck not if this strange mechanic frame-- Stop in an instant in the shock of war. Our death may build into our country's life, And failing this, 'twere better still to die Than live the breathing spoils of infamy. Then forward for our cause and Canada! Forward for Britain's Empire--peerless arch Of Freedom's raising, whose majestic span Is axis to the world! On, on, my friends! The task our country sets must we perform-- Wring peace from war, or perish in its storm! [_Excitement and leave-taking. The volunteers break into column and sing:_] O hark to the voice from the lips of the free! O hark to the cry from the lakes to the sea! Arm! arm! the invader is wasting our coasts, And tainting the air of our land with his hosts. Arise! then, arise! let us rally and form, And rush like the torrent, and sweep like the storm, On the foes of our King,--of our country adored, Of the flag that was lost, but in exile restored! And whose was the flag? and whose was the soil? And whose was the exile, the suffering, the toil? Our Fathers'! who carved in the forest a name, And left us rich heirs of their freedom and fame. Oh, dear to our hearts is that flag, and the land Our Fathers bequeathed--'tis the work of their hand! And the soil they redeemed from the woods with renown The might of their sons will defend for the Crown! Our hearts they are one, and our hands they are free, From clime unto clime, and from sea unto sea! And chaos will come to the States that annoy, But our Empire united what foe can destroy? Then away! to the front! march! comrades away! In the lists of each hour crowd the work of a day! We will follow our leader to fields far and nigh, And for Canada fight, and for Canada die! [_Exeunt with military music._] SCENE FOURTH.--FORT DETROIT.--THE AMERICAN CAMP. _Enter_ GENERAL HULL, COLONEL CASS _and other Officers._ CASS. Come, General, we must insist on reasons! Your order to withdraw from Canada Will blow to mutiny, and put to shame That proclamation which I wrote for you, Wherein 'tis proudly said, "_We are prepared To look down opposition, our strong force But vanguard of a mightier still to come!_" And men have been attracted to our cause Who now will curse us for this breach of faith. Consider, sir, again! HULL. I am not bound To tack my reasons to my orders; this Is my full warrant and authority-- [_Pointing to his Instructions._] Yet, I have ample grounds for what I do. CASS. What are they, then? HULL. First, that this proclamation Meets not with due response, wins to our side The thief and refugee, not honest men. These plainly rally round their government. 1ST OFFICER. Why, yes; there's something lacking in this people, If we must conquer them to set them free. HULL. Ay, and our huge force must be larger still, If we would change these Provinces to States. Then, Colonel Proctor's intercepted letter-- Bidding the captor of Fort Mackinaw Send but five thousand warriors from the West, Which, be it artifice or not, yet points To great and serious danger. Add to this Brock's rumoured coming with his Volunteers, All burning to avenge their fathers' wrongs, And our great foe, Tecumseh, fired o'er his; These are the reasons; grave enough, I think, Which urge me to withdraw from Canada, And wait for further force; so, go at once, And help our soldiers to recross the river. CASS. But I see---- HULL. No "buts"! You have my orders. CASS. No solid reason here, naught but a group Of flimsy apprehensions---- HULL. Go at once! Who kicks at judgment, lacks it. CASS. I---- HULL. No more! I want not wrangling but obedience here. [_Exeunt_ CASS _and other officers incensed._] Would I had ne'er accepted this command! Old men are out of favour with the time, And youthful folly scoffs at hoary age. There's not a man who executes my orders With a becoming grace; not one but sulks, And puffs his disapproval with a frown. And what am I? A man whom Washington Nodded approval of, and wrote it too! Yet here, in judgment and discretion both, Ripe to the dropping, scorned and ridiculed. Oh, Jefferson, what mischief have you wrought-- Confounding Nature's order, setting fools To prank themselves, and sit in wisdom's seat By right divine, out Heroding a King's! But I shall keep straight on--pursue my course, Responsible and with authority, Though boasters gird at me, and braggarts frown. [_Exit._] SCENE FIFTH.--SANDWICH, ON THE DETROIT.--A ROOM IN THE BABY MANSION. _Enter_ GENERAL BROCK, COLONELS PROCTOR, GLEGG, BABY, MACDONELL, NICHOL, ELLIOTT _and other Officers_. BABY. Welcome! thrice welcome! Brave Brock, to Sandwich and this loyal roof! Thank God, your oars, those weary levers bent In many a wave, have been unshipped at last; And, now methinks those lads who stemmed the flood Would boldly face the fire. BROCK. I never led Men of more cheerful and courageous heart, But for whose pluck, foul weather and short seas, 'Twere truth to say, had made an end of us. Another trial will, I think, approve The manly strain this Canada hath bred. PROCTOR. 'Tis pity that must be denied them now, Since all our enemies have left our shores. BROCK. No, by my soul, it shall not be denied! Our foe's withdrawal hath a magnet's power And pulls my spirit clean into his fort. But I have asked you to confer on this. What keeps Tecumseh? ELLIOTT. 'Tis his friend, Lefroy, Who now rejoins him, after bootless quest Of Iena, Tecumseh's niece. BROCK. Lefroy! I had a gentle playmate of that name In Guernsey, long ago. BABY. It may be he. I know him, and, discoursing our affairs, Have heard him speak of you, but in a strain Peculiar to the past. BROCK. He had in youth. All goods belonging to the human heart, But fell away to Revolution's side-- Impulsive ever, and o'er prompt to see In kings but tyrants, and in laws but chains. I have not seen or heard of him for years. BABY. The very man! BROCK. 'Tis strange to find him here! ELLIOTT. He calls the red men freedom's last survival; Says truth is only found in Nature's growth-- Her first intention, ere false knowledge rose To frame distinctions, and exhaust the world. BROCK. Few find like him the substance of their dreams. But, Elliott, let us seek Tecumseh now. Stay, friends, till we return. [_Exeunt_ BROCK _and_ ELLIOTT.] GLEGG. How odd to find An old friend in this fashion! PROCTOR. Humph! a fool Who dotes on forest tramps and savages. Why, at the best, they are the worst of men; And this Tecumseh has so strained my temper, So over-stept my wishes, thrid my orders, That I would sooner ask the devil's aid Than such as his. NICHOL. Why, Brock is charmed with him! And, as you saw, at Amherstburg he put Most stress upon opinion when he spoke. MACDONELL. Already they've determined on assault. PROCTOR. Then most unwisely so! There are no bounds To this chief's rashness, and our General seem Swayed by it too, or rashness hath a twin. NICHOL. Well, rashness is the wind of enterprise, And blows its banners out. But here they come Who dig beneath their rashness for their reasons. _Re-enter_ GENERAL BROCK _and_ COLONEL ELLIOTT, _accompanied by_ TECUMSEH, _conversing_. TECUMSEH. We have been much abused! and have abused Our fell destroyers too--making our wrongs The gauge of our revenge. And, still forced back From the first justice and the native right, Ever revenge hath sway. This we would void, And, by a common boundary, prevent. So, granting that a portion of our own Is still our own, then let that portion be Confirmed by sacred treaty to our tribes. This is my sum of asking--you have ears! BROCK. Nay, then, Tecumseh, speak of it no more! My promise is a pledge, and from a man Who never turned his back on friend or foe. The timely service you have done our cause, Rating not what's to come, would warrant it. So, if I live, possess your soul of this-- No treaty for a peace, if we prevail, Will bear a seal that doth not guard your rights. Here, take my sash, and wear it for my sake-- Tecumseh can esteem a soldier's gift. TECUMSEH. Thanks, thanks, my brother, I have faith in you; My life is at your service! BROCK. Gentlemen, Have you considered my proposal well Touching the capture of Detroit by storm? What say you Colonel Proctor? PROCTOR. I object! 'Tis true, the enemy has left our shores, But what a sorry argument is this! For his withdrawal, which some sanguine men, Jumping all other motives, charge to fear, Prudence, more deeply searching, lays to craft. Why should a foe, who far outnumbers us, Retreat o'er this great river, save to lure Our poor force after him? And, having crossed-- Our weakness seen, and all retreat cut off-- What would ensue but absolute surrender, Or sheer destruction? 'Tis too hazardous! Discretion balks at such a mad design. BROCK. What say the rest? 1ST OFFICER. I fear 'tis indiscreet. 2ND OFFICER. 'Twould be imprudent with our scanty force. BROCK. What say you, Nichol, to my foolish scheme? NICHOL. I think it feasible and prudent too. Hull's letters, captured by Tecumseh, prove His soldiers mutinous, himself despondent. And dearly Rumor loves the wilderness, Which gives a thousand echoes to a tongue That ever swells and magnifies our strength. And in this flux we take him, on the hinge Of two uncertainties--his force and ours. So, weighed, objections fall; and our attempt, Losing its grain of rashness, takes its rise In clearest judgment, whose effect will nerve All Canada to perish, ere she yield. BROCK. My very thoughts! What says Tecumseh now? TECUMSEH. I say attack the fort! This very night I'll cross my braves, if you decide on this. BROCK. Then say no more! Glegg, take a flag of truce, And bear to Hull this summons to surrender. Tell him Tecumseh and his force are here-- A host of warriors brooding on their wrongs, Who, should resistance flush them to revenge, Would burst from my control like wind-borne fire, And match on earth the miseries of hell. But, should he yield, his safety is assured. Tell him Tecumseh's word is pledged to this, Who, though his temperate will in peace is law Yet casts a loose rein to enforced rage. Add what your fancy dictates; but the stress Place most on what I speak of--this he fears, And these same fears, well wrought upon by you, May prove good workers for us yet. GLEGG. I go, And shall acquit myself as best I can. [_Exit_ GLEGG.] BROCK. Tecumseh, wonder not at such a message! The guilty conscience of your foes is judge Of their deserts, and hence 'twill be believed. The answer may be 'nay,' so to our work-- Which perfected, we shall confer again, Then cross at break of morn. [_Exeunt all but_ TECUMSEH.] TECUMSEH. This is a man! And our great father, waking from his sleep, Has sent him to oar aid. Master of Life, Endue my warriors with double strength! May the wedged helve be faithful to the axe, The arrow fail not, and the flint be firm! That our great vengeance, like the whirlwind fell, May cleave through thickets of our enemies A broad path to our ravaged lands again. [_Exit_.] SCENE SIXTH.--MOONLIGHT. THE BANK OF THE DETROIT RIVER, NEAR THE BABY MANSION. _Enter_ CAPTAIN ROBINSON. ROBINSON. I thought to find my brother here--poor boy, The day's hard labor woos him to his rest. How sweet the night! how beautiful the place! Who would not love thee, good old Sandwich town! Abode of silence and sweet summer dreams-- Let speculation pass, nor progress touch Thy silvan homes with hard, unhallowed hand! The light wind whispers, and the air is rich With vapours which exhale into the night; And, round me here, this village in the leaves Darkling doth slumber. How those giant pears Loom with uplifted and high-ancient heads, Like forest trees! A hundred years ago They, like their owner, had their roots in France-- In fruitful Normandy--but here refuse Unlike, to multiply, as if their spirits Grieved in their alien home. The village sleeps, So should I seek that hospitable roof Of thine, thou good old loyalist, Baby! Thy mansion is a shrine, whereto shall come On pilgrimages, in the distant days, The strong and generous youths of Canada, And, musing there in rich imaginings, Restore the balance and the beaver-pack To the wide hall; see forms of savagery, Vanished for ages, and the stately shades Of great Tecumseh and high-hearted Brock. So shall they profit, drinking of the past, And, drinking loyally, enlarge the faith Which love of country breeds in noble minds. But now to sleep--good night unto the world! [_Exit_.] SCENE SEVENTH.--THE SAME. _Enter_ IENA, _in distress_. IENA. Oh, have I eaten of the spirit-plant! My head swims, and my senses are confused, And all grows dark around me. Where am I? Alas! I know naught save of wanderings, And this poor bosom's weight. What pang is here, Which all my pressing cannot ease away? Poor heart! poor heart! Oh, I have travelled far, And in the forest's brooding place, or where Night-shrouded surges beat on lonely shores, Have sickened with my deep, dread, formless fears; But, never have I felt what now I feel! Great Spirit, hear me! help me!--this is death! [_Staggers and swoons behind some shrubbery.] Enter_ GENERAL BROCK _and_ LEFROY. BROCK. You may be right, Lefroy! but, for my part, I stand by old tradition and the past. My father's God is wise enough for me, And wise enough this grey world's wisest men. LEFROY. I tell you, Brock, The world is wiser than its wisest men, And shall outlive the wisdom of its gods Made after man's own liking. The crippled throne No longer shelters the uneasy king, And outworn sceptres and imperial crowns Now grow fantastic as an idiot's dream. These perish with the kingly pastime, war, And war's blind tool, the monster, Ignorance! Both hateful in themselves, but this the worst. One tyrant will remain--one impious fiend. Whose name is Gold--our earliest, latest foe! Him must the earth destroy, ere man can rise, Rightly self made, to his high destiny, Purged of his grossest faults; humane and kind; Co-equal with his fellows, and as free. BROCK. Lefroy, such thoughts, let loose, would wreck the world. The kingly function is the soul of state, The crown the emblem of authority, And loyalty the symbol of all faith. Omitting these, man's government decays-- His family falls into revolt and ruin. But let us drop this bootless argument, And tell me more of those unrivalled wastes You and Tecumseh visited. LEFROY. We left The silent forest, and, day after day, Great prairies swept beyond our aching sight Into the measureless West; uncharted realms, Voiceless and calm, save when tempestuous wind Rolled the rank herbage into billows vast, And rushing tides, which never found a shore. And tender clouds, and veils of morning mist Cast flying shadows, chased by flying light, Into interminable wildernesses, Flushed with fresh blooms, deep perfumed by the rose, And murmurous with flower-fed bird and bee. The deep-grooved bison-paths like furrows lay, Turned by the cloven hoofs of thundering herds Primeval, and still travelled as of yore. And gloomy valleys opened at our feet-- Shagged with dusk cypresses and hoary pine; And sunless gorges, rummaged by the wolf, Which through long reaches of the prairie wound, Then melted slowly into upland vales, Lingering, far-stretched amongst the spreading hills. BROCK. What charming solitudes! And life was there! LEFROY. Yes, life was there! inexplicable life, Still wasted by inexorable death. There had the stately stag his battle-field-- Dying for mastery among his hinds. There vainly sprung the affrighted antelope, Beset by glittering eyes and hurrying feet. The dancing grouse at their insensate sport, Heard not the stealthy footstep of the fox; The gopher on his little earthwork stood, With folded arms, unconscious of the fate That wheeled in narrowing circles overhead, And the poor mouse, on heedless nibbling bent, Marked not the silent coiling of the snake. At length we heard a deep and solemn sound-- Erupted moanings of the troubled earth Trembling beneath innumerable feet. A growing uproar blending in our ears, With noise tumultuous as ocean's surge, Of bellowings, fierce breath and battle shock, And ardor of unconquerable herds. A multitude whose trampling shook the plains, With discord of harsh sound and rumblings deep, As if the swift revolving earth had struck, And from some adamantine peak recoiled-- Jarring. At length we topped a high-browed hill-- The last and loftiest of a file of such-- And, lo! before us lay the tameless stock, Slow-wending to the northward like a cloud! A multitude in motion, dark and dense-- Far as the eye could reach, and farther still, In countless myriads stretched for many a league. BROCK. You fire me with the picture! What a scene! LEFROY. Nation on nation was invillaged there, Skirting the flanks of that imbanded host; With chieftains of strange speech and port of war, Who, battle-armed, in weather-brawny bulk, Roamed fierce and free in huge and wild content. These gave Tecumseh greetings fair and kind, Knowing the purpose havened in his soul. And he, too, joined the chase as few men dare; For I have seen him, leaping from his horse, Mount a careering bull in foaming flight, Urge it to fury o'er its burden strange, Yet cling tenacious, with a grip of steel, Then, by a knife-plunge, fetch it to its knees In mid-career, and pangs of speedy death. BROCK. You rave, Lefroy! or saw this in a dream. LEFROY. No, no; 'tis true--I saw him do it, Brock! Then would he seek the old, and with his spoils Restore them to the bounty of their youth, Cheering the crippled lodge with plenteous feasts, And warmth of glossy robes, as soft as down, 'Till withered cheeks ran o'er with feeble smiles, And tongues, long silent, babbled of their prime. BROCK. This warrior's fabric is of perfect parts! A worthy champion of his race--he heaps Such giant obligations on our heads As will outweigh repayment. It is late, And rest must preface war's hot work to-morrow, Else would I talk till morn. How still the night! Here Peace has let her silvery tresses down, And falls asleep beside the lapping wave. Wilt go with me? LEFROY. Nay, I shall stay awhile. BROCK. You know my quarters and the countersign-- Good-night, Lefroy! LEFROY. Good-night, good-night, good friend! [_Exit_ BROCK.] Give me the open sleep, whose bed is earth, With airy ceiling pinned by golden stars, Or vaultage more confined, plastered with clouds! Your log-roofed barrack-sleep, 'twixt drum and drum, Suits men who dream of death, and not of love. Love cannot die, nor its exhausted life, Exhaling like a breath into the air, Blend with the universe again. It lives, Knit to its soul forever. Iena! Dead in the forest wild--earth cannot claim Aught but her own from thee. Sleep on! sleep on! IENA. (_Reviving_) What place is this? LEFROY. Who's there? What voice is that! IENA. Where am I now? LEFROY. I'll follow up that sound! A desperate hope now ventures in my heart! IENA. Help me, kind Spirit! LEFROY. I could pick that voice From out a choir of angels! Iena! [_Finds her behind the shrubbery._] Tis she! 'tis she! Speak to me, Iena-- No earthly power can mar your life again, For I am here to shield it with my own. IENA. Lefroy! LEFROY. Yes, he! IENA. My friends! found, found at last! LEFROY. Found, found my love! I swear it on your lips, And seal love's contract there! Again--again-- Ah me! all earthly pleasure is a toil Compared with one long look upon your face. IENA. O, take me to my friends! A faintness came Upon me, and no farther could I go. LEFROY. What spirit led you here? IENA. My little bark Is yonder by the shore--but take me hence! For I am worn and weak with wandering. LEFROY. Come with me then. _Enter the_ PROPHET, _who stalks gloomily across the stage--scowling at_ IENA _and_ LEFROY _as he passes out._ IENA. The Prophet! I am lost! LEFROY. This monster here! But he is powerless now. Fear him not, Iena! Tecumseh's wrath Burns 'gainst him still--he dare not do thee hurt. IENA. Must I endure for ever this fiend's hate? He stabbed me with his eye-- [_Swoons away._] LEFROY. O, horrible! Let us but meet again, and I shall send His curst soul out of this accursed world! [_Exit_ LEFROY, _carrying_ IENA.] SCENE EIGHTH.--THE HIGHWAY THROUGH THE FOREST LEADING TO FORT DETROIT--THE FORT IN THE DISTANCE; CANNON AND GUNNERS AT THE GATE. _Enter_ TECUMSEH, STAYETA, _and other Chiefs and Warriors._ TECUMSEH. There is the Long-Knive's fort, within whose walls We lose our lives, or find our lands to-day. Fight for that little space--'tis wide domain! That small enclosure shuts us from our homes. There are the victors in the Prophet's strife-- Within that fort they lie--those bloody men Who burnt your town, to light their triumph up, And drove your women to the withered woods To shudder through the cold slow-creeping night, And help their infants to out-howl the wolf. Oh, the base Long-Knife grows to head, not heart-- A pitiless and murdering minister To his desires! But let us now be strong, And, if we conquer, merciful as strong! Swoop like the eagles on their prey, but turn In victory your taste to that of doves; For ever it has been reproach to us That we have stained our deeds with cruelty, And dyed our axes in our captives' blood. So, here, retort not on a vanquished foe, But teach him lessons in humanity. Now let the big heart, swelling in each breast, Strain every rib for lodgment! Warriors! Bend to your sacred task, and follow me. STAYETA. Lead on! We follow you! KICKAPOO CHIEF. Advance ye braves! TECUMSEH. Stay! make a circuit in the open woods-- Cross, and recross, and double on the path-- So shall the Long-Knives overcount our strength. Do this, Stayeta, whilst I meet my friend-- My brave white brother, and confer with him. _Enter_ GENERAL BROCK, PROCTOR, NICHOL, MACDONELL _and other Officers and Forces, on the highway_. TECUMSEH _goes down to meet them._ BROCK. Now by God's providence we face Detroit, Either to sleep within its walls to-night, Or in deep beds dug by exulting foes. Go, Nichol, make a swift reconnaissance-- We'll follow on. NICHOL. I shall, but, ere I go I do entreat you, General, take the rear; Those guns are shrewdly placed without the gate-- One raking fire might rob us of your life, And, this lost, all is lost. BROCK. Well meant, my friend! But I am here to lead, not follow, men Whose confidence has come with me thus far! Go, Nichol, to your task! [_Exit_ NICHOL. TECUMSEH _advances_.] Tecumseh, hail! Brave chieftain, you have made your promise good. TECUMSEH. My brother stands to his! and I but wait His orders to advance--my warriors Are ripe for the assault. BROCK. Deploy them, then, Upon our landward flank, and skirt the woods, Whilst we advance in column to attack. [TECUMSEH _rejoins his warriors_.] Signal our batteries on the farther shore To play upon the Fort! Be steady friends-- Be steady! Now upon your country turn Your multiplying thoughts, and strike for her! Strike for your distant and inviolate homes, Perfumed with holy prayer at this hour! Strike! with your fathers' virtue in your veins You must prevail--on, on, to the attack! [BROCK _and forces advance towards the Port. A heavy cannonading from the British batteries.] Re-enter_ NICHOL _hastily_. NICHOL Stay, General! I saw a flag of truce Cross from the Fort to the Canadian shore. BROCK. Halt! There's another from yon bastion flung; And, see! another waves adown the road-- Borne by an officer--what think you, Nichol? NICHOL Your threats are conquerors! The Fort is ours! GLEGG. Yes, look! the gunners have been all withdrawn Who manned the cannon at yon western gate. PROCTOR. So many men to yield without a blow! Why, this is wonderful! It cannot be! BROCK. Say, rather, should not be, and yet it is! 'Tis plainly written in this captain's face. _Officer with flag of truce approaches_. OFFICER. This letter from our General contains Proposals to capitulate--pray send An officer to ratify the terms. [GENERAL BROCK _reads letter_.] BROCK. You have a wise and politic commander! OFFICER. Our General knowing your superior force-- NICHOL. (_Aside_.) O this is good! 'tis barely half his own! OFFICER. And, noting your demand of yesterday With clearer judgment, doth accede to it, To bar effusion of much precious blood By reasonable treaty of surrender. BROCK. Why, this is excellent, and rare discretion! OFFICER. He fears your Indians could not be restrained. Our women's prayers--red visions of the knife-- 
22646	----	[Illustration: "Terry heard distinctly the footsteps of the warrior."] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- THE HUNTERS OF THE OZARK. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS Author Of "Young Pioneer Series," "Log Cabin Series," "Great River Series," Etc., Etc. Philadelphia: Henry T. Coates & Co. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright, 1887, by PORTER & COATES. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE. I.--AN ESTRAY, 5 II.--THE TINKLE OF A BELL, 15 III.--AN ABORIGINAL PLOT, 25 IV.--A PARTY OF THE THIRD PART, 34 V.--A FRIEND IN NEED, 44 VI.--FRED LINDEN RECEIVES A MESSAGE FROM THE OZARK CAMP, 54 VII.--THE HUNTERS OF OZARK, 64 VIII.--A WELCOME ACQUAINTANCE, 74 IX.--A MISHAP, 84 X.--A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE, 94 XI.--TRAMPING SOUTHWARD, 104 XII.--A STRANGE ANIMAL, 114 XIII.--A TROUBLESOME VISITOR, 124 XIV.--A WELCOME ALLY, 134 XV.--"DEERFOOT WILL BE SENTINEL TO-NIGHT," 144 XVI.--AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE, 154 XVII.--A SUSPICIOUS SOUND, 164 XVIII.--LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT, 174 XIX.--SHAWANOE AND WINNEBAGO, 185 XX.--ANOTHER NIGHT VISITOR, 195 XXI.--THE CAMP OF THE WINNEBAGOS, 205 XXII.--"KEEP TO THE TRAIL," 215 XXIII.--AN INFURIATE SHAWANOE, 225 XXIV.--THE DEFIANCE, 236 XXV.--THE SIGNAL FIRE, 245 XXVI.--ON THE EDGE OF THE PRAIRIE, 257 XXVII.--A MORNING MEAL, 269 XXVIII.--A STRANGE RIDE, 281 XXIX.--A YOUNG HUNTER'S STRATEGY, 293 XXX.--TERRY FINISHES HIS RIDE, 305 XXXI.--THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL, 316 XXXII.--THE TERROR IN THE AIR, 328 XXXIII.--FRED LINDEN AWAKENS TO AN ALARMING FACT, 340 XXXIV.--THE CANOE, 352 XXXV.--AMERICA VERSUS IRELAND, 364 XXXVI.--AMERICA VERSUS AMERICA, 376 XXXVII.--THE LAST CAMP-FIRE, 388 XXXVIII.--CONCLUSION, 400 ----------------------------------------------------------------------- THE HUNTERS OF THE OZARK. CHAPTER I. AN ESTRAY. One day in the autumn Terence Clark came to the house of Frederick Linden and urged him to join in a hunt for a cow that had been missing since the night before. The latter got the consent of his mother and the two lads started on a search that proved to be the most eventful one they had ever known. A few words in the way of explanation must be given at this point. The date of the events I have set out to tell was toward the close of the last century, and the scene the south-western part of the present State of Missouri, but which was then a part of the vast territory known as Louisiana. Though the town of St. Louis had been settled a good many years before, there were only a few pioneers scattered through the almost limitless region that stretched in every direction from the Mississippi. Here and there the hunters and trappers were often absent from their homes for months at a time, during which they suffered much exposure and hardship. They slept for weeks in the open woods, or when the severity of the weather would not allow this, they found refuge in caves or hollow trees. Then, when enough skins had been gathered to load their pack-horses they started on the long tramps to the French trading post on the Mississippi. They followed faintly marked paths or trails that converged from a score or hundred different points until they reached the Father of Waters, where the peltries were soon sold and the proceeds, too often, squandered within the succeeding few hours. At the date of which I am speaking, a small settlement known as Greville stood in the south-western section of the large State of Missouri, as it is now known. The first cabins were put up only a few years before, and the settlers, including men, women and children, numbered about two hundred. Near the center of the straggling settlement stood a rude but strong blockhouse to be used for refuge in the event of an attack by Indians. As yet this emergency had not arisen, for the red men in that section were far less warlike and hostile than those in Ohio and Kentucky. The father of Fred Linden was one of the hunters and trappers who made regular visits to the wild section near the Ozark Mountains for the purpose of gathering furs. He never had less than two companions, and sometimes the number was half a dozen. As you are well aware, the furs of all animals are in the finest condition in wintry weather, since nature does her best to guard their bodies from the effects of cold. Thus it came about that the party of hunters, of whom I shall have more to say further on, left Greville in the autumn of the year, and as a rule were not seen again until spring. Since they entered a fine, fur-bearing country, these trips generally paid well. One convenience was that the hunters were not obliged to go to St. Louis to sell them. An agent of the great fur company that made its headquarters at that post, came regularly to Greville with his pack-horses and gave the same price for the peltries that he would have given had they been brought to the factory, hundreds of miles away. He was glad to do this, for the furs that George Linden and his brother hunters brought in were not surpassed in glossiness and fineness by any of the thousands gathered from the four points of the compass. Among the daring little band that made these regular visits to the Ozark region was an Irishman named Michael Clark, who had had considerable experience in gathering furs along the Mississippi. It was at his suggestion that Greville was founded, and one-half of their periodical journeys thus cut off. On the year following, Clark was shot and killed by a prowling Indian. Since his wife had been dead a long time, the only child, Terence, was thus left an orphan. The lad was a bright, good-natured fellow, liked by every one, and he made his home with the family of one of the other hunters named Rufus MacClaskey. The boy was fifteen years old on the very day that he walked over to the cabin of Fred Linden and asked him to help him hunt for the missing cow. The family of George Linden, while he was away, consisted of his wife, his daughter Edith, fourteen, and his son Fred, sixteen years old. All were ruddy cheeked, strong and vigorous, and among the best to do of the thirty-odd families that made up the population of Greville. "Has the cow ever been lost before?" asked Fred, as he and the Irish lad swung along beside each other, neither thinking it worth while to burden himself with a rifle. "Niver that I knows of, and I would know the same if she had been lost; we're onaisy about the cow, for you see that if this kaaps on and she doesn't come back I'll have to live on something else than bread and milk and praties." "Our cow came back just at sunset last night." "And so did them all, exciptin' our own, which makes me more onwillin' to accipt any excuse she may have to give." "Let me see, Terry; Brindle wore a bell round her neck, didn't she?" "That she did, and she seemed quite proud of the same." "Did you make hunt for her last night?" "I hunted as long as I could see to hunt; she wasn't missed, that is till after they got home. Whin I found that I didn't find her I started to find her; but I hadn't time to hunt very long whin it got dark and I had to give it up." "And didn't you hear any thing of the bell?" "Do ye think that if I heard the bell I wouldn't have found the cow? Why was the bell put round her neck if it wasn't to guide friends? I listened many a time after it got dark, but niver a tinkle did I hear." "That is queer," said Fred half to himself; "for, when no wind is blowing and it is calm, you can hear that bell a long ways; father has caught the sound in the woods, when the Brindle was all of a mile off. I wonder whether she could have lost the bell." "I've thought of that, and said to meself that it might be also that she had become lost herself in trying to find it." Fred laughed. "She hardly knows enough for _that_; and, if she found the bell she wouldn't know what to do with it; but if that leathern string around her neck had broken, it may be that she is close by. A cow after losing one milking is apt to feel so uncomfortable that she hurries home to be relieved; but what's the use of talking?" added Fred, throwing up his head and stepping off at a more lively pace; "we've started out to find her and that's all we have to do." Perhaps a dozen acres had been cleared around the little town of Greville. This had been planted with corn, potatoes and grain, though scores of unsightly stumps were left and interfered with the cultivation of the soil. Beyond this clearing or open space extended the immense forests which at one time covered almost the entire face of our country. On the south side of the town and distant a furlong wound a creek, which after many shiftings and turnings found its way into the Mississippi and so at last into the Gulf of Mexico. The course of this stream was so winding that it extended on two sides of the town and ran in a westerly direction, exactly the opposite of that it finally had to take in order to reach its outlet. As a rule, it was about twenty feet wide with a depth of from one or two to six feet. It was subject to tremendous overflows which sometimes tripled its volume and increased its width to that of a river. At such times a series of enormous rocks through which the creek at "low tide" lazily wound its way, lashed the turbid current into a fury somewhat like that seen in the "whirlpool" below Niagara. Could you have stood on the shore and looked at the furiously struggling waters, you would have been sure that even if a man were headed up in a barrel, he could not have lived to pass through the hundred yards of rapids, though there was reason to believe that more than one Indian had shot them in his canoe. Terry Clark told his friend that his search of the night before and of the morning following had been to the north and west of the settlement, so that it was hardly worth while to continue the hunt in that direction. The cows sometimes stood in the water, where so much switching of their tails was not needed to keep away the flies, and, though there was quite a growth of succulent grass on the clearing, the animals often crossed the creek and browsed through the woods and undergrowth on the other side. The boys were inclined to think that the brindle had taken that course during the afternoon and had actually gone astray,--something which a quadruped is less likely to do than a biped, though the former will sometimes make the blunder. There was nothing unreasonable in the theory that the bell had fallen from her neck and that the owner therefore might be not far away. At intervals, Terry shouted "_Bos! bos! bos!_" the Latin call which the cow sometimes recognized, though she generally paid no attention to it. It was the same now, possibly due to the fact that she did not hear the call. Reaching the edge of the stream, the boys began walking along the bank toward the left and scrutinizing the spongy earth close to the water. If the missing animal had crossed the creek she could not have failed to leave distinct footprints. CHAPTER II. THE TINKLE OF A BELL. The examination of the shore of the creek had lasted but a few minutes, when Terry Clark, pointing to the moist earth at their feet, called out in some excitement: "Do ye mind that now?" There, sure enough, were the footprints of a cow that had entered the stream from the same side on which the boys stood. The impressions could be seen for some distance in the clear water, which in the middle of the stream was no more than a yard deep, and they were plainly observed where the animal had emerged on the other side. "I don't suppose there is any difference in the tracks of cows, but I guess, Terry, that we are safe in making up our minds we are on the trail of Brindle." "I'm thinking the same," replied the other, who was not only looking across the creek, but into the woods beyond, as though he expected to catch sight of the cow herself; "though it may be the one that crossed there isn't the one that we're after." Fred Linden was asking himself whether there was not some way in which they could reach the other side without going to the trouble of removing their shoes and leggins, and hunting a shallow portion, or allowing their garments to become saturated. He exclaimed: "Why didn't I think of it? There's our canoe!" A number of these frail craft were owned in Greville, and Fred had a fine one himself, which was only a short distance off. Three minutes later the two reached it. The barken structure was moored by means of a long rope to a tree a considerable distance from the water, so that in case of one of those sudden rises that sometimes took place, it would not be carried away by the freshet. The boat was quickly launched, and a few strokes of the paddle carried the two to the opposite bank of the stream. "I wonder whether there is any danger of a rise," remarked Fred, as he carried the rope to a tree twenty feet distant and made it fast to a limb; "there was a good deal of thunder and lightning last night off to the east." "But the creek doesn't come from that way," said the surprised Terry; "so what is the odds, as me father said he used to ask when the Injins was on all sides of him, and a panther in the tree he wanted to climb, and he found himself standing on the head of a rattlesnake." "The creek winds through every point of the compass, so it doesn't make much difference, as you say, where it rains, since it is sure to make a rise; the only question is whether the rain was enough to affect the creek so that it will trouble us." "If it was goin' to do that, wouldn't it have done so before this?" was the natural question of his companion. "That depends on how far away the rain was." The boys were not idle while talking. The canoe was soon made fast, and then they resumed their hunt for the estray. They were not skillful enough in woodcraft to trace the animal through the forest by the means that an Indian would have used, but they were hopeful that by taking a general direction they would soon find her. If she still had the bell tied around her neck, there was no reason why they should not be successful. But while walking forward, Fred Linden asked a question of himself that he did not repeat aloud. "Has she been stolen?" This query was naturally followed by others. It certainly was unreasonable to think that a cow would leave her companions and deliberately wander off, at the time she was milked twice daily. She would speedily suffer such distress that she would come bellowing homeward for relief. If she really was an estray, she had missed two milkings--that of the previous night and the morning that succeeded. It was certain, therefore, that if she was stolen, the thief had attended to her milking. But who could the thief be? That was the important question that Fred confessed himself unable to answer. There had been occasional instances of white men who had stolen horses from the frontier settlements, but the lad could recall nothing of the kind that had taken place in that neighborhood; all of which might be the case without affecting the present loss, since it was evident that there must be a first theft of that nature. But, somehow or other, Fred could not help suspecting that the red men had to do with the disappearance of the animal. I have intimated in another place that Greville had never been harmed by the Indians, who were scattered here and there through the country, for there was no comparison between them and the fierce Shawanoes, Wyandottes, Pottawatomies and other tribes, whose deeds gave to Kentucky its impressive title of the Dark and Bloody Ground; but among the different bands of red men who roamed through the great wilderness west of the Mississippi, were those who were capable of as atrocious cruelties as were ever committed by the fierce warriors further east. What more likely, therefore, than that a party of these had stolen the cow and driven her away? There were many facts that were in favor of and against the theory; the chief one against it was that if a party of Indians had driven off one cow, they would have taken more. Then, too, the soft earth that had revealed the hoof tracks ought to have shown the imprint of moccasins. You will see, therefore, that Fred could speculate for hours on the question without satisfying himself. He was sorry that he and Terry had not brought their guns with them, and was half inclined to go back. It was not yet noon, and they had plenty of time in which to do so. "Terry," said Fred, turning suddenly about and addressing his friend, who was walking behind him, "we made a mistake in not bringing our guns." The Irish lad was about to answer when he raised his hand in a warning way and said: "Hist!" Both stood as motionless as the tree trunks about them, all their faculties centered in the one of hearing. There was the low, deep roar which is always heard in a vast wood, made by the soft wind stealing among the multitudinous branches, and which is like the voice of silence itself. They were so far from the creek that its soft ripple failed to reach them. "I don't hear any thing," said Fred at the end of a full minute. "Nor do I," said Terry. "Why then did you ask me to listen?" "I was thinkin' be that token that we might hear something." "What made you think so?" "The tinkle of a bell." "What!" exclaimed the amazed Fred, "are you sure?" "That I am; just as I was about to speak, I caught the faint sound--just as we've both heard hundreds of times." "From what point did it seem to come?" His friend pointed due south. "Strange it is that ye didn't catch the same." "So I think; it may be, Terry, that you are mistaken, and you wanted to hear the bell so much that the sound was in your fancy." The lad, however, would not admit this. He was sure there had been no mistake. Fred was about to argue further when all doubt was set at rest by the sound of a cow-bell that came faintly but clearly through the forest. "You are right," said Fred, his face brightening up; "we are on the track of old Brindle sure enough. It's mighty strange though how she came to wander so far from home." "She got lost I s'pose," replied Terry, repeating the theory that had been hit upon some time before. "It may be, but it is the first instance I ever heard of, where an animal lost its way so easily." The boys were in too high spirits, however, to try to explain that which puzzled them. The cow was a valuable creature, being the only one that belonged to the family with whom Terence lived, and who therefore could ill afford her loss. The friends had pushed perhaps a couple hundred yards further when Terry called to Fred that he was not following the right course. "Ye're bearing too much to the lift; so much so indaad that if ye kaap on ye'll find yersilf lift." "Why, I was about to turn a little more in that direction," replied the astonished Fred; "you are altogether wrong." But the other sturdily insisted that he was right, and he was so positive that he stopped short, and refused to go another step in the direction that his friend was following. The latter was just as certain that Terry was amiss, and it looked as if they had come to a deadlock. "There's only one way to settle it," said Fred, "and that is for each of us to follow the route he thinks right. The cow can't be far off and we shall soon find out who is wrong. The first one that finds Brindle shall call to the other, and he'll own up what a stupid blunder he has made." "Ye are speakin' me own sentiments," replied Terry, who kept looking about him and listening as if he expected every moment that the cow herself would solve the question. Fred Linden read the meaning of his action, and he, too, wondered why it was that when both had plainly caught the tinkle of the telltale bell, they should hear it no more. Strange that when it had spoken so clearly it should become silent, but such was the fact. Little did either suspect the cause. CHAPTER III. AN ABORIGINAL PLOT. The boys tried the plan of Fred Linden; he swerved slightly to the left, while Terry Clark made a sharp angle to the right. They never thought of getting beyond hearing of each other, and, but for the plentiful undergrowth they would have kept in sight. They had taken but a few steps when Fred looked around and found that he was alone. He could hear his young friend pushing his way among the trees, and once or twice he caught snatches of a tune that he was whistling--that being a favorite pastime of the lad when by himself. "It's curious how he could make such a blunder," thought Fred, with a smile to himself; "he will go tramping around the woods only to find that he was nowhere in the neighborhood of the cow. Ah, the storm is not yet over." He was looking to the eastward, where the sky, as he caught a glimpse of it among the treetops and branches, was as black as if overcast with one huge thunder cloud. "It was there it raged so violently last night, and the rain is falling in torrents again. We shall find the creek a river when we go back." The sturdy youth pressed on fully two hundred yards more, when the old suspicion came back to him. There was something wrong. When he could not explain some things he was satisfied that it was because there was an element of evil in those things--something that boded ill to both him and his friend. "I have traveled far enough since hearing that bell to pass a long ways beyond it," he said, compressing his lips and shaking his head; "and if that was Brindle that rang it the first time, she would have done it the second time." Twice before Fred fancied he heard something moving among the undergrowth a short distance in advance, and a little to one side. The noise was now so distinct that he could no longer deceive himself; there was some specific cause for it. "I guess Terry has worked over this way, finding what a mistake he has made--no! by gracious! it isn't Terry!" Fred started in alarm, confident that it was an Indian that was moving through the wood. It will be admitted that there was cause for his fear, if such should prove to be the case, for he was without any firearms with which to defend himself; but while he stood meditating whether he should turn and take to his heels, he caught enough of a glimpse of the object to make out that it was a quadruped instead of a biped. This was a great relief, though it did not remove all fear, for he was not in form to meet any of the wild beasts that one was liable to run against at any time. The next minute, he broke into a hearty laugh, for that which he saw was the lost cow, quietly browsing on the tender herbs, as though just turned loose by her owner. "Well, that is funny," said the youth, walking hastily toward her; "this proves that I was right. You are a pretty one, old Brindle, to lead us on such a chase!" The cow, hearing the voice and footsteps, stopped cropping, and with her motionless jaws dripping with leaves and buds, started at Fred as if she wasn't sure of his identity. She knew enough, however, to see that he was a friend, and so resumed her feeding. Assuring himself that she was the estray, Fred looked at her bag to see the condition of that. It was only moderately full, proving that she had been milked later even than the preceding night. Fred Linden had approached close enough to place his hand on the handsome creature, when he noticed--what indeed he knew before--the bell was not fastened to her neck; that explained why, after hearing the sound, it was heard no more. "The cord has broken just after the tinkle, and let the bell fall to the ground; no wonder that it was not heard again. Some one has been kind enough to give Brindle a milking." The words were yet in the mouth of Fred when he received a shock that for a moment held him speechless; a long distance to the right he caught the sound of the cow-bell! It was precisely the same that he and his friend had noticed, and since the bell of Brindle was gone, there could be but one meaning to the signal; it was made by some one for the purpose of drawing the boys into a trap. Without pausing to think over the dozen questions that came with this conclusion, Fred set off at the most hurried pace possible to warn his friend of his peril. "He has no suspicion of any thing wrong, and is sure to do the very thing that he ought not to do." Fred Linden was right in this conclusion. It can be readily understood, why no thought of peril should enter the brain of the Irish lad, who was never so sure that he was right and Fred wrong when the two parted to take different routes in search of the cow. "It's a bright lad--is Fred," said Terry, "but there isn't any law that I knows of by which he is to be right ivery time and Mr. Terence Clark wrong. I'm going straight for the point where the tinkle of the bell came from." The same thought puzzled him that puzzled Fred Linden; after walking more than the whole distance that first intervened, the cow was still invisible. There was nothing in the fact that when she had strayed so far from home, she should keep on in the same direction. "It may be that she has heard something about the Pacific Ocean, and has set out to see for herself whither the reports are correct," was the quaint thought of the Irish lad, as he pushed vigorously through the undergrowth, which was dense enough to turn him aside more than once and compel him to keep his wits about him to prevent going astray altogether. Now and then he paused, naturally expecting (as did Fred), that he would hear more of the bell; but it is not necessary to say that, like his companion, he was disappointed. He had fixed the point whence came the noise so firmly in his mind, that he could not go wrong, though a boy of less experience in the woods would have been sure to do so. Now, if any of you lads have ever driven cows or sheep, around whose necks bells were hung, you have noticed the natural fact that they have a sound peculiar to themselves. Referring particularly to cows, you may have observed the _jangle_, _jangle_, made by the motion of the head in cropping the grass, varied now and then by the confused jumble caused by the animal flinging her head over the back of her neck or fore part of the body to drive away the insects plaguing her. There is a certain regularity in all this which will continue for hours, and that may be said to be produced by the natural action of the animal, and which is altogether different from that made by the swaying motion of the hand. But Terry Clark inherited a sharpness of wits from his parents, and, while pushing forward among the trees and undergrowth, it struck him that there were several curious features about the matter. "It was a mistake, as Fred said," he thought more than once, "that we did not bring our guns with us." Then the second sound of the cow-bell fell upon the ear of Fred Linden; Terry was within a hundred feet of the point whence it came, and he could not have heard it more distinctly had he been standing on the spot himself. The noise was so peculiar that a flood of misgiving overwhelmed him. The _tinkle_, _tinkle_, _tinkle_, was so regular that nothing was plainer than that no living quadruped could have made the sound. "That was not the cow," whispered the startled Terry; "she has more sinse than to do any thing of the kind, as me uncle used to obsarve whin he was accused of kaapin' sober; but I'll find out by the same token what it all means." Since he had no firearms with which to defend himself, and since he was sure he was threatened by danger, he ought to have hastened homeward; but his curiosity would not permit him to do so. He advanced with all the caution possible, parting the obstructing bushes in front and stepping as lightly on the carpet of leaves as though he were a scout entering the camp of an enemy. He often stopped, listened and peered, not only in front and the sides, but to the rear. Whatever might take place, he did not intend to be surprised. He had advanced a couple of rods in this manner, when a faint sound from the bell caught his ear, but was instantly suppressed, as though some one had stopped at the instant he started to sway it. Faint as was the tinkle, however, he was able to locate the precise point whence it came, and after a little hesitation he moved toward it. All at once he caught sight of a figure in a crouching position, stepping softly among the trees and undergrowth. He stood still, and a moment later was able to distinguish the figure of an Indian warrior, bending slightly forward, advancing inch by inch and holding the cow-bell in his hand. CHAPTER IV. A PARTY OF THE THIRD PART. The Indian warrior whom Terry Clark saw advancing stealthily through the undergrowth, cow-bell in hand, was a frightful object. His head and shoulders were bent forward, and he was stepping slowly and silently, while he glanced from right to left, as if searching for some object, or awaiting the occurrence of an expected event. His face was daubed with black and red paint, his long hair, as coarse as that of a horse's tail, dangled about his shoulders and alongside his neck, so that his eyes, when staring through it, seemed to be blazing among so much tangled brush. The ordinary hunting shirt, fringed in front, inclosed his chest, and was gathered at the waist by a sash or belt into which were thrust his hunting knife and tomahawk. The usual breechcloth, leggins and moccasins completed his dress. He carried a fine rifle in his left hand, in a trailing position, while a powder horn and bullet pouch were supported by a string passing over his shoulder. He was what may be called a thoroughly equipped warrior, without taking into account the cow-bell, which was suspended by the thumb and fingers of the right hand. It was thus he must have grasped the implement when he caused it to give out the sound that caught the ear of Fred Linden and Terry Clark. But at the moment the Irish lad saw him, and for some minutes after, he held the bell in such careful poise that it gave no sound at all. The Indian probably suspected his imitation of the action of the animal was so poor that it was likely to cause distrust, and therefore he was sparing in resorting to the stratagem. Now, nothing can be clearer than that if the warrior was in such a plain view of Terry Clark, the latter was equally exposed to his eye. The Indian was moving in his guarded fashion over a course at right angles to that followed by the lad, who was quick to realize his peril. He knew that every second he remained thus exposed he was likely to be seen. He had hardly taken a glance of his enemy, when he stooped so that his knees almost touched the ground, and moved as noiselessly and quickly as he could to the nearest tree, behind which he took shelter. This tree was an oak, large enough to hide two such boys, standing side by side, so that the youth felt secure for the time. "Ah, if I only had me gun," was the regret that naturally came to him; "I would quickly settle with the spalpeen that stole old Brindle, and now wants to run away wid me." It will be admitted that the situation of Terry was peculiar, for he was quite close to the warrior, who, there was every reason to believe, was hunting for him, and who was so nigh that there was imminent danger of discovery. It might be asked why the redskin should have taken this course, for in some respects it had more than one absurd feature. If he wanted to kill a white person, all this maneuvering with a cow-bell was ridiculous, while his conduct from first to last was in some respects unreasonable. The best explanation was that which was made sometime afterward by a person, who as yet has not been introduced to the reader, but who, when he does appear, will be admitted to be the best judge. I allude to Deerfoot the Shawanoe. The Indian with the cow-bell was a Winnebago warrior, whose home was a long ways to the northward, but who had gone thither in company with several others on what may be called a tour of investigation. The driving off of the cow was probably an inspiration of the moment. The Indians kept her until they had got all the milk they wanted, first removing the bell so that her friends could not recover her until they were through. The stratagem which I have been describing was an afterthought. None of the Winnebagos except the one who tried the plan would have any thing to do with it, though they were willing enough that every white person in the settlement of Greville should perish, if the same could be brought about without risk to them. Left to himself, the Winnebago decided to make a prisoner of whomsoever should be sent to find the cow. He had reason to believe that this person would be a youth, and since every thing was so quiet in that section, he was not likely to be armed. Hence, it would be an easy matter to decoy him a goodly distance from the settlement, when the warrior could pounce upon, make him a prisoner and compel him to go with him. After the couple were far enough from the settlement the lad could be put to death, if his captor or the party to which the captor belonged, should so elect. Terry Clark had stood behind the sheltering tree for perhaps five minutes, when he became aware of an alarming fact: the warrior with the bell was slowly approaching him. The faint tinkle that it gave out once or twice told this, and when finally the lad ventured to peep around the side of the tree, the sight was a startling one. The Indian had risen almost to the upright posture, and holding the gun and bell as described, was moving directly toward the oak behind which the boy stood. Moreover at the moment the latter took the cautious look, the visage of the Indian showed that he was looking straight at the tree. "By the powers!" gasped Terry, "but the spalpeen observed me, and I'm thinkin' that he saw me before I did him." It was not at all unlikely that such was the case. The Indian may have felt sure of his victim, and so he indulged in a little by-play, as a cat often does with a mouse. Such a cruel proceeding was characteristic of his race. The belief that this was the case placed Terry Clark in a most trying position. He was without the means with which to defend himself, and in fact was hopeless. It was useless to try to run away, for if the warrior could not overtake him at once, he could bring him down with his rifle. You know how rare a thing it is for an Irishman to submit meekly, even when there is no hope in resistance. Terry muttered: "If he lays hands on me, there's going to be a fight; I wish Fred was near, that he could see that I git fair play." No person could have been more in earnest than was the Irish lad. "I'll wait till his head comes round the corner of that tree and then I'll give him a whack that'll tumble him over on his back, afore he knows what's the matter wid him; then I'll amuse myself wid hammerin' him after he is down till I git tired and then I'll take his gun and knife and tomahawk and the bell and make him walk before me to the sittlement." The lad had just gone over in his mind this roseate programme, when a soft tinkle told him that the Winnebago was within a few steps of the tree; and at the same moment that the youth made this interesting discovery, another still more astonishing one broke upon him. Just fifty feet away and behind a trunk very similar to the one that sheltered the lad, stood a second Indian warrior. His position was such that he was in plain view of Terry, though the Winnebago could not see him except when the latter should approach quite close to the shelter of the boy. The strange Indian was closely watching the hostile one, and, with that remarkable intuition that sometimes comes to a person in grave crises, Terry was convinced that he was an enemy of the Winnebago, though whether a friend of the youth was not so certain. In his amazement, the lad for the moment forgot his own danger and gave his attention to the stranger, who was the most striking looking warrior he had ever seen. He seemed to be about eighteen or twenty years of age, and was the picture of manly grace and beauty. He had long, luxuriant black hair which hung about his shoulders, being gathered by a loose band at the neck, so as to keep it from getting in front of his eyes. In the crown of this natural covering were thrust three stained eagle feathers, while there were two rows of colored beads around the neck. The fringed hunting shirt which reached almost to his knees was of a dull, yellow color and the sash or belt around the waist was of a dark red. A small but handsome bracelet encircled his left wrist, and the fringes of his leggins were of varied and brilliant hues, as were the beaded moccasins that incased his shapely feet. A tomahawk and knife were in his girdle, while he held a finely ornamented rifle in his right hand, the manner in which he manipulated the weapon showing that he was left-handed. The face was strikingly fine, the nose being slightly aquiline, the cheek bones less prominent, and the whole contour more symmetrical than is generally the case with his race. There was something in the situation that evidently amused him, for Terry saw him smile so unmistakably that he noticed his small and regular white teeth. It was plain that he was watching the movements of the Winnebago, though he said nothing, and made no gesture to the lad, whose wondering look he must have understood. Be that as it may, the sight of the strange Indian, and the belief that he was an enemy of the other with the cow-bell, inspired the Irish lad with a courage that he would not have known had the other warrior been absent. "He's waiting to see how I condooct mesilf when the spalpeen lays hands on me," thought Terence; "he won't have to wait long." The youth was right. The crouching Winnebago, doubtless feeling that he had no immediate use for the bell that had served him so well, dropped it to the ground beside him, and holding only his rifle in hand, stepped forward with the same cat-like tread that had marked his advance from the first. He knew that his victim was shrinking behind the trunk of the oak, and he was having his own peculiar sport with him. So intense was the attention of Terry that he heard distinctly the footsteps of the warrior, who a moment later was close enough to touch the tree with his hand, had he been so minded. CHAPTER V. A FRIEND IN NEED. Terry Clark, the Irish lad, placed his right foot behind the left, his weight equally supported on both, and stood as rigid as iron, with both fists clinched and half raised, in the attitude of one holding himself ready to use nature's weapons to his utmost ability. He heard the soft moccasin press the layer of brown autumn leaves, and the next moment the point of a knobby, painted nose came slowly in sight around the side of the trunk, followed by the sloping forehead, the hideous face and the shoulders of the warrior, whose right hand was held so far to the rear with the gun that it was the last to come into view. As the Winnebago caught sight of the white-faced boy, his countenance was disfigured by a grin that made it more repulsive than before. "Oogh! brudder!--oogh!--Yenghese--" Just then Terry Clark let fly. He was a lusty lad, and he landed both fists, one after another, squarely in the painted face, with such force that the warrior was knocked completely off his feet. He went over backward as though from the kick of a horse; but, contrary to the hopes of his assailant, he did not let go of his gun. Had he done so, the youth would have caught it up and shot him before he could regain his feet. The blow was most presumptuous, and would have insured the death of the one who gave it but for the intervention of the second Indian, who seemed to take but a couple of bounds from the tree near which he was standing when he landed on the spot. The infuriated Winnebago was in the act of clambering to his feet, when he caught sight of the lithe, graceful warrior, standing only a couple of steps away, with loaded rifle pointed at him. "Dog of a Winnebago," he said in a voice slightly above an ordinary tone; "if he harms the pale face, he shall die!" There are some expressions so forcible that they can not be made more so. The young Indian spoke in the lingo of the Winnebago, whose totem he had recognized, but his posture, erect on his feet, with his cocked rifle in such a position that he had only to pull the trigger to send the bullet through the bronzed skull before him;--all this required no words of explanation. The Winnebago grasped the situation, and, to use the homely expression common at this day, he saw that the other "had the drop" on him. The Indian, though larger, older, heavier and stronger, was taken at such disadvantage that he ceased his effort to rise, and looked up at his conqueror with a helplessness so grotesque that under other circumstances it would have caused a smile. Indeed, Terry Clark did indulge in a slight laugh, for he saw that it was safe to do so; the Winnebago was on the ground before his master. "If ye want me to ring the old coow-bell, I'll be glad to obleege, for the performance looks as if a little moosic would give tone to the same. Howsumever, I'll step back and let this good looking young gintleman run the show." Thereupon Terry withdrew several paces and watched the proceedings with a depth of interest that can be fully understood. The look of the Winnebago, who was half reclining on his side, supporting his body with the hand that grasped his gun, plainly indicated the question that came from his lips. "Why does my brother look with evil eyes on the Wolf, who has come from the lodges of the Winnebagos? Are not all red men brothers?" "Deerfoot is a Shawanoe, whose warriors have consorted with those of the Winnebagos; but Deerfoot has left his lodge beyond the Mississippi and lives alone in the woods. He will not hurt the brave Winnebago who fights men, but he slays the Wolf that bites the children of the pale faces, that have never harmed him." Possibly the Wolf was inclined to argue the matter with the Shawanoe, who had caught him at such disadvantage; but the manner and words of Deerfoot showed that he was in no mood for discussion. "What does my brother want?" asked the Winnebago, in a voice that proved all fight had left him. The most, indeed, that he ventured to do was gently to rub his forehead and nose, where the fists of the sturdy Terry Clark had landed. "Let the Wolf rise to his feet, but when he does so, his gun must lie on the ground." This was a harsh order, but there was no help for it; the Indian hesitated a moment, and then, black and scowling, he slowly assumed the upright posture, and, folding his arms across his chest, looked in the face of the bright-eyed Deerfoot, to signify that he was awaiting his next command. "The Wolf shall now turn his face away from Deerfoot." The Winnebago obeyed the order as promptly as if he were a soldier undergoing drill. "Let my brother now raise his eyes, until he sees the beech with the white trunk," said Deerfoot, using the word "brother" for the first time. The object to which he alluded was perhaps fifty yards distant, the light color of the bark showing only here and there among the branches and undergrowth that happened to be less frequent than in other directions. The Wolf signified that he recognized the tree to which his conqueror referred. "Now let my brother run; when he reaches the beech he can leap behind it, and it will shield his body; if my brother is slow Deerfoot may fire his gun and Wolf will never bite again." The Winnebago wanted no explanation of this threat. It was hard for him to depart, leaving his rifle, but it was harder for him to lose his life, and he did not hesitate as to the choice. He made one tremendous bound that carried him a dozen feet, and then sped through the wood like a frightened deer. When he had passed half of the intervening distance, he seemed to fancy that he was not making satisfactory time for the Shawanoe, who, he doubtless imagined, was standing with leveled gun, finger on the trigger. He therefore began leaping from side to side, so as to disconcert the aim of the dreaded Deerfoot. In the hope also of further confusing him, he emitted several frenzied whoops, which added such grotesqueness to the scene that Terry Clark threw back his head and made the woods ring with laughter. "I never saw a frog hop about like that, which beats any show." Deerfoot did not have his rifle cocked or in position. The moment the Wolf started, he saw how great his fright was, and, lowering the flint of the weapon, he rested the stock on the ground and watched the antics of the fugitive. The Shawanoe, unlike most of his race, had a vein of humor in his composition. When Terry broke into mirth, he too laughed, but it was simply a smile, accompanied by a sparkle of his bright eyes which showed how much he enjoyed the scene. The moment the Wolf arrived at the beech, he darted behind it, and for the first time looked over his shoulder. The sight could not have been reassuring, for he continued his frenzied flight until the keen ear of the Shawanoe could no longer hear him threshing through the wood. By this time Terry Clark had made up his mind that whoever the new arrival might be, he was a friend. The Irish lad had not been able to understand any of the words that passed between the two, though their actions were eloquent enough to render much explanation unnecessary. But a person who treated the Winnebago in such style could not feel otherwise than friendly toward the one in whose behalf the interference was made. Terry blushed a little as he walked forward and reached out his honest hand. "If it's all the same to ye, I'll be glad to give that purty hand of yours an owld-fashioned shake, such as a fellow sometimes gits when he catches the chills an' faver." Deerfoot looked at the jolly lad with an odd expression, as he gave him his hand, which, I need not say, was shaken with enthusiasm. The young Shawanoe smiled in his own shadowy way and returned the pressure warmly. "My brother is happy," said he when the salute was finished; "it makes the heart of Deerfoot glad that he could be his friend." "Ye were a friend indade, though ye'll admit, Deerfut, that I toppled over the spalpeen in foine style, now didn't I?" "The Wolf who is a Winnebago, fell as though the lightning struck him." "How is it," asked Terry with no little curiosity, "that ye, who are as full-blooded an Injin as the Winnebago, can talk the English with almost as foine an accint as meself?" "Deerfoot has lived among the pale faces; when he was a small child he went with the Shawanoes to harm the white men, but they took him prisoner; they treated him kindly, and told him about God, who loves all His children, whether they be white or red, or the color of the night; they showed him how to read books, and to make his name and words on paper, so that others might read." "Can ye read and write?" asked the astonished Terry. Deerfoot smiled and nodded his head. "Well, well, that bates ivery thing!" said Terry, who instantly repeated the absurd belief of many of his race, by adding, "I didn't s'pose that an Injin could learn." Without replying to the last remark, the Shawanoe, looking the lad steadily in the eye, said, "Deerfoot has a message for Fred Linden; does my brother know him?" "Do I know him?" repeated Terry; "I know the same better than I know mesilf; he started wid me to hunt the coow, and I rickons that he can't be very fur away." "He's coming," quietly said Deerfoot, looking off to the left of Terry, as if about to salute a new arrival. The Irish lad wheeled in his quick way, but his sharp eyes caught no glimpse of his approaching friend. CHAPTER VI. FRED LINDEN RECEIVES A MESSAGE FROM THE OZARK CAMP. As soon as Fred Linden discovered the deception respecting the cow-bell, he made all haste toward the point whence came the sound, in the hope of warning Terry in time to save him from treachery. You will understand how quickly events passed when told that, although he came almost directly to the spot, he did not reach it until Deerfoot the Shawanoe asked for him. This wonderful Indian, of whom I shall have considerably more to tell, heard the coming of the lad whom he had never seen, before either the eye or ear of Terry Clark could detect his approach. As may well be supposed, Fred Linden was amazed at what met his eyes. The sight of Terry in friendly converse with a strange Indian was the opposite of what he expected to see. He slackened his hurried walk and looked inquiringly at Terry. The latter could talk fast when he chose, and the few sentences he rattled off as his companion came up made the matter tolerably clear. While the questioning and talk were going on, Deerfoot stood leaning on his long gun and gazing with a certain natural dignity at the two friends. He said nothing nor did he appear to show any special curiosity, though had any one studied his countenance, he would have seen that he was watching Fred Linden. He had said that he carried a message to him, and it was no more than natural that he should wish to know something about him. As for Fred himself he did not try to hide his profound interest in the remarkable warrior who had appeared at such an opportune time, but of whom he had never before heard a word. He knew that the settlers along the frontier often found valuable allies in the friendly Indians, and he concluded that this red man was one of those who, having been maltreated by his own people or kindly used by the whites, had given his loyalty to the latter; for in the brief narrative of Terry Clark, he had time only to tell the leading facts about the rescue of himself. Just then, therefore, the Irish lad knew more about Deerfoot than did the American. But it takes only a little time for such a group to become acquainted with each other. A general handshaking followed, and it happened more than once that all three were talking at the same moment. Had any one been able to translate the expression of Deerfoot's countenance, he would have seen that he was pleased with both the lads whom he now met for the first time. There was a rollicking good nature, a cheery courage and ever bubbling hopefulness about Terry that were contagious, and like so much sunshine that went with him wherever he went. Fred Linden was of that manly mold and rugged appearance that he would have drawn favorable attention wherever he might be. Such a lad in these days would have been picked out as a born athlete, one who was capable, with proper training, to become a first-class ball player, oarsman or boxer. He was a swift runner, a strong leaper, an expert rifle shot, and his rugged frame and rough, outdoor life gave him an endurance that few men could surpass. He was as tall as Deerfoot, with broad shoulders, muscular arms and legs, clear, keen eyes, a fine chest and a symmetrical frame. The clothes of the two boys, it is hardly necessary to say, were of homespun, for a hundred years ago it would have been hard for them to procure any other kind of goods. The short coat was somewhat like those used to-day by bicyclists, reaching only a short distance below the waist, where the girdle was fastened in front. The trowsers, of the same material, reached to the knees, below which were the hunting leggins, common along the border. Then came the warm, woolen stockings and thick, heavy shoes, while the head was surmounted by a woolen cap, made by the deft fingers at home, and without any pattern. It was soft, and having no forepiece, sat on the head in whichever position it happened to be first placed. In this respect it resembled the valuable sealskins of the present day. The coats of the lads were open in front, and within were the pockets, which they used as required, the trowsers also being provided with a couple of these prime necessities. When the rattling conversation had gone on for several minutes, Terry ran a few steps and picked up the bell that the Indian had placed on the ground. The string which had held it about the neck of the animal was missing, having probably been cut by the knife of the impatient Wolf. "I'll take the same back home wid me and put it on Brindle if I iver maat her; I shouldn't be so 'stonished that I couldn't spake if I should find that the spalpeen had killed her." "No," said Fred, "she isn't harmed; I found her off yonder, cropping the buds and leaves, as innocently as though she hadn't done any thing wrong in leading us on this long chase. I started her toward home, and if she keeps up the gait she must be pretty near there by this time." This was good news to Terry, for the loss of the animal would have been serious to the family of Mr. MacClaskey, her owner. The Irish lad had hardly picked up the bell when Deerfoot pointed to the gun lying on the ground, where it had been left by the Wolf. "That belongs to my brother." The delighted Terry could hardly believe what was told him, and he stood looking doubtfully at Deerfoot, as if suspecting he had heard him amiss. "It was you who captured the gun, Deerfoot, and so, if it belongs to any one, ye are the spalpeen." The Shawanoe looked down at his own handsome weapon and shook his head. He had no need of any other weapon. Besides, this singular youth could not have conscientiously taken it. He did not feel justified in keeping it for his own use, no matter if in sore need of such a weapon; but, since the Winnebago had made his demonstration against Terry Clark, and was compelled to leave the gun behind, when he was permitted to go, it seemed proper that the prize should fall into the hands of the Irish lad. What gave special propriety to the act was the fact that, although Fred Linden was the owner of a fine gun, Terry had none. When his father lost his life, his rifle was never recovered, and though there was one in the family of MacClaskey, the youth had no claim upon it. He longed for such a weapon, with a longing that it would be hard to understand. The prize, therefore, was appreciated to its full value. He picked it up with an embarrassed grin, which quickly became natural when he turned it over in his hands and saw what an excellent piece it was. "More than likely it belonged to a white man in the first place," said Fred; "so it is right enough that it should come back to one of his own race." "It's loaded," said Terry, slightly raising the hammer and noticing the powder in the pan. Then he brought the gun to his shoulder and pointing it at the white trunk of the beech, which partly showed through the intervening branches and undergrowth, he said: "If the spalpeen should peep out from behind that tree, I'm thinkin' I could hit him a harder blow than when I landed me two fists on his mug." "The Winnebago is a long ways off," said Deerfoot, with a shake of his head; "he may meet my brother some day, but it will not be in this place." The young Shawanoe having learned all that was to be learned about his young friends, now reached his hand in the breast of his hunting shirt and drew out a small, closely-printed Bible, from between the leaves of which he took a piece of paper that had been folded several times. He glanced at the superscription, as if to make sure it was right, and then handed it to Fred, who, as may be supposed, took it with astonishment. He recognized the penciled writing as that of his father. Parting the folds, he read the following: MY DEAR FRED: You know that when we left home there were three of us, Hardin, Bowlby and myself. There are three of us still, but Bowlby considers himself of no account for some weeks to come, because of a hurt to his foot which will prevent his getting around for a long time. Such being the case, I have concluded, now that I have the chance, to send for you to join us. You are old enough and strong enough to make a full hand, and you can give us good help. Since we have all the animals, you will come afoot, but you will find no trouble in keeping to the trail, which has been traveled often enough to make it plain. It is no more than a hundred miles from Greville to our camp at the foot of the Ozark Mountains, so you ought to have no difficulty in reaching here in the course of three or four days. Love to your mother and Edith. I send this by a young Shawanoe warrior, called Deerfoot. He is the most remarkable Indian I ever knew. I shall have a good deal to tell you about him when you reach here. YOUR FATHER. "Deerfoot bids his brothers good-by," said the young Indian, offering his hand, when he saw Fred had finished reading his letter; "he hopes that he shall see them again." "It won't be our fault if he doesn't," was the cordial response of Fred Linden, in which Terry heartily joined him. After a few more pleasant words they parted, Deerfoot following in the footsteps of the fleeing Winnebago, while the others moved to the northward in the direction of the creek. They turned aside a little from the direct course so as to hunt for Brindle, that Fred had seen, but she was not found. To their delight, however, they saw her footprints on the edge of the creek, proving that she had gone home with the directness of one who felt remorse for wandering from the straight path. She had swum the stream, and was doubtless before the MacClaskey cabin at that moment. But standing close to the edge of the creek, the boys became aware of a hard fact: it had not only risen with great rapidity during the last half hour, so as to become a rushing torrent, but it was still rising so fast that it was extremely dangerous for the boys to try to cross it in the canoe. Indeed, they hesitated to make the attempt, but finally concluded to do so. CHAPTER VII. THE HUNTERS OF OZARK. I must tell you how it was that Deerfoot the Shawanoe came to bring the important letter of George Linden to his son Frederick. It has already been stated that it was the custom of a party of hunters and trappers to leave the settlement of Greville in the autumn of each year and spend most of the cold weather among the streams at the foot of a certain part of the Ozark Mountains. At that period, the fur bearing animals abounded in the section, as they were found in hundreds of other portions of the vast area known under the general name of the Louisiana Territory. You must bear in mind that there were thousands of square miles that had not been trodden by a white man, and so sparse were the Indian villages that large portions of the country remained to be visited even by them. Beaver, otter, foxes, bears, and buffaloes were the chief animals that were afterward driven west by the advancing tide of civilization, until the agents of the Missouri and Western Fur Companies were forced to do most of their work in the far west and north-west, where they came in collision with that vast monopoly known as the Hudson Bay Company, which, until recent years, not only trapped and hunted throughout Oregon, but along the Pacific coast as far south as California. George Linden, Rufus Hardin and James Bowlby composed the party who, in the autumn of the year of which I am writing, rode each a horse a hundred miles to the south of the frontier settlement of Greville, and pitched their tent at the foot of the Ozark range. Beside the animals ridden, each hunter took a pack-horse to help bring back the peltries that were to be gathered during the cold weather. As a matter of course, they were provided with guns and plenty of munitions, and indeed with every necessity for their limited wants. They had spent several winters there and knew what was before them. They had hunted and trapped for years in other parts of the great west, and more than once had made the long journey to the post of St. Louis to dispose of their furs, a necessity that, as I have explained, was removed by the annual visit of the agents with their long train of pack-horses to gather up the peltries. And so, without giving any of the interesting particulars of the ride southward from Greville, let us take a look at the little party gathered at their primitive camp in the wild Ozark region. The six horses had been relieved of their burdens on reaching the place, and were turned loose to crop the grass that was plentiful in many places. Although there was snow now and then through the winter, there was hardly enough to cause any suffering on the part of the animals. When the storms, however, were violent or prolonged, the hardy beasts were provided with some of the stores of dried grass that was kept in stock, as may be said. In case that gave out they could make shift with the cottonwood and other trees, whose bark was not lacking in succulent qualities. Although a tolerable shelter could have been found in any one of the numerous caves within reach, the hunters preferred to erect a rough cabin, that was almost strong enough to withstand a cyclone. The keen axes enabled them to trim off the interfering limbs, and they were joined at the corners so well that very little, if any, rain or snow could force its way through. Other logs and branches were laid across the top and ends fastened to the logs beneath by means of withes, so that the roof was not likely to be carried away unless the cabin itself went with it. On the top of the roof was a thick layer of branches and leaves, packed so closely that little moisture could find its way through. There were no windows, for none was needed. The single door in front was large enough to allow free egress and ingress. At night, when there was a possibility that some curious wild animal might come snuffing around, the door was closed by means of a framework of thick limbs, also fastened together with withes, swinging on leathern hinges, and made secure by a brace leaning against it from the inside. Within this structure were stored their supplies, and the blankets on which they slept were spread upon the bare ground. Their slumber was sweeter, too, than it would have been had they stretched themselves on "downy beds of ease," for health and weariness are two soporifics which art can never supplant. The traps and appurtenances used in their toil were never taken away from the place, for there was no call to do so. Such repairs as were needed from time to time were made in the cabin or on the spot, as the necessity arose. The rifles, of course, furnished the food needed, while an abundance of fish could be taken at any time from the streams in the neighborhood. A diet solely of flesh and fish is not acceptable to any one. Therefore, among the supplies annually brought to the cabin, were a quantity of coarse flour, meal, sugar, coffee, salt and tea. It may be said, that in one respect they were like modern campers out, except that they took the wrong season of the year for what so many boys consider the acme of enjoyment. There was little in the appearance of the three men to call for special description. All were in middle life, strong, rugged, and inured to hardship. Linden was rather tall, his face covered by a heavy beard in which not a gray hair had yet appeared. Hardin was fully as tall, with shoulders somewhat bent, and his scant, dark beard was plentifully sprinkled with gray. Bowlby was short and stocky in appearance. When in the woods he allowed his black beard to grow all over his face, but at home he was always smooth-shaven. He was of a swarthy complexion, inclined to be silent, and often moody, but like his companions he was brave, industrious and patient, holding a strong dislike of all Indians, though not inclined to go to any unjustifiable length in his feelings. The dress of the three men was similar to that of Fred and Terry, which has already been described. No one of them knew any thing about the modern overcoat or cloak. If there should come a spell of unusually severe weather, they had only to wrap a blanket or buffalo robe about the shoulders when compelled to visit the traps or remain long outdoors. Should it become necessary to kindle a fire within the cabin for the sake of warmth, a broad, flat stone was removed from an opening in the roof directly over the blaze, and the smoke, if so inclined, found its way to the clear air outside. The cooking was done under the adjoining trees. Of course it was of the most primitive character, but it suited, and that is all that is necessary. The hunters reached their cabin about the middle of the forenoon of an autumn day. They had eaten their regular morning meal, and they got to work without delay. The horses were unloaded and turned adrift, the stores safely housed, the blankets spread on the floor of simple earth in the cabin, and then the men scattered to look after their traps. This was a large job, for the implements had to be examined and many of them slightly repaired, after which they must be carried long distances and set. These traps were of the ordinary pattern, such as have been in general use for hundreds of years. The iron jaws was forced wide apart and kept in place by a catch, which was sprung by a slight pressure on the broad, flat portion in the middle. The trap being carefully hidden from sight, the unsuspecting animal had hardly time to rest one paw on this plate, when the fierce jaws, impelled by steel springs of prodigious strength, came together with the suddenness of lightning, and the animal, whatever he be, was in a grip from which there was no escape. You can understand the care required to set these traps so that they would do their work. The beaver is highly intelligent, and quick to detect the signs of man's presence. Nothing can tempt him to venture where he sees that his worst enemy has been before him. The fox is the synonym of cunning, and will often outwit the shrewdest trapper. He will walk around the trap and stealthily secure the bait without harm to himself. One of those animals has been known to reach forward and spring the implement, jerking back his paw quickly enough to escape the sharp teeth. A fox, too, when caught in a steel trap will sometimes gnaw off the leg just above where it is imprisoned, and afterward go through life with little inconvenience on three legs. You may be sure that he is never caught again in that fashion. It was easy to see where the sagacious beavers were in the habit of leaving the water and climbing the bank. The trap was carefully placed below the surface out of sight, and often it had no bait at all, for it would seem that the bait itself was liable to awaken the suspicion of the beavers. Occasionally, however, when it was desirable to attract them to the spot, an oily odoriferous substance obtained from the animal itself was smeared over the ground near the bank. The otters were scarcer than the beavers, but were hunted much in the same manner. For foxes and fur-bearing animals that roamed the the woods, the steel trap was baited with such food as they were fond of (which was about every thing), and they were so numerous through that part of the territory that the hunters had little difficulty in securing what was wanted. At the end of the second day all the traps were in position, and the three friends were grouped on the outside of the cabin smoking their pipes and talking over the outlook for the winter, which all agreed was favorable. The bison or buffaloes, of which mention has been made, were found in the open spaces or prairies where there was plenty of grass. No such multitudinous herds were seen as have been gathered in later years on the western prairies, but there were enough to make very lively hunting for the trio, who had shot and skinned several while on their way to the beaver runs. Within a half hour's walk of the camp was a beaver dam fully half a mile wide, built with astonishing skill and strength. The backwater flooded the country for many square miles, and gave the remarkable animals just the place they wanted for their curious huts, of which I shall have something to tell you further on. CHAPTER VIII. A WELCOME ACQUAINTANCE. On the fourth day after the arrival of the hunters at their cabin, the accident of which Mr. Linden made mention befell Bowlby. It was early in the morning, when the three were making their round of visits to the traps. Since no two inspected the same ones, they were quite widely separated from each other. Bowlby was walking over a rocky stretch of land alongside the creek when a loose stone turned under his foot, giving his ankle such a wrench that when he tried to stand he found he could not bear the least weight on it. It was one of those hurts that are more painful and troublesome than a fractured limb. "Here's a pretty go," he growled, as he sat down on the ground, his face contorted with pain; "it'll be a long time before I'll be able to stand, and the boys will have to bring one of the hosses here or else carry me home. _Hello!_" He shouted at the top of his voice, feeling no alarm, for he knew that his friends would come to his relief before long, even if they did not hear his voice; but then he reflected, as he sat on the ground beside the two beavers that he had killed and was carrying to his home, that he was in bad form if a wild animal should assail him, or there should happen to be a hostile Indian prowling in the vicinity. He had left his gun at the cabin, as was his practice, since he needed all his strength to bring in the products of the traps. He was startled, therefore, after his third shout; an Indian warrior, fully armed, walked out of the wood and came toward him; but his signs of peace, and more than all, the words he uttered, removed his fears. "My brother suffers; Deerfoot will help him to his cabin." "If that's so," said the greatly relieved Bowlby, "you're just the chap I'm waiting for. We'll leave these beavers here for the others to come after, and if you'll let me lean on your shoulder I guess I can hobble back; but I'll have to lean heavy," he added, looking doubtfully at the Indian, "and you ain't much more than a likely lad." "Let my brother try me," said Deerfoot, with a smile. The disabled hunter did try him, often compelled, as he was, to bear to such an extent upon his new friend that it may be said the latter sustained half his weight. The progress was slow, and when they reached a small stream of water, Bowlby sat down and allowed the young Shawanoe to bathe the inflamed limb. Great relief was felt. During this labored walk homeward, the two naturally talked a good deal together and learned much about each other. Deerfoot said that he had often hunted through the surrounding country, and he told why it was he had found it necessary to leave his tribe on the other side of the Mississippi. He said that he had spent more than one night in the deserted cabin of Bowlby and his friends during the summer months, when he found himself belated in the vicinity, and he once shot a wolf that was resolved on entering against his protest. It was his intention to make a call upon the hunters, and if they needed his aid, he was glad to give it in the way of helping trap or shoot game. You need not be told that though James Bowlby felt an innate dislike of the American race, there was now one exception: henceforth he was the sworn friend of Deerfoot the Shawanoe. Linden and Hardin had got back from making their rounds, and were wondering what could have delayed their friend, when they saw him limping painfully on one foot, and supported by a fine looking young Indian warrior. Their astonishment was great, for they could not understand what it meant. Linden hastened to the help of Bowlby, but he waved him aside and said no one could do as well as Deerfoot. While Hardin went out to bring in the two beavers that had been taken from the traps by Bowlby, the latter was assisted to a seat on the log in front of the cabin. Then Deerfoot insisted on giving attention to the injured limb. It had swollen a great deal since he bathed it. There was nothing in the cabin in the way of ointment or liniment, but Deerfoot hastened into the wood and soon came back with the leaves of some plant whose virtues seemed to be well known to him. These were wrapped in a piece of linen, which the establishment managed to afford, and pounded to a pulp, and then the poultice was gently applied to the inflamed ankle. Bowlby declared that it felt better at once, but his face lengthened when Deerfoot told him that it would be a moon, or several weeks, before he would fully recover the use of his limb. "That will make us short-handed, and we need every one," said Mr. Linden; "I wish Fred was here to give us help." "I think I can ride my hoss to Greville," said Bowlby, "and bring him back with me." "That is hardly worth while." "Where is the home of my brother?" gently asked Deerfoot. "At the settlement of Greville, about a hundred miles to the north." "Deerfoot knows where it is," he replied; "he will take a message for his brother, for his footsteps lead him that way." "You're a mighty clever Indian; I will be ever so much obliged to you," said Linden; "I will write a few lines to my boy, which will explain our trouble, though I have no doubt you could take the message just as well; but it is such an unexpected one that the boy might doubt it unless it was in my own writing. See?" The Shawanoe nodded his head to signify that it was all clear to him. Linden passed within the cabin, where he hurriedly wrote the few lines that are already known to the reader, folded the paper, and wrote on the outside: "FREDERICK LINDEN, Grevil." He then handed it to Deerfoot, saying: "There is no special hurry, and if you are in the neighborhood of Greville, and can make it convenient to leave that at my house, it will be a great kindness to me." "If the Great Spirit does not will different it shall be in his hands before the setting of three more suns, but," added Deerfoot, looking at the superscription on the back of the paper, "has not my brother made a mistake?" "What do you mean?" "When Deerfoot writes the word 'Greville,' he adds two letters more than does my brother; perhaps, though, Deerfoot is wrong." No pen can describe the amazement that appeared on the faces of Linden and Bowlby. Here was a young Indian teaching a white man old enough to be his father how to spell in the English language! Was the like ever known? For a full minute neither of the hunters spoke. They were sitting on the log, while Deerfoot was standing in front of them. He held his rifle in his right hand and the folded piece of paper in his left, while he looked inquiringly down in the faces of the two men, whose mouths and eyes were open, as though they could not believe the evidence of their own senses. Finally, with a deep sigh, Linden slowly rose to his feet-- "Well, by gracious! if that don't beat every thing! Do you mean to say that you can read _writing_? Impossible!" [Illustration: "For a full minute neither of the hunters spoke."] Then, as if still in doubt, he reached out and took the paper. Drawing a stump of a lead pencil from his pocket he completed the word properly, opened the paper, and handing it back to the Indian, said: "Let's hear you read _that_." "My brother writes so that any one can read his words," observed the young Shawanoe by way of introduction, and then in a low, soft voice he read the brief note from beginning to end. Bowlby, who had not yet spoken, seemed unable to express his emotions. Unable himself to read, the attainment of the Indian was almost past belief. As the best thing, therefore, that he could do, he solemnly reached out his hand to Linden and shook it with great earnestness. Settling painfully back on the log, he nodded his head several times as if he was almost overcome, as indeed was the case. I should state at this point that although Linden had not seen fit to make it known, he had heard of Deerfoot the Shawanoe long before. He knew of some of his exploits in Kentucky, as well as those of later years on the western bank of the Mississippi (which are told in the "Young Pioneer" and the "Log Cabin Series"), but he had never met the youth, nor had he ever heard or suspected that he knew how to read and write. Taking hold of his arm, he asked: "Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you learn that? When I wrote to Fred that I would tell him some things about you I did not know of the most extraordinary of all--that which I have just seen. Sit right down here, between me and Jim, and let us know all about it." Deerfoot held back, but yielded, and finally answered in his modest way the numerous questions with which he was plied. Bowlby had managed to find his tongue, and his queries were about twice as numerous as those of his companion. By the time that Deerfoot had time to rest, Hardin came back, and there was little left to tell. The Shawanoe had captured the Hunters of the Ozark. They insisted that he should stay to dinner with them, and he did so. Then he was badgered to enter into a shooting match. All were fine marksmen, and Linden was the best shot in Greville. Using his own rifle, Deerfoot beat every one of them. Then he exchanged weapons and allowed the crippled Bowlby to rest his piece, and the Shawanoe beat all three just as badly as before. They were delighted, and slapping him on the back, asked him to spend a week with them, but he shook his head. The sun was already beyond the meridian, and there were reasons for his departure which he could not explain. They liked him too well to insist, though they made him promise that on the first chance he would make them a visit. Then Deerfoot gravely pressed hands with all and quickly disappeared in the woods, taking the trail that led toward Greville. You have already learned about his meeting with Terry Clark and Fred Linden. CHAPTER IX. A MISHAP. Fred Linden and Terry Clark were alarmed when, on their way home, they came to the creek across which they had paddled only a short time before. It was then the comparatively shallow stream that was scarcely an obstacle in their path; now it was a rushing torrent, whose volume was increasing with great rapidity. The sinuosities of the creek had caused it to gather in a large part of the rain that had fallen some miles away, and its usual boundaries were overflowed. It was well that Fred had tied his canoe to the tree that was quite a distance from the stream, for had he not done so it would have been swept away like an egg shell. As it was, the water had reached the base of the tree, while the boat was bobbing up and down almost in a straight line with the course of the creek, as though it was tugging to get loose. "My gracious, Terry!" said Fred, "this is a little worse than I expected; it is going to be hard work to get across." "Ye are right for once," added the other, gravely shaking his head; "them rapids are a little closer than I loike." "It seems to me," added Fred, who was unwilling to admit that he was afraid to try the task, "that I have gone over the creek when it was just as high and rapid, and have crossed at this place, too." "Who swung the paddle?" "Father did once and Mr. Bowlby at another time." "Did ye iver manage the paddle yersilf when the creek got onto one of its tears?" "I don't remember that I have, but that has been only because the need did not arise; I am not afraid to try it, even if you are." "Who said I was afraid?" demanded Terry; "I'm riddy to hop into the boat and sway the paddle mesilf, and I'll do it, too." He stepped into the water, which was up to his shoe tops, and began drawing in the rawhide rope which held the frail boat from breaking away. His companion laughed and said nothing until the canoe was at their feet and drawn up on the land away from the rushing current. "Don't be quite so touchy, Terry; that boat belongs to me and I can handle the paddle better than you; anyway I shall try to take us to the other side, and all that you have to do is to keep those limbs and trees from capsizing us." The time occupied in pulling the boat to the spot had given the Irish lad a chance to regain his usual good nature, and he made no protest against the decision of his companion, though Terry was no unskillful handler of the paddle himself. The creek was probably over a hundred feet wide, and the roiled current abounded with limbs and trees that swung up and down, sometimes out of sight and then popping up again, as though they were frolicking in the swift waters. It would require a strong arm and a cool head to force the birchen craft through these obstacles to the shore on the other side. It must be admitted, too, that it was a piece of imprudence on the part of the lads, who would have been wiser had they quietly waited where they were until the overflow exhausted itself. A stream that rises so fast subsides with the same quickness, and long before nightfall the creek would shrink to proportions that would take away all peril to any one in paddling across. They would have been compelled to go a long distance up stream before finding a place where the crossing was easier, and it would have been almost impossible to drag the canoe thither. They would have held fast to one end of the rope and allowed it to dance through the rapids, so as to allow them to make the passage below, where the great peril was removed, had they not known that the chances were ten to one that it would be snatched from their grasp, thus shutting them out altogether. Looking up and across the sloping clearing, the cabins forming the settlement of Greville could be seen at no great distance. From several of the stone chimneys the smoke was curling lazily upward, and now and then glimpses could be caught of persons moving hither and thither, but no one appeared to be looking in the direction of the creek, or if any one was doing so, he saw nothing of the two boys standing on the further shore and debating with themselves the best course to follow. At any rate no one would think they were unable to take care of themselves. Both Fred and Terry knew that there was but one prudent plan to follow; that was quietly to wait where they were until near night, by which time all danger would be gone. But neither proposed the course nor made mention of it. It is natural for youth to be rash, and there was a semblance of timidity in such a shrinking back that was repellent to American and Irish lad alike. And so you will understand how it was that each showed an eagerness to enter into the contest with the angry current. You will see, too, how foolish they were, when I tell you that during the few minutes they stood by the tree to which the rope had been tied discussing the situation, they saw the proof that the creek was subsiding. There was a perceptible lowering of the surface, as was shown by the soiled line against the trunk of the tree. Even Terry, when he looked down, observed that he was not standing in quite as deep water as he was a few minutes before. No danger, however, of his making mention of it. It took but a minute or so to untie the long thong that was wrapped about the limb, and then, as Fred was on the point of flinging the coil into the bottom of the boat, the end of which was drawn up on the bank, and to take up the paddle and push off, Terry, with some excitement, caught his arm and said: "Plase wait a minute, will ye?" "What for?" "I'll not be gone long; howld the boat only for a twinkling." He ran a dozen steps or so from shore to where was the stump of a tree that had probably been splintered by a thunder-bolt, and around which sprouted a number of bushes that were dense enough to hide a large object within. Carefully parting these, Terry laid down his rifle and the bell, and then as carefully smoothed the undergrowth in place. Then he hurried back. "There are plinty of lads about me own size," said he, "but there's only one gun that belongs to me, and if the canoe should upsit and both of us get drowned I want to be sure and save me gun." Fred smiled at this Irish-like explanation, but he was glad that Terry had left the gun on shore. It was safely hidden until he should wish to get it again, while its presence in the canoe would be the worst kind of encumbrance. The new owner was so charmed with his prize that he would think more of saving that than of saving the boat. It was clear that the task of Terry in fighting off the rushing timber would be almost as difficult as that of guiding it across the swift stream. "In with you!" said Fred to Terry, who carefully seated himself near the bow of the canoe and took up the long pole that lay in the bottom and projected some distance over the end of the boat. Fred Linden gave it a vigorous shove, landed in the stern, caught up the paddle, and instantly began his struggle. You will see the difficulty and danger of his task, and must therefore join with me in condemning the lack of judgment showed by both. They had to paddle more than a hundred feet across a furious torrent in which were scores of uprooted trees, wrenched-off limbs, and craggy stumps, all speeding downward with great swiftness and force. The course of the boat being at right angles to these objects, must bring it in collision with some of them, at the great risk of overturning or shattering the canoe, that was not calculated to withstand any such blows. And yet, though the task was a hard one, there was little doubt that the two lads could make their way across, provided they were given enough time in which to do so; but there were the rapids, so near that their roar was plainly heard. In case of an overturn or accident, the two would be swept among them. It was the same, on a smaller scale, as if a person should start to row across Niagara River, just above the falls, where by vigorous work he could make the passage, provided he did not drop a stroke on the way. You will say that any one making such an attempt placed little value on his own life. Fred Linden used his paddle after the manner of an Indian--that is, he dipped the broad end first on one side of the boat and then on the other. The paddle was not widened at each end, as is sometimes the case, the one who wields it using the sides alternately and with great rapidity. In calm water such a light structure as an Indian canoe can be driven with great speed, and I have no doubt that the youths would have made a speedy passage had it not been for the interference of the floating objects to which I have referred. Ten feet from land Fred was forced to back water suddenly to avoid a jagged stump that danced in front like a bull getting ready to charge, and finally did strike the bow with a thump that startled both the occupants. "Me pole slipped off the side of that," Terry explained, as he brandished the stick in front on the lookout for the threatening waste-wood; "have a care that ye don't drive the boat agin something that is stronger than the boat itsilf." By coolness, alertness and strength, Fred fought his way in safety until probably one-third of the distance was passed. Then he saw the great blunder he had made in trying to cross while the current was so high. The constant fighting with the floating stumps and trees caused them to lose so much ground--or rather water--that they were drifting frightfully close to the rapids, whose roar grew plainer every moment. But he had gone so far that it was as safe to keep on as to turn back, and so he dipped the paddle and swung it with renewed vigor. "Look out!" he called to Terry, who in parrying the rush of a stump a couple of yards in advance, did not notice one that was coming broadside on, its presence betrayed by a tiny branch that protruded a few inches above the surface like the fin of a shark. Fred did his utmost to avoid it, but he was too slow, and a second later the pointed log not only struck the side of the canoe, but capsized it. CHAPTER X. A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. The partly sunken log crashed into the side of the canoe with such suddenness that the craft was overturned and ruined, and the occupants struggling in the water, before either had time to utter more than a single exclamation. But they were powerful swimmers, and, but for the nearness of the rapids, they could have afforded to laugh at their mishap. As it was, Terry Clark shouted, as he blew the muddy water from his mouth: "What a sinsible young gintleman I was to lave me gun on the other side." "We both would have been much more sensible had we left ourselves there," rejoined Fred, who was struggling with might and main for the land in front; "there's no time, Terry, to waste in talk; we've got to swim as never before, for nothing else will save us." The other seemed to rouse to his peril, for he made the only wise response he could--which was putting forth every atom of strength and skill that he possessed in the effort to breast the furious torrent. It is singular how often the slightest advantage turns the scale for life or death. At the moment the canoe was smashed and capsized Terry Clark was seated some six or eight feet nearer the shore toward which they were paddling than was Fred Linden, and this difference remained when the two went into the water and began swimming. The Irish lad was fully as skillful as the other, and he did not lose an inch of the gain thus given him. They were near the middle of the stream when the catastrophe took place. Of course they would have done better had they been without any clothing, but there was no time to remove any of that, and beyond question the two made the most gallant kind of a fight for life. Fully aroused to his peril, Terry swam with amazing power, his lips compressed and his eyes fixed on the land in front, which seemed quite near, and yet was never so hard to reach. The lad had proven by repeated tests that he could swim faster on his left side then in any other position. He quickly flung himself over and used his arms and legs like one who knew fully the stake for which he was contending. By this recourse he actually gained on Fred, who continued to breast the water with all the strength at his command. Terry was hopeful, and now that he was fully roused, he did not waste his strength in shouting to his companion. As he advanced in his crab-like fashion, he frequently flirted his face around so as to look in front, and thus to keep aware of his progress. "I'm doing well, and will make it," was his thought; "I hope Fred will be as fortynate as mesilf." An important point was gained by swimming on his left side; his face was turned up stream, and he caught sight of the floating timber quicker than when advancing with his face toward the land. Thus it came about that he saw a plunging tree, or log, similar to that which had destroyed the canoe, and when it was fully as close to him. Like a flash, Terry dove, intending to pass clean under it. He could not know any thing about the portion beneath the surface, and was a little startled when he found himself among leaves and a lot of small branches; but he swam with the same vigor and skill when below as when above the surface, and quickly fought his way through, rising on the other side a considerable distance nearer land. But he gasped with terror, for during the brief period he lost a great deal more than he gained. A furtive glance to the left showed him the mist and spray flying high in air, as the muddy waters were tossed to and fro by the rocks below: he was fearfully close to them. But he was also close to land, and he saw his chance; indeed, his only one. A tree growing out toward the creek curved downward so that the lower part of the trunk was within a few inches of the water. A short time before the current had washed against it, but was now falling away from it. The portion which inclined downward like a bow was several feet from shore, and some distance below him. It will be seen, therefore, that the thing for him to do was to bend all his efforts toward reaching that. If he could advance far enough to allow the current to sweep him beneath, or quite close to the tree, he could grasp it and save himself. "That's what's got to be done," was his conclusion the instant he saw the crooked tree; "or it's good-by to Terry Clark and his rifle." He would succeed; he saw it the next moment. The curving tree seemed to be sweeping up stream with frightful swiftness, but at the right second Terry, by a supreme effort, threw himself partly out of the water, and flinging both arms around the trunk, which was no more than six inches in diameter, he held fast. The strain was great, and he felt his fingers slipping over the shaggy bark, but he held on like grim death, and by a skillful upward hitch of his body, locked his fingers above the trunk, and was safe; he was then able to hold double his own weight. His next move was to throw his feet around the trunk, when it was an easy matter for him to twist himself over on top, where he was as secure as lying on his own trundle bed in the cabin at home. The instant his own safety was secured his whole soul was stirred by anxiety for Fred Linden, who, he knew, was placed at more disadvantage than he. Since he was further from shore than was he, and since the latter had been able to save himself only by a hair's breadth, it was clearly beyond the power of Fred to escape in the same manner--though it might be that there was some other remote chance for him. The first glance that Terry cast over the muddy waters showed him his friend, swimming manfully for shore, but so far out in the stream that it was impossible for him to reach it before passing into the grip of the rapids. "It's no use," called out Fred, in a voice in which there was no tremor or shrinking; "I'm bound for the rapids, and here goes." And deliberately facing about, he swam coolly in the direction of the boiling waters as though he were bathing in a still lake. "Be the powers, but he is plucky," muttered Terence, thrilled by the sight; "if he can get through there alive, I'll be proud of him!" The rapids, of which I have made mention several times, were caused by a series of irregular rocks, extending a hundred yards, in the space of which the stream made a descent of a dozen or twenty feet. At ordinary times the creek wound languidly around these obstructions, forming many deep, clear pools of water, that afforded the best kind of fishing. There was so much room for the current that there was no call for it to make haste. But you can understand how different it was when the creek was swollen by violent rains. It then dashed against the rocks, was thrown back, plunged against others, whirled about and charged upon still others, by which time it was a mass of seething foam, with the spray flying high in air, and a faint rainbow showing through the mist when the sun was shining. After fighting its way between and around and over these obstructions, the current emerged at the bottom one mass of boiling foam and dancing bubbles, which continued for several hundred feet before the effects of the savage churning that the water had received could be shaken off. Now, it would be idle to say that these rapids were as dangerous as the famous whirlpool below Niagara Falls; for it would not only be untrue, but it would shut me out from taking Fred Linden safely through them: for I am bound to do that, since he is too good a fellow to sacrifice at this early stage of my story, and you would not forgive me for doing so. But all the same the danger was great, and was enough to cause the bravest man to shrink from attempting the passage. Fred would have been glad to shrink from going through, but since that was beyond his power he did the wisest course--faced about and kept his wits with him. There was one consolation--the suspense could last but a few moments; he was sure to emerge from the lower falls within the space of a minute, whether alive or dead. The first object that caught his eye was his broken canoe. Naturally it was but a short distance below him, though it had gained a little while he was struggling so hard to make land. It was turned on its side, spinning sometimes one way and then whirling the other, according to the whim of the current; then sea-sawing up and down, until all at once it shot upward like a huge sturgeon, which sometimes flings its whole length out of the water. Another point must be named that was gained by this facing about of Fred Linden. Since he was going with the current he kept pace with every thing else that was afloat, and he was therefore in no danger from the trees and branches that had caused him so much, and, in fact, nearly all his trouble. At the moment he was about to enter the boiling rapids he found himself partly entangled in the branches of a large uprooted tree that was dancing about in a crazy fashion. "This may help to shield me from being dashed against the rocks," was his thought, as he seized hold of a thick limb close to the point where it put out from the trunk; "at any rate I don't see that it can make matters any worse." The act of Fred Linden in grasping the limb saved his life. The next moment he was whirled hither and thither, half strangled with foam, head now in air, now beneath the surface, his body grazing the jagged rocks by the closest possible shave, and all the time shooting forward with dizzying rapidity, until at last he emerged into the calmer water below as well and hearty as he ever was in all his life. CHAPTER XI. TRAMPING SOUTHWARD. An ejaculation of thankfulness escaped Fred Linden when he found himself floating in the comparatively still water below the rapids, and he knew that although he was pretty well bruised, none of his bones was broken. He let go of the limb of the tree that had served him so well, and flirting the water from his eyes, struck out with his old time vigor for the shore, toward which he had started in the canoe. When Terry Clark saw his friend go spinning into the whirlpool, he scrambled back from the trunk of the tree, on which he had found refuge, and ran at full speed down the bank. Fast as he went, he was just in time to see Fred swimming through the foaming waters toward the land. "Give me yer hand!" called out the delighted youngster; "there isn't any body in the wide wurruld that could bate that onless it is mesilf, and I couldn't do it." "Whew!" exclaimed Fred, as he laboriously clambered up the steep bank; "that was the biggest lot of swimming and diving crowded into the space of a minute or two that I ever knew; I wouldn't like to take such a trip each day." "And I'm thinkin' that it'll be a few days after this whin we try it agin," added Terry, delighted to see his loved comrade before him unharmed; "I jist give up when I seen you plunge in among the rocks, and was wonderin' how your father and mother and sister Edith would faal when I should be luggin' your dead body home." "I'm thankful that you haven't _that_ to do," said Fred with an earnestness that could not be mistaken; "but come, the clothes of us both are dripping, and we can't get away any too soon." It was not far to walk, and a few minutes later they reached the other side of the clearing, where the cluster of cabins stood. The first living object on which their eyes rested was Brindle, lying on the ground and chewing her cud with an air of contentment which belongs exclusively to her kind, or rather kine. The boys laughed and Terry said: "If she had such a thing as conscience she wouldn't be takin' things in that aisy style, after givin' us a duckin' that come nigh bein' our last one." "You are right, Terry, but what did you do with that bell that Deerfoot took away from the Winnebago?" "I lift it wid my gun on the other side of the creek; I didn't want it tollin' our funeral knell all the time we was goin' through the rapids and splittin' the rocks to pieces by bangin' our heads agin them." "It is just as well, for the creek will be so low that there will be no danger in crossing it to-morrow, and you can get the bell again; well, here we are at home." The boys separated, and at the same moment, each entered the cabin where he lived. They were only a short distance apart. Several men and a number of the lads, some older and some younger than the two in whom we are interested, were moving about, and looked curiously at the dripping figures. A couple asked an explanation of Fred, but he laughingly answered that he would tell them after he had got dry, and immediately disappeared in his own house. Mrs. Linden and Edith, her daughter, who was two years younger than Fred, looked up in surprise when they saw the state of the lad. "Terry and I started to paddle across the creek, that is higher than usual, and were overturned by a tree that stove in the side of the boat and gave us a ducking." Having heard this explanation his folks seemed to feel no more curiosity about it. The lad passed into his room, he being one of those fortunate ones who had two complete suits of clothing, with the exception of cap and shoes. It took him but a short time to effect the change, when he reappeared, placing his foot and head gear near the fire, where they would soon dry. The home of Fred Linden may be taken as a type of the best that were found on the frontier. As a matter of course, it was made of logs, with a stone chimney so huge that it projected like an irregular bay window from the rear. The fire-place took up the greater part of one side of the house, where the immense blocks of oak and hickory not only diffused a cheery warmth through the lower portion, but sent fully one-half the heat up the enormous throat of the chimney. The large room, which served for parlor, sitting and dining room, was furnished simply, but comfortably, with plain chairs, a bench, spinning-wheel, a rocking-chair, table, a few cheap pictures and the indispensable cooking utensils. There was no stove, every thing being prepared in the fire-place. At that day, as you well know, no one had ever dreamed of using coal as an article of fuel, and the old-fashioned stoves were exceedingly few in number. Carpets, of course, were not thought of, though the rough floor was kept clean enough to serve as a table for food. A rifle rested on two deer prongs over the mantel-piece, and there seemed to be any number of knick-knacks about the room, though it would have been found that nearly every one had a distinct use in the household. Two rooms were connected on the same floor with the larger apartment. One of these served as the sleeping quarters for the parents when Mr. Linden was at home, and the other for Edith, while Fred occupied the loft, which had the rafters for a ceiling, and extended over half the lower floor. During the absence of the father, Edith and her mother used one room, while Fred had the other. Noon had passed when the son came home, and his substantial dinner of venison--procured some days before by Fred himself--brown bread, potatoes, butter and milk, were awaiting him. Taking his place at the table, he ate as only a rugged, growing boy of sixteen can eat. He made no further mention of the dangerous adventure that had just befallen him, but gave the full particulars of Terry Clark's encounter with the Winnebago Indian, who stole the bell from the cow, and tried to have a little sport at the expense of the boy. It was an interesting story, and mother and daughter listened with rapt attention. Edith, who was a bright girl, and very fond of her brother, asked many questions as to how the Winnebago looked, what he said, and whether he really meant to kill poor Terry. Then her interest suddenly transferred itself to Deerfoot, and she plied Fred with all sorts of queries, until he laughingly told her that she was asking them two and three times over, and really he had nothing more to tell. Then Fred drew out the moist and soiled bit of paper that he had taken from his other clothes, and which contained the message of his father. This, of course, caused a sensation, for it made known the fact that the son was to join his parent for several months. It would be supposed that this would cause some inconvenience, but in such a primitive community all were neighbors, and the chores and work that would have been done by Fred Linden would be cheerfully attended to by others. It was not until many years afterward, when the settlements became towns, that the social distinctions between families were formed. During all the conversation, after it had been agreed that Fred should start alone on a hundred mile journey through the wild forest, nothing was said about such a thing as the personal danger attending it. And that, too, directly on the heels of the Winnebago's attempt on Terry Clark. The habit of self-reliance was taught to the children of the pioneers at such an early age, that their parents felt no solicitude, where in these times they would have been tortured by anxiety, and, no doubt, with abundant reason. Mrs. Bowlby was told of the mishap that had befallen her absent lord, when she was asked by Edith to come over in the evening, but she was assured that there was no cause for alarm, and so she felt none. She wrote a letter to her husband, as did the wife of Hardin, and Fred's own mother. These constituted all the extra luggage that he was to take, for it would have been oppressive to load him with any thing in the nature of a burden when the hunters had been absent only a few days. The decision was that Fred should make his start at early dawn the next day. It was his purpose to reach camp on the fourth day; that would be only an ordinary tramp for a rugged youngster like him, and he was confident that he would have no trouble in keeping to the trail that had been ridden over so recently by his friends. The little personal articles, as they may be called, which the lad would require, were mostly the same as those of his father, and could be utilized by the son. Such, as from the nature of things, could not answer for both were tied into a compact package with his linen and strapped over his shoulders with a thick blanket. His powder horn and bullet pouch were not forgotten. An extra flint for his rifle was placed in his pocket, and the weapon, which belonged to the lad himself, was slung over his shoulder after the manner of a professional hunter. Then making sure that nothing had been left behind, Fred gave his sister and mother a warm hug and kiss apiece, called to them a jaunty good-by, and set his face toward the Ozark mountains. It had become known that he was to start on quite a lengthy journey, and those who were astir at that early hour called their hearty good wishes to the lad, who was popular with all. Fred looked for Terry, and seeing nothing of him, shouted his name as he passed by his door, but receiving no response, concluded that he was still asleep. The heart of the boy was light as he strode at a rapid pace across the clearing. He felt no inconvenience from the bruises received the day before, during the passage of the rapids, and his natural buoyancy caused him to look upon the tramp through the woods as a school boy views his long expected vacation. There was no fear of any peril in the stretch of unbroken forest that opened before him. It was fortunate indeed for his peace of mind that he did not know what was awaiting him in the dark arches and labyrinths of the almost interminable wilderness. CHAPTER XII. A STRANGE ANIMAL. When Fred Linden reached the creek where he had met with his stirring adventure the day before, he could not help smiling. It had shrunk to its usual volume, and was winding along as lazily as usual, the only sign of the violent freshet being the _débris_ left along the bank and the slightly roiled appearance of the current. The pioneers had so many occasions to cross this stream of water that they had made several attempts to put up a rude but strong bridge; but no matter what pains they took, they could never erect a structure strong enough to withstand the furious freshets which, as you can well understand, were often resistless. The result, therefore, was a reliance upon the canoes, some of which lay on one side of the stream and some on the other; but a surprise awaited young Linden. Seeing no boat in sight, he walked along the shore in quest of one, for he was resolved to keep out of the water as long as he could, though a lad on the frontier makes far less ado about dripping garments than you or I. That which surprised him was the sight of a long, uprooted tree which, coming down the creek, when the water was rapidly falling, had swung around in such position that the roots caught fast in the clayey soil on the bank, and the limbs were imbedded in the sand and mud on the other shore. The result was as good a bridge as a foot traveler could want. "That will do until there comes another rise," he said, as he carefully stepped upon the limbs, using them to reach the trunk, along which he walked across the water, leaping to the ground on the other side. He stepped off with his elastic gait, keeping so close to the path that he and Terry had taken the day before that he caught sight of the bushes around the splintered trunk of the tree where the rifle captured from the Winnebago had been hidden. "He'll be over early to get his prize," thought Fred; "for it is beyond all worth to him. If it wouldn't make him feel so bad I would plague him a little by hiding it." He parted the bushes and peered within. The first object on which his eye fell was the battered old cow-bell that had played such a curious part the day before, but he saw nothing of the gun itself; a brief but hurried search convinced him that it was gone. "That will break Terry's heart," said he to himself; "he never owned a gun, and now, to lose such a handsome one when it has been in his possession only a brief while, will grieve him as much as the loss of a dear friend." Just then young Linden caught the faint but clear notes of some one whistling. He had but to listen a second or two, when he recognized it, as he did the hearty laugh that followed. Looking to his right, he saw Terry himself standing but a few paces away, and, so to speak, in his "war paint." Bullet pouch, powder-horn, bundle on his back, and, more than all, the splendid rifle was there. The round, chubby face, clear eyes, and pug nose of the Irish lad seemed to radiate delight as he made an elaborate salute to his friend, and, with mock gravity, doffed his hat and scraped his foot along the ground. "Why, Terry," said the delighted Fred, asking the useless question, "what is the meaning of this?" "I'm going wid ye to the camp in the Ozark Mountains; do ye think I could rist aisy, knowin' that ye had to travel such a long distance wid no one to take care of ye?" "Well, now, that just pleases me more than I can tell you," said the overjoyed Fred, slapping him on the shoulder; "there isn't any one in the wide world whose company I want as bad as yours; I lay awake half of last night trying to get up some plan by which I could have you with me, but I couldn't think of any, and had to give it up. Father sent only for me, and I didn't suppose that Mr. MacClaskey would spare you. Tell me how you managed it." A quizzical expression came upon the face of the Irish lad, who, leaning on his rifle, took off his hat and scratched his head for a few seconds before answering. "Wal, bein' it's yersilf, Fred, I don't mind sayin' that it took some strategy, as I suppose Deerfut would call it. Last night, after we had eat our supper, and the chores were done wid, and Mr. MacClaskey had took his seat by the fire and lit his pipe, and Mrs. MacClaskey had started her spinning-wheel a-hummin', and the children had been packed off to bed, I told the folks the whole story. I managed it in such a style that the owld gentleman, who, you know, has spint two winters in the mountains, said it would make the folks out there desprit short of hands. I observed, in me careless way, that such was the case, and that Mr. Linden had sent word to ye that he wanted ye to come, and, from things that I knew, me own prisence would give great satisfaction to sartin parties. Ye understand that I had yersilf in me eye, though I didn't think there was nade of making it all plain how it was. "Wai, the owld gintleman wouldn't listen to me goin' away, but I managed it so well that after awhile he kind of remarked that if the folks wanted me, he'd no objection to me goin', as he belaved that I would make more there than I would at home. "_That_ was the p'int," added Terry, with a wink, as he replaced his cap; "and there was where me genius showed itself; I spoke about the big lot of furs that had to be gathered, and how much money the hunters would make, and what a chance there was for a risin' young man of industrious habits. The owld gintleman took it in, and at last said, bein' as I had the new gun, why he didn't know but what I might give it a trial. "Wal, that was all I wanted. I started to run over last night to tell ye, but afore I got to yer house I thought of this 'cute plan of s'prisin' ye. I got all ready last night, ate breakfast airly, and was down here and had me gun just as I observed ye makin' yer way across the clearin' toward this spot." And so it came about that on this beautiful sunshiny day in autumn, Fred Linden and Terry Clark set out, each with ammunition and loaded rifle, for a hundred mile tramp toward the wild region of the Ozark Mountains. The air was crisp and cool, and every thing joined to give them a buoyancy of spirits such as falls to the lot only of rugged, growing boys in bounding health. The two, however, had seen enough of life in the woods to know that the sunshine and clear air would not last. They might continue until they reached camp, but more than likely clouds, rain, chilly weather and possibly a flurry of snow would overtake them. Winter was at hand, and though, as I have shown, they were in quite a temperate clime, it was subject to violent changes, as trying as those in a much more northern latitude. Besides, the trail, although distinctly marked, did not lead over any thing like even ground all the way. Long before they could reach the vicinity of the camp the character of the country told of the wild, rocky region, covering thousands of square miles, and known as the Ozark Mountains. No route could lead to such a distance through an unsettled country without crossing a number of streams, and passing through regions that were any thing but attractive to the traveler. All this, however, gave just the element of danger and difficulty to the enterprise that was one of the most delightful features to the young lads, who stepped off with swinging gait to the southward. Had the journey been smooth and even, it would have lost the major part of its charms. The boys carried enough with them to give them all they were likely to need in the way of food for twenty-four hours. It would have been little trouble to take enough to last through the four days; but there was something unprofessional in such a course which caused their souls to rebel. The magnificent forest contained plenty of game, and they would have been poor sportsmen, indeed, had they confessed by their action that they distrusted their ability to procure it. The trail over which the two walked, Fred slightly in advance, was marked with such distinctness by the hoofs of the six horses that had passed along it in Indian file but a short time before that it was no trouble for the boys to recognize it, nor were they likely to have any difficulty in keeping to it throughout the whole distance. It was a little past noon, when they reached a small brook whose current was so cold and clear that they took a long draught from it, and then sat down and ate their simple lunch. They felt little fatigue, and as a goodly number of miles remained to be traveled, according to the schedule of Fred Linden, they leaped lightly across the waste and were soon under way again. "Do you know," said Fred, later in the afternoon, "that I've been thinking we have not paid enough attention to one or two important matters." "What are they?" "I don't know what has become of Deerfoot, and we may not see him again; but we know enough of him to understand that whatever he says is worth remembering. Now, he told us yesterday that that Winnebago, from whom he took that rifle, belonged to a party of those warriors, and it seems to me that if they are anywhere, it is between us and the camp, and we are likely to see more of them." "I'm of the same opinion with yersilf, but jest now there is somethin' else that gives me concern." "What is that?" asked the surprised Fred, stopping and turning around. "Some person or animal has been followin' us for the last half hour. I've heard it more than once, and it ain't fur off this very minute." The two boys stood still and looked over the trail along which they had been traveling. Fred Linden's fear was that Terry had discovered the presence of some of the very Winnebagos whom he dreaded, but he was mistaken. That which they saw was not a person, but a strange animal of such fierce mien and hostile intent that they instantly looked to their rifles, knowing that a savage fight was inevitable. CHAPTER XIII. A TROUBLESOME VISITOR. There is no reason to discredit the truth of the accounts given by hunters in the west of wild beasts of prodigious activity, strength and ferocity, and that, belonging to no distinct class of animals, are a mixture of the fiercest. Trappers and explorers in the wild regions of the Rocky Mountains, sometimes meet a beast to which they have given the expressive name of "Indian devil," whose power and daring are such that a party of veteran hunters have been known to withdraw from a section frequented by him, simply to avoid a fight. While the stories about them may be exaggerated at times, there is no doubt that such animals exist, and there is good reason to hold them in dread. The beast that Fred Linden and Terry Clark saw in the path before them resembled a panther more than any animal they could call to mind. It might have been described as a cross between a tiger and panther, had that been possible. Fred had heard his father speak of those creatures that were detested and feared, and he was sure that they were going to have trouble with this one. How fortunate that each boy held a loaded gun in his grasp! The action of the hybrid was as peculiar as his appearance. He seemed to have been trotting quietly along the trail with his nose down, as though following the scent, when he became aware that his game had stopped, and were surveying him with some interest. The beast also came to an abrupt halt and threw up his head, as though he was equally curious to learn something about the party of the first part. Standing thus, with his nose quite high in the air, it struck both boys that he showed a resemblance to a wolf as well as a panther. He was larger than either, and there could be no doubt that he was amazingly muscular, active and courageous. Thus stood the opposing parties, as they may be called, for a full minute. Each looked steadily at the other, the space between them being no more than fifty yards. Had it been less, both boys would have fired at him, but they were afraid that such wounds as they could inflict would only rouse his fury. One of the most marked peculiarities of the "Indian devil" is his toughness, some of the stories in this respect being almost incredible. All at once the beast seemed to be overcome with disgust for the two youngsters. He whisked squarely about and trotted away, showing a bushy fox-like tail that almost swept the ground. "I call that an insoolt!" exclaimed Terence Clark, bringing his gun to his shoulder, taking quick aim and letting fly, before his companion could object. He insisted that he had hit the animal, but it is likely he was mistaken, for it gave no sign of being touched, trotting with the same even step until it passed from sight around a bend in the path. "I hit him hard," insisted Terry, who proceeded to reload his piece; "there's no doubt of the same." "If you had done so, he would have given some evidence of it, but there was not the slightest." "Ye know that such creatures are tough," coolly remarked Terry; "and the bullet has glanced off his side as from a rock." "If I could believe that," said the other, "I would hide somewhere until he went away, for it would be only a waste of powder and ball to shoot at him." "Hasn't he gone off? What are ye talking about?" "Gone away? Yes; for awhile, but we are not done with that beast yet; we shall have trouble with him." "If we keep our guns loaded and our powder dry, we'll open on him, and if we can't kill him we'll fill him with so much lead that he won't be able to travel fast, and we'll bid him good-by and walk from him." The boys waited a few minutes, thinking possibly that the strange creature would show himself again, but he did not appear, and they turned about and resumed their journey. They were now on one of the best stretches of the trail. The ground was even, there were no bowlders or rocks in the path to make walking difficult, and the undergrowth, which in some places was quite an obstruction, did not interfere. By the middle of the afternoon, Fred was confident they were twenty miles at least on the road, and he said that if they came upon an inviting place, they would go into camp for the night. The package which each carried on his back was wrapped in a blanket that could be used to lie upon by the fire, or in severe weather, though they would have cared little had they owned nothing of the kind. Their good spirits continued, and they were walking at a leisurely pace, when a rustling in the bushes on the left caused them to look in that direction. There stood the strange beast, not fifty feet away, head erect, and staring at them with the same inquiring look that he showed some time before. "I wonder how he likes a side view of us," said Terry, partly amused, but somewhat frightened; "I think he is close enough for us to fetch him this time." Fred was inclined to give him a shot, but he felt some doubt, and while he was considering the question, the beast whisked about and vanished like a flash. "He is a strange animal," said Fred, lowering his gun, which he was in the act of raising; "and I am more satisfied now than ever that we shall have trouble with him. The first time that we gain a fair shot, that is, like we had just now, let's tumble him over. He may be as daring and tough as the hunters say, but there isn't any animal tough enough to withstand a couple of well-aimed bullets." "I agree wid ye--that is, after one was fired. That shot of mine was well aimed and struck, but it takes somethin' more to bring him down, as a colored friend of mine once said when a house tumbled over on his head." "You saw how spry a creature he is, and if he should happen to drop down upon us from the branch of a tree, those sharp claws of his would play the mischief with us." Since there was no place in sight that suited for camping, Terry reloaded, and they kept on. After the fright they had received, you may be sure they maintained a close watch of the wood in every direction. As yet they had seen no game from which to procure food, but they wanted to go into camp near a spring or stream of water. The latter is generally looked upon as one of the indispensables by a party of campers, and it was not likely that the youths would have to travel far before finding what they wanted. The sun had not yet dropped below the horizon when they struck the very spot. There were the bubbling brook, lined by mossy banks, the small open space, the tall column-like trunks; and the heavy overhanging boughs, which, late though it was in the season, would allow but few drops of a shower to find their way through. The air was cool, but there were no signs of a storm. "There couldn't be a better place," said Fred, when he had noted all the points; "here is every thing that a party can want, except it be supper, which they ought to bring with them." "And somebody has been here ahead of us," added Terry, kicking apart the ashes at the base of a large tree; "there's where the fire was kindled." "No doubt it is where father and the rest of them spent the first night after leaving home: that shows that we have made good progress, and, if no accident happens, we shall arrive on time." "There is no need of our hurryin', as I understood that a gintleman once obsarved whin they were goin' to hang him; if we are two or three days late in gettin' there, what's the odds?" "None--though this fine weather can not last long, and when it is over, I should like to be at the end of our journey, where we shall have good shelter. I wonder what has become of the wild beast?" "Be the powers! but there he comes!" The words had hardly passed the lips of the startled Terry Clark, when the strange animal was seen in the path in front of them, in precisely the same position as when first noticed. He had evidently passed around to the front, as though determined to study the boys from every point of view. He seemed to have been standing for some minutes before discovered by the boys, and was now observed approaching, as the Irish lad had announced. He did not gallop or trot, but walked slowly, just as though having made up his mind to take a select meal off the youngsters, he was going to do so with the deliberation of an epicure that extracts the fullest enjoyment from his delicacies. There was something unnerving in the sight of the frightful animal approaching in this noiseless fashion, his jaws parted just enough to show his long, white teeth, but giving utterance to no growl, or threatening act, beyond the mere advance itself. His large, round eyes had a phosphorescent glow, and the long, sinewy body and limbs were the repository of a strength and activity that might well make a veteran hunter timid about encountering him. "By gracious!" said Fred Linden; "we're in for it now; he doesn't mean to wait for us to attack him, but is coming for us." "If I was called on to make a wager," said Terry, as cool as ever, "that would be the view that I would take of the same." "You fire first and I will follow; take good aim, and send your bullet right between the eyes." There was no time to spare, for the beast at that instant was within a dozen yards. Terry Clark brought his rifle to his shoulder, sighted quickly, and pulled the trigger. That he struck the creature was proven by his snarling growl and slight upward leap; but instead of stopping, he broke into a gallop and came straight on. Then Fred Linden aimed and fired, but he also failed to check the advance of the animal. CHAPTER XIV. A WELCOME ALLY. Fred Linden, like his companion, aimed directly between the eyes of the strange beast, and, like him, he struck the mark; but both shots only served to awake the irrestrainable ferocity of the animal, which, with another rasping howl and parted jaws, bounded toward them. Since both weapons were discharged, and they had no other firearms, the boys were almost helpless, and it may be said their enemy was upon them. "Run!" called out Fred, wheeling about and leaping toward a tree, behind which he took refuge; but sturdy Terry had no thought of turning away from such a foe. Throwing one foot back so as to steady himself, he seized his fine rifle with both hands, near to the muzzle, and held it so as to use it as a club or shillaleh. The brute was so close that he had no more than time to gather his strength, and swing the heavy stock with might and main, when the animal bounded at him straight from the ground. There was a "dull thud," as it may be called, and the stock crashed against the side of the beast's head, knocking him a couple of yards to the left, and almost at the feet of Fred Linden; but in point of fact the blow did no harm except to thwart the creature for a second or two. He was now snarling, and gave utterance to one or two peculiar barking sounds like a dog or wolf. His eyes were ablaze, and there could be no doubt that his fury was at white heat. Crouching for an instant, he made a bound for Terry, before he had time to balance himself to deliver his second blow with the same power as the first. Fred Linden could not stand still and see his companion torn to shreds in that fashion. He leaped from behind the tree, with his gun also clubbed, and hastened to strike with all his might; but he was too late. It was a curious fact, not understood at the moment, that the savage creature, although he leaped straight at Terry, passed fully two feet over his head, and that, too, when the lad was standing erect, and braced to deliver his second blow. Striking on his belly, several paces beyond, the beast rolled over and over, clawing, snapping, snarling, and beating the air, with lightning-like blows. The leaves and dust flew in all directions, and the foam which he spat from his jaws was flecked with blood. He continued rolling and struggling until he was a rod distant, and then suddenly stopped, stone dead. In the excitement and swirl of the moment both Fred and Terry were conscious that their guns were not the only ones that were fired. At the instant the brute was in the act of rising from the ground a second time for his leap, the sharp report of another rifle was heard. The peril was so imminent that the lads could give no attention just then to any thing but the immediate business in hand; but now, seeing their fearful foe was dead, they knew that it was the third bullet that had done it, and they glanced around to see who their friend was. No one was in sight, and they advanced to the carcass, which they were somewhat timid about touching, even though convinced that it was beyond the power of doing any more harm. They saw that both of their bullets had struck the skull, though not at the precise points at which they aimed. One had passed near the right eye of the nondescript, and must have inflicted serious injury, but its toughness would have enabled it to keep up the fight, and to have slain both of the boys before they could have reloaded and fired a second time. A little search showed where the fatal wound had been given. Just in front of the fore leg the lead had entered and gone through the heart. No animal, so far as known, amounts to any thing after his heart has been torn in twain, though he may live and move for a time. "I tell you, Terry, that I don't believe there is another beast in the country that, after receiving two bullets in the head, like that, could make such a fight." "I begs to corrict ye," said the other; "it was three shots, for do ye not mind that I bored a hole through him when we first made his acquaintance?" "So you claimed, but you haven't explained how it was that such a shot could be made without leaving any wound?" "It may have healed up since then," suggested the Irish lad, who knew as well as his companion that the first bullet did not touch the beast. "I hadn't thought of that," meekly observed Fred; "but there is one thing certain, that if that last shot hadn't been fired, it would have been the last of us: where could it have come from?" he asked, looking around and finding the answer to his question in the sight of Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who came from behind a clump of bushes on the other side of the small stream. Fred uttered an exclamation of delight when he recognized the graceful young warrior, who was holding the stock of his gun in his left hand, with the barrel resting idly in the hollow of his right arm. Fred jumped across the brook, with hand extended to greet him. "I'd rather see you than any person in the world," was the truthful exclamation of the youth: "when you gave me the letter yesterday I thought what a splendid trip this would be if Terry would go with me, and behold, he has come! I would have liked to have you too but I didn't dare say so, for I didn't think it was possible: but ever since we started I have felt that we only lacked _you_ to make the party complete. Now, ain't I glad to see you, and how are you, old fellow?" The lad in his boisterous way wrung the hand of Deerfoot and slapped him on the shoulder; then laughed, and shook hands again with an enthusiasm that left no doubt of the cordiality of his welcome. As for Deerfoot, he showed a gentle dignity that was never absent. His faint smile lit up his handsome face, and he was pleased with the pleasure of the others. "Deerfoot has seen the faces of his brothers not many times, but it brings sunshine to his heart to meet them again." Then his countenance was crossed by an expression of gravity like an eclipse passing over the face of the sun. "Is my brother ill, that he suffers so much?" This question referred to Terry Clark, Deerfoot looking over the shoulder of Fred at the Irish lad behind him. Fred heard a curious noise, and turned to learn what it meant. His friend had leaned his gun against the nearest tree, so as to give his limbs free play, and was flinging his arms aloft, and dancing a jig with a vigor that made it look as if his legs were shot out, and back and forth, by some high pressure engine. Now and then he flung his cap aloft, and, as it came down, ducked his head under and dexterously caught it. His mouth was puckered up most of the time, while he whistled with might and main, though the energy of his general movements shut out all resemblance to a tune. Occasionally he stopped whistling and broke into snatches of song which, from the same cause, could not be identified. Fred Linden laughed. He was demonstrative, but not so much so as Terry. Looking sideways at Deerfoot, he saw his eyes sparkling and the corners of his mouth twitching. Rarely had he been amused as much as he now was by the extravagant manifestations of the Irish lad, for whom he had formed a strong regard. Deerfoot and Fred having turned their glances toward Terry, the latter appeared to catch sight of them for the first time. With a whoop he flung his hat higher than ever in the air, caught it with right side up on his crown as it came down, and then shouted: "How are yees, me friends?" and made a dash for them. In his enthusiasm he forgot the brook running through a small hollow between them. His feet went down in the depression without any knowledge on his part, and he sprawled headlong, his cap rolling at the feet of Deerfoot, who pushed the toe of his moccasin under the edge, and flung it to him as he rose to his feet. "It's all the same, and a part of the show," laughed Terry, "as the wife of the bear-keeper obsarved when the bear ate him up, and it's how are ye, and how do ye ixpect to be, and what have ye to say for yersilf, and why are ye so long answerin' me quistion?" Deerfoot simply smiled, and made no reply until Terry had replaced his cap, and was done with his noisy greeting. Then he pointed to his gun leaning against the tree, and said: "When my brother is in the woods, he should keep his gun within reach of his arm." "Yer moral sentiments are corrict," remarked Terry, hurrying back--this time without falling--to regain his piece. When he once more stood beside the laughing Fred, the Shawanoe addressed both: "Are the guns of my brothers loaded?" Both felt the rebuke; they had violated one of the elementary rules of the hunter's life, which is that the first thing to be done after discharging a weapon is to reload it. Fred flushed, for he did not remember that he had ever forgotten it before. "It was a piece of forgetfulness of which Terry and I ought to be ashamed, but it was the first time we had ever had a fight with such a beast as that: what do you call it, Deerfoot?" The Shawanoe shook his head to signify that he knew of no distinct name for the animal, but he explained to the boys, what they already knew, that it was a cross of some kind, concentrating in itself, as it seemed, all the power, activity, daring and ferocity of the most dreaded animals of the woods. Deerfoot could not deny that his shot had saved the boys from being torn to shreds by the brute. Had it been a few seconds later, or differently aimed, nothing could have saved them from its fury. CHAPTER XV. "DEERFOOT WILL BE SENTINEL TO-NIGHT." "We are on our way to the camp in the Ozarks," said Fred Linden; "and am I mistaken in believing that you will go with us all the way?" "Such is the wish of Deerfoot," replied the Shawanoe, whereat Terry Clark gave signs of breaking out again; but at a warning look from Fred he restrained himself. "Deerfoot loves the Hunters of the Ozark; he has promised to make them a visit; he will do so with his friends that he has found in the woods, and who forget to keep their guns loaded." "No use!" exclaimed Terry, bounding in the air, striking his heels together, and flinging his hat aloft with a loud whoop; "I must give gintle exprission to me emotions, even though it makes a war with England." The others showed no objection to this harmless ebullition, and he speedily became quiet again. Had Fred Linden been intimately acquainted with Deerfoot, he would have noticed that he was not entirely at ease. Now and then he darted glances about him, as though he half expected the appearance of some unwelcome person. The glances were so quick and furtive that neither Fred nor Terry noticed them. "Deerfoot," said Fred, the three still standing; "we have concluded that there isn't a better place along the trail for a camp." To the surprise of the boys, he shook his head in dissent. "Why, this is where father and the rest spent the night when they last went this way." He nodded to signify that he agreed with them. "There were three of them, and they had their horses, that could not be well hid; when my brothers go into camp for the night, they should take a place where all who went by would not see them." It struck the others as curious that the Shawanoe should talk in that fashion, when they could not see any cause for alarm; but they had enough faith in him to accept his judgment on such an important matter. He added: "Come with Deerfoot and he will show his brothers where they may slumber in peace." Without any more explanation the Shawanoe moved down the bank of the brook, following a course parallel to the flow of the water, the other two keeping at his heels. He did not look around until he had gone more than a hundred yards. Then it was that the little party found itself in a rocky section, with a rough cavern on their right--that is, the bowlders and rocks were jumbled together in such a fashion that there was some resemblance to a cave. The chief merit of the place, however, was the privacy that it afforded, rather than the strength as a means of defense against an enemy. "This suits very well," said Fred, taking in all the points at a glance; "here is a rocky bed on which we can start a fire, and the other rocks and bowlders will keep off the wind, if there happens to be any; the water is handy, if we should need it, and it is certain that we are not as likely to be seen here as where we first selected." "Deerfut," said Terry, who was nosing about, "I obsarve ashes here, as though somebody had been ahead of us." "Deerfoot built a fire but a few moons ago, and staid over night." "If it was good enough for ye, I can stand it," said Terry, "which is the remark me uncle made when the Duke of Argyle asked him to stay to dinner." The boys unfastened the bundles from their backs and prepared to spend the night where they were. The blankets were spread on the flinty floor, and Deerfoot, setting down his gun beside theirs, helped to gather the wood with which to keep a fire burning. The three were so active that it took but a short time to collect all that was needed. This was thrown into one pile, from which it could be withdrawn as wanted. I must give you a better idea of the spot where the three decided to spend their first night in the woods together. They had walked northward from the trail, and, so far as they could see, the country was of the most broken nature, though the abundance of trees and undergrowth did not permit an extended view. Two masses of stone rose to the height of a dozen feet, and were separated by about the same distance. These rough walls extended back to a distance of three or four yards, where they came against a similar formation. Thus, as may be said, there were three sides to an inclosure, that part facing the brook being entirely open. On top of these supports were tumbled an irregular mass of bowlders and rocks which formed the roof. The latter had so many openings that it was as well ventilated as the roof of the house about which the Arkansas Traveler tells us. The rear part of the cavern, if it may be allowed that name, was stone, while the front was earth. Near the center, Deerfoot had kindled his fire when he staid there, the smoke finding ready escape through the openings above. Such a fire might give some warmth were it needed, but the blaze was so well hidden by the surrounding walls that it was not likely to be seen by any one passing no nigher than fifty feet: therein lay the reason why it was selected by Deerfoot. After piling up the fuel for the night, the youths threw some branches on the ground, near the rear of the cavern, and then spread their blankets over them. The Shawanoe carried no blanket with him, so it was expected that he would share the couch of his friends. While the three were busying themselves in this manner, Fred Linden was disturbed by a suspicion that had been growing from the moment Deerfoot expressed dissatisfaction with the spot selected for their camp. This suspicion was that the young Indian had a fear of something to which, as yet, he had made no reference. I have already shown that it was not generally considered a dangerous business in which the hunters of Ozark engaged. The rough, outdoor life sometimes brought with it hardships, and occasionally sufferings, but chief among the dangers was not that from Indians. It was known that now and then the red men fired spiteful shots at the invaders of their hunting grounds (as was the case with Michael Clark, the father of Terence), but in this section of the west that particular peril was deemed less than that which threatened from wild beasts. There was no instance of the hunters having been molested on their way to and from the trapping regions: why then this special caution of Deerfoot? Fred Linden, while turning these thoughts over in his mind, gave but the one answer--_the Winnebago_. He was an intruder in that part of Louisiana, and he had shown by his acts how ready he was to shed the blood of innocent white persons. It was not a supposition merely that this fierce warrior had companions. The keen eyes of Deerfoot had discovered the proofs that there were a half dozen, at least, with him, and from whom he separated for a short time while he entered into the "side speculation" with Brindle and her bell; so it will be seen that Fred Linden was not only right in his suspicion that the Wolf had to do with the unrest of Deerfoot, but that the latter possessed good cause for his misgiving. The Winnebagos, having drifted so far away from their own hunting grounds into this part of the world, were either going further from home, or were on their way back. Had the Wolf behaved himself, the band would have gone and come without the knowledge of any of the pioneers, unless there was a chance meeting in the wood, when it is not likely that any harm would have resulted. But one of the Winnebagos was struck in the face by a white boy, while a young Indian, a friend of the latter, having "got the drop" on the Wolf, had taken his gun from him. In other words, the crime of assault and robbery had been committed. Would the rest of the Winnebagos pocket the outrage and meekly withdraw from the country? That, it would be seen, was the all important question, upon which great events, as affecting the friends in whom we are interested, hinged. It was in violation of the nature of the American race that any member thereof should refuse to resent an indignity, when there was a chance of doing so. The Winnebagos had the best of reasons for believing that, by prowling around the settlement, or along the trail leading thereto, they would soon gain an opportunity to wipe out the disgrace put upon the Wolf, and, if not able to get back the gun that had been taken from him, would be able to procure another. The fact that this valuable weapon was carried in the hands of a boy, who had started to tramp through the woods to a point a hundred miles off, and that it was not at all impossible that the Winnebagos found, or would find it out, gave emphasis to the cause of Deerfoot's uneasiness. It is worthy of note that, while Terry Clark never once took this view of the situation, it occurred to his friend Fred, who waited for the Shawanoe to make some reference to it. "He knows best, and if he doesn't choose to say any thing about it, there is no call for me to do so." The shadows of night were creeping through the wood when the fire was started, and the smoke began stealing upward through the openings in the rocky roof. "Deerfoot," said Fred, when the fire crackled brightly, "the rule is, that a party in camp like this, must have some one on guard while the others sleep. I don't know as there is any need now, but if you think so, let Terry and me do it, for we are not in need of sleep." The Shawanoe looked at him intently for a moment as though he would read his thoughts, and then quietly said: "Deerfoot will be sentinel to-night!" CHAPTER XVI. AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. Inasmuch as Terry and Fred had enough lunch left to furnish all that was wanted, Deerfoot decided not to hunt for any thing else. At that hour, when it was growing dark, it would have been hard to find any game; but he told them that at no great distance above, the tiny brook issued from a small lake, where he could easily get all the fish he wanted. Accordingly, the fire having been started at the rear of the cavern, where the smoke found free vent, the three sat within a circle of light, and partook of the coarse bread and cold venison. The latter was tough, but it could not withstand the teeth of the two youths, whose appetites were such as wait on high health. It was noticeable that the young Shawanoe ate no more than half as much as each of the others. Then saying that he wished to view the camp from the outside, he went out in front of the cavern. He remarked that he would be gone only a few minutes, but he took his gun with him. When Deerfoot emerged from the rude shelter it was fully dark. There was a moon in the sky, but the density of the surrounding forest kept out the rays, so that the gloom could not be penetrated to any distance. He stood still and listened. His sense of hearing, like that of sight, was trained to a wonderfully fine point, as you have learned in the incidents previously related, so that faint noises, such as you or I could not have detected, would have told their full story to him. But nothing more than what may be called the natural sounds of the wood fell on his ear. Then the young Indian leaped lightly across the small brook in front of the cavern and walked some two rods beyond, where he paused and listened again. After this he made a complete circuit of the cavern. This compelled him to cross the little stream once more, brought him back to the mouth of the retreat, and caused him also to climb over a great deal of broken ground, but a shadow could not have made the circuit more noiselessly. He stopped several times and listened with the same profound attention, occasionally looking toward the cavern within which his friends were eating their supper and talking together in low, guarded tones. He caught the murmur of their voices, which would have been audible to no one else beyond a dozen feet. Just above the large opening in the cavern, through which most of the smoke found its way, a faint, dull glow showed that the camp-fire was burning below. The inspection made by Deerfoot was satisfactory; he had discovered no sign of any prowling enemy, and the party could not have found a place where there was less likelihood of disturbance by any foes who were in the neighborhood. It would seem indeed that nothing short of a most exceptional mishap could bring any danger near. So he once more entered the cavern, and seated himself by the fire, upon which Fred Linden had just thrown a bundle of sticks that filled the cavern with a light like that of noonday. Terry insisted that Deerfoot should take his blanket, because the Shawanoe had none, and the one belonging to Fred Linden was enough for the others. Deerfoot at first declined, but his young friend persevered, so the half-dozen yards of heavy stuff were spread on the rock and earth floor of the cabin, and then Deerfoot disposed of himself in a lolling attitude, reclining on his left elbow, while he looked across and through the blaze at his two friends, who were stretched out in almost a similar attitude. It will be borne in mind that he was nearer the mouth of the cavern than were the others: in fact he was about half-way between where they were stretched and the open air. Fred and Terry did not notice this, or, if they did, they supposed it was accidental, though it was done with forethought by the sagacious young Shawanoe. The evening was yet young, and the circumstances were such as to make the boys talk at a rate that almost overwhelmed Deerfoot, who always showed a deliberation in his speech, as if he weighed each word before allowing it to fall from his lips. Fred and Terry had formed a strong liking for the young Shawanoe, and since he seemed to be in fine spirits, they plied him with questions until they learned the chief facts in his history. When the long conversation ended they knew that Deerfoot was the son of a Shawanoe chief, and that he was born in the Dark and Bloody Ground. When but a small boy he was like a spitting wildcat in his hatred of the white people, and it was not until he was wounded and nearly beaten to death, that he could be taken prisoner on one of the excursions of his people against the white settlements. He fell into goods hands and was nursed back to strength. Not only that, but those that had him in direct charge told him about God, who made the world, who loved His creatures, and who sorrowed to see them trying to harm each other, and who had sent His only Son to die for His lost children. It was a wonderful story to which Deerfoot listened with rapt attention, and all in time (as you have been told in another place), the extraordinary young Shawanoe became a devout follower of the meek and lowly One. He felt that he could never repay the whites for showing him the way to eternal life. Thenceforward he became their friend, and devoted his life to protecting them against the enmity of the red men. Deerfoot told Fred and Terry something about his stirring experiences with Ned Preston and Wildblossom Brown, and afterward with Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub, but did not hint at one-tenth the services he had rendered the white people. Of all the fierce tribes that made portions of Ohio and Kentucky like sheol on earth, the Shawanoes were the worst: they were the Apaches of the last century. Deerfoot had fallen into their hands and many of his most desperate encounters were with them. Finally the efforts to take him prisoner became so far reaching that he saw that his usefulness as a friend of the settlements was at end. The rage of the Shawanoes was such that it may be said that some of their campaigns were planned with the sole purpose of capturing the young renegade, whom they hated with a hatred like that of the tigers of the jungle. You will see, therefore, that not only was the usefulness of Deerfoot as an ally of the whites ended, but he became even an element of danger to them. He had been urged to make his home with those who held him in such high regard, but he could not do so. He quietly withdrew from the country and crossed the Mississippi into the vast Louisiana Territory. There he had lived for a couple of years, and there he expected to end his days. "Deerfoot," said Fred Linden, when his remarkable narration had ended, "Terry and I are not new hands in the woods, and we would be much better satisfied if you would allow us to share the night in watching with you." "Why does my brother think of danger?" "Because _you_ do; I know it by your actions." The quickness of this reply struck Deerfoot favorably. He did not think that his conduct had been noticed, and he was gratified that his friend was so observant. That there should be no mistake about his suspicions, Fred added: "I don't know whether you have seen that Winnebago or not since you started him on the run yesterday; he may be still running, but I am quite sure, from the way you have behaved, that you suspect that he and the rest of his companions are prowling through the woods, on the lookout for a chance to revenge themselves." Deerfoot's face glowed. Fred Linden had hit the nail on the head. "My brother speaks the words of truth; his thoughts are the thoughts of Deerfoot." Terry Clark looked at his companion in astonishment. "How come ye to know all that, Fred?" "I see nothing remarkable about it; all I had to do was to observe the actions of Deerfoot since he joined us to-day. In the first place, he wouldn't have made us change our camping place if he hadn't had some misgiving, and then the way he has been mousing around the outside, and his decision to keep watch to-night: why what could tell the story more plainly?" "Begorrah," said the admiring Terry, "ye are not such a big fool as you look to be; I never thought of that." "Which looks as if you are a bigger dunce than you seem; but," added Fred, turning toward the Shawanoe, "have you seen any thing of the Winnebagos?" "Deerfoot has seen their footprints in the woods; they are on the watch for his white brothers that they may gain their scalps, because the gun of the Wolf was taken from him." "They seem to have hard work in finding us: where do those Winnebagos come from?" Deerfoot pointed to the northward, or rather to a little east of north. "Their hunting grounds are many suns' travel that way." "Why do the spalpeens come down in this part of the world, and why don't they behave thimselves whin they do?" demanded Terry, with some indignation. Deerfoot shook his head, as though the question was more than he could answer. "Deerfoot has met Shawanoes and Sacs and Wyandottes and Pawnees far away from their villages and hunting grounds, besides the strange Indians who come much further from the setting sun. The red men travel whither they will. Why the Winnebagos passed near the home of my brothers only they can tell." "Well, they're a bad lot," said Terry, "to try the mean trick they did on me; though," he added the next moment, "I'm glad they done the same, for if they hadn't, how would I've got hold of this lovely gun? Do ye think we shall have any more trouble with them?" "Deerfoot believes there will be trouble, and it will come soon!" "Well, if it does, all ye have to do is to take away the rist of their guns and set 'em on the run home agin." CHAPTER XVII. A SUSPICIOUS SOUND. By and by Fred Linden and Terry Clark became drowsy. Devoutly kneeling, they spent several minutes in prayer, and then stretched out on a single blanket, with their backs toward each other, and the face of Fred in such a position that he could look across the blaze at Deerfoot on the other side. The latter had remained still and motionless, while the lads, remembering the lesson they had learned at their mothers' knee, asked their Heavenly Father to hold them in His keeping. The young Shawanoe, who spent many an hour in communion with his Maker, was touched to see that his friends did not forget their duty. Deerfoot stirred the burning wood so that it threw out more light, and then, reclining on his left elbow, so that the illumination came directly in his face (the worst direction possible), he drew from beneath his hunting-shirt the small Bible, that had been presented to him by the Preston family, and began reading it. Fred Linden, who had his eyes fixed upon him, was so interested that his drowsiness departed. Without moving he watched him closely. He saw him turning the leaves back and forth, as if looking for some place he had in mind. It took him but a minute to find it, when, still leaning on his elbow, and with the light striking his face and the printed page, he seemed to become so absorbed as to lose all consciousness of his surroundings. Fred Linden, without betraying that he was awake, surveyed this remarkable performance with an admiration that for the moment made his eyes misty with emotion. The eyes of Deerfoot were downcast, as he read the page, so that they could not be seen but the handsome oval face; the luxuriant black hair, with the eagle feathers thrust into the crown; the rows of gleaming beads around the neck; the deerskin shirt that covered the breast and arms to the wrists, on the left one of which shone the golden bracelet; the red sash, behind which were shoved the knife and tomahawk; the brilliant fringes of the hunting-shirt and leggins; the small, ornamented moccasins; all these of themselves made a striking figure; but Fred, handsome and rugged himself, who was not accustomed to see any thing like beauty in the human form, was struck with the symmetry of the figure before him. He particularly noticed the tapering legs, and could not help saying to himself: "There is no Indian or white man that can run as fast as he." And the mental declaration of the lad was truth. The fleetness of the young warrior had never been equaled, and he had never yet met the person whom he could not outrun with ease and without putting forth his whole speed. "He don't look strong, but he is the last person that I would want to meet in a fight; I'll bet he is so quick that he could dodge the bullet fired at him." I must draw the line here: Deerfoot could not do any thing of the kind. "And he is reading his Bible! I never in all my life saw an Indian who could read a word of print, or do more than sign his name with a cross or some figure like a bug: I wonder whether we couldn't hire him to teach school for us at Greville." Fred thought a great many queer things about his new friend, but lay watching him fully ten minutes before he spoke. Then, when he saw him turn a leaf, he said in a low voice: "Deerfoot, will you please read aloud?" Fred expected that the Shawanoe would start and look up in surprise; but he never raised his eyes, or gave the least sign that these words of his were unexpected. He knew that Fred was watching him from the first, and so, before the words were more than fairly out of his mouth, Deerfoot began reading in a low, impressive monotone, as though he had merely resumed, after turning over the leaf. "After this I beheld, and lo! a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindred, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands; "And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the elders, and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on their faces and worshiped God. "Singing, Amen; blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be unto our God for ever and for ever, Amen. "And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, Who are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they? "And I said unto him, sir, thou knowest. And he said unto me, these are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. "Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple; and He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. "They shall hunger no more, neither shall they thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. "For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." Deerfoot read a few minutes longer from his favorite part in the New Testament and then ceased. He had not lifted his eyes from the page, but he knew that Fred Linden was asleep. He observed it in his breathing, which was as soft as that of an infant. The rocky cavern, the smoldering camp-fire, the two sleeping boys, the motionless Indian stretched out and reading his Bible by the faint light, the great, solemn forest walling them in, the profound stillness that reigned everywhere: these were elements in a picture the like of which it may be said (except where Deerfoot was one of the figures), had never been seen anywhere else, and was not likely ever to be seen again. The fire sank lower and the light on the printed page became so dim that even the keen eyes of the young Shawanoe could not trace the words. He looked at the embers as if asking himself whether he should renew the blaze and continue reading. But the hour for meditation had come, and he closed the book. Looking fondly at the stiff, wooden cover, he touched his lips with infinite tenderness to it, and carefully placed it in the inner receptacle of his hunting-shirt, murmuring as he did so: "The best friend that Deerfoot ever knew!" O light of life! Comforter of the sorrowing heart! Consoler of the stricken soul! In the flush of bounding health, when the passions throb high, we may not heed thy blessed teachings, but when man's promises prove false, and the head bows before the endless strife, and woes overwhelm us like a flood, there is relief, there is light, there is life in Thee. The wicked may jeer, the learned may scoff, the powerful may despise, the favored may turn away, but there comes the time when learning, gifts, wealth, power, beauty and all the world can give turn to ashes, and they have no boon compared to Thine. "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." The pampered monarch, the dying beggar, the statesman, the slave, the mother bowed with woe, the father shaken with grief, childhood in its innocence, man in his strength, beauty in its scorn, trembling old age, can find no balm but in Thee. Better that the sun should be blotted from the heavens and the earth left a trackless void than that Thy light should be denied the world. Deerfoot lay flat on his face, his arms crossed so that his head and shoulders were held a few inches above the flinty floor, and his dark eyes were fixed on the embers in front. It was his favorite enjoyment, when the stirring incidents of the day were done, and he had read from the only Book he ever wanted to read, to spend a time in meditating on the truths that it may be said had become a part of his very being. Many a time had he lain thus, as motionless as if dead, while the wonderful brain was busy with thoughts that stirred the profoundest depths of his nature. There are beliefs that come to us at which reason may laugh, but which it can not shake or disturb. There are questions that the glib unbeliever may ask that we can not answer. But away down in our hearts is a faith which the whole world can not remove, and which can be uprooted only by ourselves. Woe to him who dares lay violent hands upon it! Deerfoot no more doubted that he and every one was in the direct keeping of God than he doubted that he breathed and moved. He knew that the Great Spirit had caused him to be made a prisoner by whites so that he might learn the way of life; he knew that He had given him an insight into the mysteries of His word that was denied to many others. A deep, outstretching sympathy for those less favored than he suffused his whole being. Gladly would he have given up his life in pain and torture and agony, as did One in the dim long ago, if by so doing he could earn the smile of his Heavenly Father. But this remarkable young Christian felt that he was doing the work appointed for him to do. Here and there he dropped a word that proved to be seed sown upon good ground, and which had borne its fruit. He had met his enemies in fair combat and had never taken wrong advantage of them: his marvelous bow and arrow, and his still more effective rifle, had brought many a dusky miscreant low, but he had used his amazing gifts in the line of duty, and for the good of others. Would that he could have won them by love, but it was not in the nature of things that he should do so. He had "broken the Bread of Life" to more than one, and he hoped that ere he should be called home, he should point the way to others. Suddenly he raised his chin from his hands and turned his head slightly to one side. His ear, whose acuteness was almost beyond belief, had caught a suspicious sound. Profound as might be the meditation of the Shawanoe, he could never forget his surroundings. CHAPTER XVIII. LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT. The crisp autumn night had not reached its turn when the full moon climbed from behind the straggling clouds obscuring her face, into the clear air above, and shone down on the wilderness, with the same calm splendor with which it had shone during the ages before the foot of a white man had rested on the soil of our country. Here and there, at widely-separated points, as the orb moved toward the zenith, could be seen the star-like twinkles of light which showed where the sparse settlements had been planted by the pioneers. At intervals, too, miles away from the clearings, could be distinguished the glimmer of the hunters' camp-fires, where the hardy men had lain down wrapped in their blankets, and to sleep the sleep of health. Still further away, by the side of some calmly flowing river or creek, were the ragged tepees of the wild Indians. Mountain, forest and stream made up the landscape, that was illuminated by the moon on the night when Fred Linden and Terry Clark lay down in slumber by the fire in the cavern, and Deerfoot the Shawanoe took upon himself the duty of acting as a sentinel over them. It was not yet midnight when the figure of a crouching Indian emerged like a shadow from the little gully which marked the course of the tiny stream in front of the camp. Just at the point where he appeared, a few rays of the moonlight found their way among the limbs, and added impressiveness to his appearance. A glance would have told that he had approached at the most stealthy gait of which he was capable, and was still using all the skill at his command. Finding himself within the faint light of the moon, he straightened up, like one who is not certain of his surroundings and is using his eyes and ears to their utmost. Standing erect in this manner he showed himself to be a full-grown warrior in middle life, of strong limbs and frame, and attired in the usual dress of his people. The long, coarse hair dangled about the shoulders, some of the strands having fallen forward in front of the chest, at the time his head drew it over while in a crouching posture. It grew so low on his forehead that no more than an inch was between the roots and shaggy eyebrows. Beneath these the eyes glittered like those of a snake. The ugly features were made more ugly by the different colored paints--most of it black--that was daubed over them, and the countenance was distorted by a swelling recently produced. The breast and arms were covered by deerskin, a fringe running down in front to the belt, which held his tomahawk. The frightful horn-handled knife was tightly grasped in his right hand. Below the belt was breechcloth, followed by leggins and moccasins, but it was noticeable that he carried no rifle with him. Perhaps you have guessed the reason; he had none to carry, for he was the Wolf who had been deprived of his valuable weapon on the day before by Deerfoot the Shawanoe. As was learned in due time, the Winnebago, after being despoiled by Deerfoot, had made all haste to rejoin his band, that were encamped at no great distance from Greville. When he told his brother warriors of the indignity to which he had been subjected, they were as rampart as he for revenge. They were on the point of starting for a settlement, intending to await the chance to shoot down some of the unsuspecting people, when the leader, a man of iron will, interposed. He said that according to the story of the Wolf himself, his gun had been taken from him by a single warrior. A Winnebago ought to be ashamed to confess such a thing, and the only way by which the Wolf could redeem himself was to recover his gun unaided by any of his people. Let him come back to the party with his rifle and then they would risk their lives a dozen times over to repay the young Shawanoe and his youthful friend (they knew nothing about Fred Linden) for the insult they had put upon one of the leading warriors of the Winnebago tribe. You can well understand how displeasing this decision was to the Wolf, but there was no help for it. The warrior who gave the order was not only the leader of the company, but the principal chief of the tribe. No one dared to dispute his command, and he intimated that it was not only necessary for the Wolf to recover his gun in order to enlist the services of the rest, but his standing at home would be compromised if he went back without his rifle and the story that it had been taken from him by a single warrior of another tribe. From this you will understand the eagerness with which the Wolf set out to regain the weapon. The fact that Fred Linden and Terry Clark left Greville the next morning after the affair, mixed matters to that extent that, for a time, the Winnebago was at fault. It was his intention to prowl around the settlement, awaiting his chance, for he suspected that Deerfoot had gone thither with the lad who had given the Wolf such a blow in the face; but the discovery of the footprints of the two boys leading to the southward mystified the Indian. He was quite close to the creek, and the sun had crossed the meridian at the time this discovery was made. It was natural that he should look for the trail of the Shawanoe, but he could not find it. Finally, with a half-suspicion of the truth, the Wolf went into the settlement to make inquiries. He could speak enough broken English to make himself understood, and, as it so happened, it was Mr. MacClaskey himself whom he accosted. He told the inquirer the truth, adding that Terry took with him a gun that was captured from a vagabond Indian. But for that he would not have been allowed to go, for there was but one rifle in the family, which the settler would trust in no hands but his own for any length of time. The Winnebago was shrewd enough to disarm any doubt that might have been felt about himself. It was the rule in the settlement to show kindness to every wandering Indian that visited them, and no one dreamed that any thing was to be feared from the Wolf. But his heart was full of exulting malignancy. He knew who had the gun, and aware that the two boys had started for the camp of the Ozarks, he understood where to look for it. The fact that the Winnebago had no gun with him would have caused the belief that he was the vagabond Indian, had he not explained that he left it in the woods as a token of comity. The Wolf sauntered back until he was across the stream and out of sight. Then he sped along the trail, with a long, loping trot, which his race can maintain for hours without fatigue. He had a long distance to travel, but he reached the scene of the encounter with the strange animal, just as it was growing dark. At this point, he showed admirable woodcraft. The signs on the ground puzzled him for a time, but there was the carcass of the animal, and by and by he found the imprints of the small moccasins, which told him that the young Shawanoe had rejoined the others at this point. As you can well believe, this was any thing but a pleasant discovery, for, superior as was the strength of the Winnebago, he would have preferred to meet the two boys, even though both were armed, than to find himself face to face again with the remarkable Indian youth. But there was no help for it, and the dusky Winnebago compressed his coppery lips with the resolve that the gun should be in his hands before the rising of the morrow's sun. The light was rapidly fading among the trees and he improved what was left of it. Prowling around the spot in a circle, with his nose close to the ground, he discovered that the three youths had started along the bank of the brook toward its head. Thereupon the Winnebago formed the correct conclusion; they had moved from the main trail (doubtless on the suggestion of the young Shawanoe), in search of some place to encamp where there would be less danger of detection. By the time the Wolf had satisfied himself on this point, it had become too dark among the trees for his eyes to detect the trail, which at mid-day would have been as distinct as a beaten path. He therefore adopted the plan of which I have made mention elsewhere: he followed a general rule. The conclusion being that the parties for whom he was searching had located themselves somewhere along the creek, it was useless to try and follow the footprints, though there were points here and there where the sense of touch might have helped him. He decided to creep stealthily up stream until he found the camp, and then bide his time. It is hard to form an idea of the extreme care with which this was done. Had the Winnebago not known of the presence of Deerfoot, he would not have taken half the time consumed, but he had seen enough of that wonderful youth to know that it would require more than a child to outwit him. At a point about half way between the trail and the camp among the rocks, the Wolf thought his hands touched some imprints in the earth which showed that the three had turned to the right and gone deeper into the woods. It required reconnoitering before he discovered his mistake. With the same amazing patience he renewed his stealthy progress up the stream, until at last he emerged into the moonlight and found that at last he had reached the spot for which he had hunted so long. It so happened that as he straightened up, he looked directly into the mouth of the cave and saw the dull glow of the camp-fire, like the open eye of some monster. Not only that, but he observed the three forms stretched out by it. The heart of the savage throbbed with pleasure, for he felt that success had come at last. With the same absolute noiselessness he began creeping into the mouth of the cavern. One of the embers fell apart with a soft rustle, which caused him to stop and hold his breath lest the sleepers should awake. But they did not stir, and in a minute he resumed his advance. The two white lads had flung the blankets from their faces, so that he saw Fred Linden plainly, and enough of the other to identify him as the one who had smitten him. Nearer to the Winnebago than they was the third form, which he knew equally well. "It is the Shawanoe," was his thought; "I will bury my knife in his heart and then slay the others." A minute later he reached forward his upraised right hand and suddenly brought it down with a force that pinned the blanket to the earth. But to his unspeakable disgust Deerfoot was not within it. CHAPTER XIX. SHAWANOE AND WINNEBAGO. While Fred Linden and Terry Clark lay in that part of the cavern where the floor was of rock, the blanket of Deerfoot was spread on the earth. Consequently when the Winnebago brought down his knife with such vicious spitefulness, it went through the folds of the blanket and was buried to the hilt in the ground underneath. You know that, despite the marvelous quiet with which the Winnebago approached the cavern, he was heard by Deerfoot, who, pausing only long enough to make sure that an enemy was approaching, whisked outside. There he stood in the impenetrable shadow under the trees, and saw the Winnebago at the moment he emerged into the faint moonlight and stood upright. The first look confirmed his suspicion that it was the Winnebago, who had come back to avenge himself for the affair of the preceding day. Deerfoot smiled to himself, for there was a tinge of absurdity about the whole business that was sure to become still more so. The Shawanoe paused a few seconds before darting out of the cavern, until he could arrange his blanket, so that it would appear as if it infolded his sleeping form, and then he quietly awaited events. It must be admitted that it looked like leaving Fred and Terry in great peril to permit such a savage enemy to creep so close to them while they were sound asleep; but Deerfoot knew that the first thing that the Wolf would do would be to attempt his life, precisely as he did attempt it. Before he could do any thing more, the Shawanoe concluded to impress his presence upon the visitor. At the moment, therefore, that the Winnebago stopped his advance and slowly raised his knife, as he supposed over the breast of Deerfoot, that gentleman, kneeling on one knee, brought his rifle to bear upon the Winnebago, the dull light from the fire shining along the barrel, whose muzzle was within a yard of the unsuspicious Wolf. The blanket through which the keen-pointed knife had been driven was no more firmly transfixed for the moment than was the Wolf when a slight hissing noise caused him to turn his head, and he saw the dreaded Shawanoe in a kneeling position with his gun leveled at him, the finger on the trigger, and the bright eye glancing along the barrel. The Winnebago was literally unable to move or speak, and Deerfoot, motionless himself, held him thus for several seconds. Then with the gun still pointed, he said in a low voice: "Dog of a Winnebago! Deerfoot has spared the life of the Wolf, and he now seeks to strike him in the dark." This address loosened the tongue of the terrified warrior, who, seeing his captor raise his head from sighting along the barrel, though he kept the weapon leveled, obeyed the beckoning motion of Deerfoot, and crept noiselessly out of the cavern. On the alert for any chance, he was ready to seize it, but the first object on which his eye rested in the dim moonlight was the figure of the young Shawanoe holding his gun in such a position, that, should it be necessary, he could fire like a flash. Deerfoot would not have hesitated to lay his gun aside, and, drawing his knife, give the Winnebago the same chance with himself; but the Wolf had left his weapon where he forced it through the blanket into the ground, so that he had none except his tomahawk, and he was not likely to attempt any thing with that. Besides, while Deerfoot had not the least fear of his enemy, he did not wish to fight with him. He did not engage in his many desperate encounters through love of victory, but because it had seemed to him that it was his duty, and there was no other way out of the trouble. It must be said, too, that at this hour the Shawanoe happened to be in a mood which rendered such encounters more than usually distasteful to him. After he had closed his Bible and lay on his face, looking into the embers and meditating, the same thought that had stirred him many a time before filled his mind again. Why do men strive to kill each other? It was a question which has puzzled many a wise man in the past and has not yet been answered. Thousands of affectionate husbands unlock the white arms of the loving little children from their necks, kiss the heartbroken wife good-by, and then rush out to try to murder one whom they have never seen, who has also just torn himself loose from his family. There is something in the thought that mystifies beyond all explanation. The problem which directly interested Deerfoot was whether the day would not come when the red men of every tribe could meet the pale faces in friendship instead of hatred. Why should they always be at war? Could he do a little to bring about that day of universal peace? Was there not some work which the Great Spirit had laid out for him by which he could help to soften the feeling of the two peoples toward each other? But Deerfoot had asked himself the same question many a time before, and the only answer was that the most he could do was to follow the light within him: that is, aid to remove a part of the antagonism between the two races. Alas, too, that while he was considering the question, his ear caught the soft rustle that told him one of his own race was seeking his life. Deerfoot was sorrowed more than angered. He wished that the Winnebago had taken some other time to make his stealthy attack. Joined to this emotion was that of another akin to sympathy for the Winnebago in his complete discomfiture. He had come back to regain his rifle, but not only had failed, but had lost his knife, and now was standing at the mercy of a Shawanoe young enough to be his son. The latter resolved that, though the Wolf had earned death, he would not harm him, unless forced to do so in self-defense. For half a minute the warriors, with ten feet separating them, looked straight at each other in silence. Fred Linden and Terry Clark slept soundly, for as yet there had been no noise sufficient to awake a light sleeper. "Why does the Wolf seek the life of Deerfoot?" asked the latter, willing to relieve the embarrassment of the other. "The Wolf sought the gun that had been stolen from him." "But it was not hidden in the blanket, that he should drive his knife through it." "The Wolf believed it was," was the curt response. "Does the Wolf strike with his knife at his own gun?" asked the Shawanoe, without betraying any emotion. "He would rather do so than that it should stay in the hands of an enemy." "It never would have been in the hands of an enemy had the Wolf acted as a brave warrior; but he sought the life of the young pale face who had never done him harm." "Has not his people stolen the hunting grounds of the red man?" demanded the Winnebago, who, seeing that some grace was to be allowed him, burst into the argument that multitudes of his people have used before and since. Before he could proceed further, Deerfoot asked: "Are these the hunting grounds of the Winnebagos?" "They are the hunting grounds of his race, though they may not be of his totem; Deerfoot should join with his brother the Wolf in driving the white men into the sea." "There was a day when that might have been done," replied Deerfoot, who felt that faint throb and thrill which sometimes came to him, as if to tell him that his Indian nature was not yet entirely dead within him; "once the pale faces were but a handful, and the red men hunted over all the ground that lies between the great waters. They could have swept the pale faces into the sea, but they would not be brothers with themselves; they fought each other. So the pale faces grew, and the day will never come when they need fear the red men." "The brave warrior does not ask what can be done, but does with all his might that which he knows the Great Spirit wishes him to do." "The Great Spirit does not tell him to kill his pale face brother; for they are all His children and He loves them. The Great Spirit has spoken to Deerfoot and told him that all His children should love one another." "Does Deerfoot do so?" "He does; he never strikes but when the Great Spirit tells him to do so; if he was the Wolf and the Wolf was Deerfoot, he would have slain the Shawanoe long ago." The Winnebago would have denied this had he not seen that it was idle to do so. What would he not have given at that moment could he have exchanged places with the handsome and triumphant young warrior? "The _true_ Great Spirit loves all His children, whether they be pale or red or of the color of night; He smiles when they meet each other as friends, and He will reward in the spirit land those who do His will on the earth. Let the Wolf bury the words of Deerfoot in his heart, for they are the words of truth, and if they are heeded he will be happy--Go!" The amazed Winnebago doubted for a moment that he had heard the command aright; but the wave of the hand which accompanied it, and the fact that it was in perfect consonance with the words he had just heard, satisfied him there was no mistake about it. "The Wolf thanks his brother for what he has done." The heart of the Winnebago forced the words between his lips as he turned his face away and walked down the bank of the stream in the direction whence he came. He vanished the next instant in the darkness. Deerfoot did not stir until every sound of the soft footsteps had died out. Then he lowered the hammer of his gun, bent his shoulders slightly forward, so as to walk freely, and entered the cavern where his friends were still sleeping. CHAPTER XX. ANOTHER NIGHT VISITOR. Deerfoot the Shawanoe was convinced of one thing--the Wolf would trouble him no further that night. What he might do in the future must be left for the future to tell. Whether the few words that he had dropped should prove the good seed of which I have spoken, or whether they should be choked up by thorns, not even the Wolf himself could tell. The young warrior showed his convictions by flinging some wood on the fire, so that its blaze filled the cavern, and preparing for sleep. He first sat down and pulled out the knife of the Wolf, whose blade took on an additional gleam from the cleansing it had received in being forced into the flinty earth. He examined it with no little curiosity, though it was similar to his own. A glance, however, showed that it was an inch or two longer. It was straight and oval-shaped, the blade not quite two inches wide, with a handle that had been cut from a deer's horn and fitted with no slight skill. Whether it was the product of aboriginal ingenuity or was the work of some cutler of the Caucasian race could only be guessed, the matter really not being worth the trouble of guessing. Its two edges and the point were very sharp. Deerfoot having laid aside his gun, grasped the blade in his left hand and circled it through the air like a swordsman at play. He was so pleased with it that he decided to keep it. He would not throw away the one that had served him so well, but would present it to Fred Linden, while he retained the one with which he was sure he could do better work. It was singular that while the Shawanoe was turning the weapon over in his hand, and examining it with so much interest, that the occasion for its immediate use should come, but so it was. He was on the point of shoving it in behind his belt and lying down to sleep, when a movement of the bushes outside was heard. It was so distinct indeed that he knew it was not caused by a person. The rustling was accompanied by a scratching sound and low growl. Turning his head, he saw an immense wolf standing at the entrance of the cavern, his whole figure revealed in the firelight. With his jaws parted and his form erect, he was a formidable creature, before which almost any one would have recoiled. He would have advanced straight to an attack upon the young warrior but for the fire which partly interposed. Even as it was, he seemed making ready to leap at the throat of the youth, who was sitting on the blanket, looking coolly at him. It would have been the easiest matter in the world for Deerfoot to catch up his gun and shoot him dead, but he chose to do otherwise. Drawing one of the embers forth by the end that was not burning, he held it before him in his right hand, and, grasping the knife in his left, ran lightly toward him, as though he meant to jam it into his eyes. The bravest animal can not stand unmoved before such an attack, and the namesake of the human enemy whisked about and darted out of the cavern with the Shawanoe close behind him. The former bounded a half dozen steps, pausing on the very spot where the hostile warrior was first seen, and facing about, as if to observe whether his foe dare follow him any further. But Deerfoot had him now where he wished, and he flung the torch aside among the undergrowth, where it lay smoking for a few minutes before it went out. The fierce animal must have been of the opinion that he too had his antagonist where he wanted him, for, without the least hesitation, he uttered a snarling growl and made two leaps straight at him. The first carried him a little more than half the intervening distance, and the second was meant to bear Deerfoot to the earth. The young warrior, however, stepped lightly to one side, so that the wolf missed him altogether, and would have been forced to wheel about and make a second attack had the chance been given him, but at the instant it landed, the left hand, grasping the long, keen knife, shot forward with great force and lightning-like swiftness, and was buried to the hilt in the throat of the brute. It was a blow as effective as a cannon ball could have been, for the knife clove the seat of life in twain, and the beast rolled over on the earth dead, almost before it could emit a single yelp of agony. Deerfoot stood a moment surveying the carcass before him, and then, with no more excitement than he would have shown in speaking to Fred or Terry, he said: "'Tis a good weapon, and will serve Deerfoot well." Then he walked to the tiny brook, carefully washed the gleaming blade, shoved it behind his belt, where it was held in place without the sheath that clasped the other, and walked back to the cavern. The boys had not been disturbed by the outcry of the wolf, and Deerfoot, throwing some more wood on the flames, lay down on the blanket, drew it partly about him, and in ten minutes was asleep, not opening his eyes again until the light of morning streamed into the cavern and only a few smoldering embers were left of the camp-fire. He smiled when he looked upon the two youths, who were still soundly sleeping, all unconscious of the stirring events that had taken place during the darkness. There was no call for a renewal of the fire, and, after spending a few minutes in communion with the Great Spirit, he passed outside the cavern, drank from the clear water in the brook, and laved his face and hands. Just as he finished, Fred Linden emerged, rubbing his eyes and yawning, while Terry Clark was close behind him. "Good morning, Deerfoot!" called the former; "it was just like you to let us sleep all night while you kept watch: to-night you must let us take our turn." "Fred has exprissed me own sintimints," added Terry; "we have had so much slumber that we can kaap awake for a month. Helloa!" The gaze of the boys at that moment fell on the body of the wolf, stiffened in death. "You have had visitors," said Fred; "my gracious, but he's a big fellow! Killed by a knife thrust too, that looks as if it had gone half way through his body; how was it, Deerfoot?" The Shawanoe waited until they had finished bathing their hands and faces, and then he quietly told them the story, including the account of the warrior's visit. As you may well suppose, the boys opened their eyes, and Terry, running inside, brought out the blanket, which had been folded in such a manner that the knife of the Winnebago passed through three thicknesses of the cloth. "And to think that we slept through it all!" "Begorrah, but wasn't it lucky that we didn't have the blanket wrapped about us?" gasped Terry, who was in earnest in his momentary belief of the narrow escape of himself and companion. "It is well that you kept guard last night; neither of us would have heard the approach of the Winnebago; and wouldn't have known any thing about the other wolf until he lit on our shoulders." "My brother is mistaken," said Deerfoot; "he is like the rattlesnake; he gives warning before he strikes; I heard him growl, and he stopped at the entrance to the cavern, afraid of the fire." "Why didn't you shoot him?" "Would he have died more quietly, or with less pain than from the knife? It is the knife that the Winnebago left; Deerfoot wanted to learn whether it would serve him well." "And I should think ye ought to be satisfied, as a cousin of me own once remarked after working five years for a man without any pay excipt starvation and kicks." "The knife proved itself a good one," said Fred; "but the poorest knife would be just as effective in your hands." Deerfoot withdrew his own weapon from its skin sheath, and handed it to Fred. "Let my brother carry that, for the hour may come sooner than he thinks when it will be of use to him." Fred accepted it gratefully, saying, as he managed to find place for it somewhat after the manner of Deerfoot: "If I can handle it with half of your skill, it will serve me well indeed, but that can never be." Deerfoot placed the larger weapon within the sheath from which he had withdrawn his own and made no reply to the compliments of his friends. He had heard many such before, but he placed no value upon them. He regarded himself as simply trying to use in the best way the gifts of the Great Spirit. His many escapes from death and injury were due solely to God's protecting care, and he could never take to himself any credit for what he did. The excitement of the boys having subsided, the three sat down in front of the cavern to eat their breakfast. Enough of the food brought by Fred was left to give each and all the meal needed, but when they were through, not a particle was left; henceforth they must depend upon what their rifles brought them for support while on the way to the camp in the Ozarks. "We have two or three days' travel yet before we can reach camp," said Fred, while they were making ready to resume their journey; "but I don't think we shall want for food. What troubles me the most is that scamp of a Winnebago. You have spared him twice, but I don't believe it will make a friend of him." "He was so boilin' mad," added Terry, "because he lost his gun that now that he has also lost his knife he may get so much madder that he'll flop over and become pleased again." This, however, was a kind of philosophy to which the others could not agree. Deerfoot owned that he was in doubt; the sentiment of gratitude is not one of the chief virtues of the American race, though many story-tellers would have us believe that it is. There have been instances known where a red man has shown something of the kind, but as a rule they have no more of it than had the frozen serpent that was warmed in the bosom of him who proved his foolishness by making the experiment. CHAPTER XXI. THE CAMP OF THE WINNEBAGOS. Now that the little party had started once more toward the camp in the Ozark Mountains, they moved at a brisk pace. It took them but a short time to reach the main trail, where there was a short pause while Deerfoot made what may be called a microscopic scrutiny of the ground. The result did not please him, for he saw the proof that the Wolf had turned to the right, and had preceded them over the route which they were to follow. He would have been better satisfied had he crossed the trail or turned the other way. The fact that he had gone southward meant that the main party which he was seeking to join were in that direction, though the keen eyes of the Shawanoe could detect no signs that they had trodden the same ground. That signified nothing, however, as they might have pursued a slightly different route, falling back upon the main path further on. Deerfoot, in telling his young friends what he had learned, added that he had no doubt that they would hear from the Winnebagos again, and possibly at an hour when least expected. Fred Linden was disturbed more by the knowledge that the party were approaching the camp where his father and his companions were unsuspicious of the danger. They could easily steal close enough to the cabin to shoot down all three without warning. When he mentioned his fear to Deerfoot, that sagacious young warrior told him that he saw no cause for anxiety, though he could not deny that something of the kind might take place. His theory was that the Winnebagos were not disposed to attack any party of whites in mere wantonness, the act of the Wolf being the whim of a single gnarly-brained warrior. Be that as it may, our young friends were anxious to make the best progress they could, and, for fully a dozen miles, they kept up their brisk gait. At the end of that time, the sun was overhead, and they were obliged to stop on the bank of a broad, swiftly-flowing stream. The prints made by the hoofs of the horses that had passed that way some days before were plainly seen, though there had been a fall of rain since. A glance at the water showed that it was so deep that the hunters must have swam their animals across. It would have been an easy matter for the boys to swim also, but they preferred to use a raft. Accordingly, they set to work, and it did not take them long to gather enough logs and driftwood to float all three. These were deftly fastened together by Deerfoot, who used hickory withes for that purpose, and, then, with a long pole which he cut and trimmed with his tomahawk, he pushed from shore. The propelling pole was fully fifteen feet long, and in the middle of the stream, the boys were surprised to see that when one end was pressed against the bottom, no more than two feet were above the surface: the depth was much greater than they had suspected. It was hard work to keep the clumsy raft moving at such disadvantage, but Deerfoot would not yield the pole to either of his companions, and, after awhile, he drove it against the shore, and all stepped upon dry land, without so much as their feet having become moistened. They had been carried some distance below the trail by the current, but they quickly regained it, and pushed on. Having eaten nothing since morning, all three were ahungered, but Fred and Terry grimly determined to wait for Deerfoot to suggest a stop before they asked for it. Had they but known that many a time, when on the tramp, he had gone two days and nights without taking a mouthful, they would not have been so willing to await his pleasure. But though he would not have thought of stopping before nightfall had he been alone, he was too considerate to subject them to discomfort; but it was useless to stop, since as yet they had seen nothing in the way of game to shoot. Terry and Fred were beginning to feel impatient with each other because of their mutual stubbornness when the Shawanoe, who had been walking quite fast, slackened his pace and turning his head, said: "My brothers are hungry, and they shall have to eat." "Ye couldn't tell us better news," replied the grateful Terry, "though I would be obliged to ye if ye would impart the information where there is any chance of our gettin' any such thing, as the people used to say whin me uncle on me mother's side offered to bet a sixpence on anythin'." Deerfoot made no answer, but walking still more slowly, he was seen to raise his hand to his mouth. Then followed the peculiar cry that a wild turkey makes when it is lost from its companions. The Shawanoe knew that the birds were in the surrounding woods, though none had shown itself. By and by there was an answer to the call from a point ahead. Asking the boys to wait where they were, he trotted lightly forward, and was not absent ten minutes when he came back with a plump turkey, whose neck he had wrung. Since the lads had heard no report of a gun, they wanted to know by what means he had secured it. He replied that he had stood behind a tree and repeated the call until a group of the birds approached within a few rods, when he made a dash among them, and seized his prize before she could spread her wings and fly--all of which told of a dexterity that few others possessed. In a brief while, a good dinner was boiled over the coals, a short rest taken, and the three were on the road again, it being their wish to travel further than on the day before. Had Deerfoot been alone he would have broken into a trot that would have doubled the distance before the set of sun. But the trail over which they were walking grew rougher. It was so rocky in some places that it must have tried the endurance of the horses ridden by the hunters. Instead of being direct, it grew very sinuous, made so by the efforts to avoid many formidable obstacles that rose in front. All this was of little account to the dusky leader, though of necessity it prolonged the journey, and he was obliged to slacken his pace to suit those who were less accustomed to such work. It was about the middle of the afternoon, when they were checked again by coming abreast of a stream that was too broad and deep to be forded. The trail, however, instead of entering the water, turned up the bank, and the three, under the leadership of Deerfoot, did the same. This diversion continued for fully two hundred yards, when the path struck the water, the point on the other side where the horsemen had emerged being in plain sight. The former method was resorted to, and in less than an hour after reaching the creek the three had safely ferried themselves across. It was neither so broad nor so deep as the other, but it delayed them fully as much. Within a half mile from the stream last crossed they came upon the trail of the whole Winnebago party. Just as Deerfoot suspected, they had taken another route, and had come back to the main path a good many miles away from where the Wolf left it the night before. His experienced eye told him that they were close upon the company, who numbered precisely twelve--several more than he supposed. Whether the Wolf was with them could not of course be learned until a glimpse of the party themselves was obtained. Matters had now taken such a shape that the Shawanoe told his companions that the utmost care must be used, since they were liable to stumble on the very ones whom they were anxious to avoid. He instructed them to allow him to keep fully a hundred feet in advance, and never to diminish the distance without orders from him. This was a prudent step, and Fred and Terry did their best to carry out the wishes of their guide, who walked on at a moderate pace, without once glancing back at his friends, who he knew would respect what he had said to them. Bear in mind that this arrangement was made toward the close of the afternoon of an autumn day. The three had not traveled more than two miles, with the leader so far in advance, when the gathering gloom became such that he would not have been visible to his followers had he not fallen back so as to keep in sight. Finally, when less than a dozen yards separated them, and the graceful figure of the young Shawanoe looked like a shadow gliding in advance, he suddenly halted. The eyes of the boys were upon him, and they saw him raise his hand as a signal to stop; they obeyed without so much as a whisper. He stood like a statue for two or three minutes, and then, turning his head without moving his body, beckoned them to approach. They could barely see the motion of his arm, as they stepped softly to his side; but before reaching him, they caught the glimmer of a light among the trees, somewhat in front and to the right. When they stood near him, they saw it more distinctly. In a partly open space, near the invariable stream of water, were a group of Indians, some stretched lazily on the ground, some squatted like tailors, two busy cooking something over the fire, and nearly every one smoking long-stemmed, stone pipes. They were a sturdy set of warriors, who were likely to give a good account of themselves in a hunt or fight, and both Fred and Terry knew who they were before Deerfoot, with his arm extended and his finger pointing toward them, said: "It is the camp of the Winnebagos!" CHAPTER XXII. "KEEP TO THE TRAIL" It was an interesting scene on which the three youths looked. There were a dozen Winnebago warriors lolling and smoking in camp, while two of their number were preparing their supper, by half-broiling it over the blaze and coals. Fred and Terry stood in silence by the side of Deerfoot, gazing upon the strangers with a curiosity such as no other sight could have inspired. A small tree interfered somewhat with the view of Fred, and he took a step forward. Immediately the Shawanoe put out his arm and shook his head to signify that that would not do; they were as close as was safe. Then Fred shifted his position a little to one side, as you feel like doing in a public hall when a column is in front of you. To this Deerfoot offered no objection, and the lad was satisfied. "Begorrah, but there's the spalpeen!" whispered Terry, in some excitement, pointing his finger toward the camp, and with no thought of the uselessness of such an act. The others knew that he referred to the Wolf, who had caused them so much trouble, but they had already seen him. He was standing at one end of the group, with folded arms, while he scowled, and the firelight fell upon his features with such directness that the scowl could be plainly seen. He appeared to be looking at the two warriors busy with the fire, though more than likely his gaze fell indifferently upon them and the rest, all of whom were in his field of vision. The tomahawk showed in his girdle, but of course he was without any other weapon, and Terry could not avoid a smile when he noted it and he had to say something despite the displeasure of Deerfoot. "Do ye observe his left eye and the end of his nose where one of me blows landed? What could be foiner than the swell that ye see there? He will naad to use no black paint for siveral days, as me grandfather--" At this point Deerfoot deliberately placed his hand over the mouth of the speaker, abruptly ending what he proposed to say. Now, nothing could be clearer than that if the Winnebago party were in such plain view of the three youths, the latter in turn were liable to be discovered by them. They were standing beyond the circle of firelight, where the darkness screened them from sight, and, if one of the red men should look in that direction, he could not have seen them; but there was the probability that any moment one of the warriors might start out to reconnoiter their surroundings, in which event, discovery was almost certain. Besides, the exuberant spirits of Terry Clark taught Deerfoot that it was unwise to trust him in such a delicate position. Altogether, the time spent in watching the Winnebagos was barely ten minutes. During that period, some of those reclining on the leaves got up, walked about and sat down again; others kept their feet, and one stepped to where the two were busy with a steak of some kind that they were broiling over the coals, as though his hunger was making him impatient. But the Wolf never stirred a muscle, and Terry afterward insisted that he did not wink his eyes, so motionless was he. The same scowl added hideousness to the painted face, and it was easy to understand that his meditations were of any thing but a pleasant nature. Turning his back upon the camp, Deerfoot motioned for them to go back. They did so, he following on their heels until not the faintest glimmer of the fire could be seen. Then he led them by a round-about course to the trail beyond the camp, and explained his wishes. He was now free to admit that there was reason to believe the Winnebagos intended an assault upon the three hunters among the foothills of the Ozark, and who were unsuspicious of such danger. Of course the Shawanoe had no direct knowledge that such was their purpose, but he was so convinced that he meant to take the utmost precautions against it. He therefore proposed that he should linger near the camp until he could learn of a verity what their intentions were. If they meant to attack the Hunters of the Ozark, then he would hasten to give warning to Linden, Hardin and Bowlby, who, re-enforced by the three youths, would be strong enough to beat off an Indian party twice as strong. In the meantime, Deerfoot wished Terry and Fred to push toward the camp with all the speed of which they were capable, he promising to follow as soon as he could. They had walked almost the entire day with scarcely a halt on the road, but he wished them to keep on into the night so long as they could. They would need nothing to eat before morning and between sundown and sunup they ought to make a long advance on their journey. You will probably wonder why (the situation being such as was explained by Deerfoot), he did not keep company with the lads and help them in their forced march to the mountains. One reason was that he was convinced in the first place that a demonstration would be made by the Winnebagos against the Hunters of the Ozark, and he wanted to get both boys--especially Terry--out of the neighborhood as soon as he could; for their presence hampered his own actions. The safest place for them was in the strong cabin to the southward, and they could not get there too soon. Yet they would certainly travel as fast in his company as by themselves, and Fred and Terry, therefore, could not see why he should stay behind instead of going with them; yet Deerfoot the Shawanoe never took a step of that kind without the best reason for it, as you will admit when it is made clear to you. To give this explanation would require such a long diversion from the thread of my story that you would be impatient. Before I am through with the history of Deerfoot, you shall know not only the reason for his course but for several other things that have been referred to in the stories told about him. The confidence of Fred Lincoln and Terry Clark in the wonderful young Shawanoe was so perfect that they did not question any decision, no matter how little they failed to see its reason. If what he asked was in their power, they would bound at the chance of doing it, just as they did now. He had a parting warning to give. "Let my brothers make sure that they do not lose the trail; they must look at the ground often: when they do not see the path they must stop and await the rising of the sun; they can not reach the cabin too soon, but they can never reach it by going wrong; _keep to the trail_!" The circuitous route which they had taken under the guidance of Deerfoot, had brought them back to the path at a point fully a hundred yards beyond the camp-fire, which had been started in the small open space only a few rods from the path. So far as they knew there was nothing now between them in the way of a direct advance to the cabin of their hunters. "Fred," said Terry, after they were fairly under way, and while he almost stepped on the heels of his friend; "Deerfoot thinks we won't go more than five or six miles; let's show him that we ain't such babies as he thinks." "I feel as you do; I propose that we keep it up all night." "Will ye be kind enough to raich yer right hand over your lift shoulder and shake wid me on the same?" Instead of doing precisely as asked, Fred laughingly turned about and shook hands with his friend, whom he loved and for whom he was ready at any time to risk his life. They were on their mettle and they meant to show the young Shawanoe that they were capable of doing much more than he seemed to believe. They intended that when, after a few hours, he started to overtake them, he would find that he had a good many miles further to travel than he supposed. Had Deerfoot known of their thoughts he would have smiled and been pleased. He wanted them to do their best and he was willing, should it prove to be safe, to allow them to keep up the delusion that their gait could bear any comparison with the speed of which he was capable. Meanwhile, the boys started in earnest to carry out their intention. Their only fear was that they might be hindered by the difficulty in keeping to the trail; for though the full moon was again overhead, and though many of the leaves had fallen from the trees, little light was there to help them. But for a time, at least, the difficulty was much less than they expected. The path, though it continued to lead over rough places and around obstructions, sometimes up-hill and sometimes down, was still so clearly marked that Fred Linden went forward with scarcely a halt or any hesitation. Though there are men who have walked their five and six hundred miles with little rest on the road, it is a severe task for any one to keep it up through an entire day and night, as you can soon become convinced by making the experiment; but Fred and Terry were sturdy, strong-limbed fellows, born and bred on the frontier, who were capable of standing a great deal. When, therefore, they meant to astonish Deerfoot by their progress during the night, they felt no distrust of their ability in that direction. There was no reason why they should put any restraint on themselves, and they talked quite cheerily, Terry indulging now and then in some of his quaint remarks. But a tired boy does not feel like keeping up a lively conversation for any length of time, and so it came about that after awhile they walked steadily forward, for miles at a time, without exchanging more than a few syllables. Terry could see the figure of his friend with his rifle over his shoulder always a few feet in front, there being just enough light in the gloom to keep his form in sight, while Fred heard the steady tramp, tramp behind him, sometimes keeping pace with his own and sometimes falling "out of step." "Helloa! this is too bad!" suddenly exclaimed Fred, coming to an abrupt halt; "I guess this ends our tramp for to-night." CHAPTER XXIII. AN INFURIATE SHAWANOE. WITH the departure of Fred and Terry, Deerfoot felt as though he had flung off a blanket that had been wrapped about his shoulders: his arms were now free and he could use them at will. He shrewdly suspected that his young friends would fancy they had been put upon their mettle, and would, therefore, exert themselves to their fullest to meet his expectations. He was glad it was so, and he would have been much better pleased could he have known they were in the cabin at the foot of the mountains, or, better still, safe at their home in Greville. Deerfoot now stealthily approached as close to the camp-fire as was safe. He screened his body behind a tree, but he was nigh enough to catch every word that was said in an ordinary tone, and he understood the Winnebago tongue well enough to want no interpreter. The Shawanoe had hardly taken his position to act as cowen, when the venison steaks were about one-fourth broiled, which was enough to satisfy the parties interested. Those who had charge of the culinary operations divided the meat into a dozen slices, so that each warrior was provided for, and the feast opened. The strong animal appetites, and teeth like those of the steel traps that were set at the foot of the Ozarks, soon brought the feast to a close, after which the feasters walked the few steps necessary to the brook near at hand, and lying down on their faces drank their fill, just as so many pigs would have done, grunting with satisfaction as they came back and resumed their pipes. All this Deerfoot had seen so often that it had no interest to him. He kept his eyes on two warriors--the Wolf and one whom he had never seen before. These two sat near each other on the ground while eating, and they talked together in low tones. Since none of those around could overhear the words, it was impossible for Deerfoot, with all his wonderful acuteness, to catch a syllable. He would have given a great deal could he have done so, for he suspected the dark plot that was taking shape in their dusky brains. There was a dangerous flash in the black eyes of the young Shawanoe while he watched their movements. It was clear to him that the Wolf had lost prestige, instead of gaining sympathy by his last misfortune. Having gone out to gather wool he had come back shorn, to go out a second time and to come back shorn to a still more ludicrous degree. The manner in which the Wolf kept apart from the rest, affiliating only with the single warrior at his side, showed the feeling in the party. It was easy to recognize the leader or chieftain, though his dress was precisely like the rest, but his air of authority told the story plainly enough. The Winnebagos were a fine set of men in their war paint, and, as I have said, were able to give a good account of themselves in any scrimmage in which they might become engaged. As unexpectedly to the warriors as to Deerfoot himself, the Winnebago chieftain, who was standing on one side of the fire where his rifle with several others leaned against a tree, took his pipe from between his lips and spoke to the Wolf in tones which caused that redskin to look up in wonder. Seeing that the sachem hesitated, as if waiting for him to rise, the Wolf came nimbly to his feet, as did his friend at his elbow. The majority of the rest, however, sat still and showed no special interest in what was going on. "The Wolf was the bravest of the Winnebagos," remarked the chief, "when our war parties met those of the Sauks and Foxes and Pottawatomies who dared to come into our country; the heart of the Wolf bounded with delight and no tomahawk was hurled with such swiftness as his: no gun was fired more often; no scalping knife took back more scalps to hang upon the ridge-pole of his wigwam. "But the Wolf came across the Big Water and his heart longed for the scalp of the pale face; he went out to hunt for it; he came back; the tongue of the Wolf is not double and tells no lies; the Wolf met a Shawanoe warrior who took his gun from him. "It was the young Shawanoe called Deerfoot; the Winnebagos have been told about Deerfoot, the friend of the white man; the heart of Black Bear (meaning himself) was angry; he was chief of the Winnebagos; he told the Wolf that he must go forth and bring back his rifle; the Wolf went; he did not bring back his rifle, but left his knife behind; Deerfoot saw him and took it away from him. "Deerfoot is but a youth; he is not a mighty warrior; the Wolf must get his gun and knife; he must bring back the scalp of the Shawanoe, he shall take Wau-ko-mia-tan with him; each shall have his gun; let them bring back the scalps of Deerfoot and the two pale faces with him; then will Black Bear forget that the Wolf was not always a great warrior. "Let the Wolf and Wau-ko-mia-tan make haste; the Winnebagos are on the war path; they will carry back with them the scalps of the pale faces who are gathering the skins of the beaver and otter and foxes by the base of the mountain." It may be said that this little speech developed the plan of the Winnebago campaign. The Wolf had fallen so low in the opinion of his chieftain and brother warriors, that it was necessary for him to take heroic measures to restore himself. Seeing this, the sachem had just notified him that he must secure the scalps of Deerfoot and the two white boys with him. Wau-ko-mia-tan (who was the warrior that sat at the elbow of the Wolf), was to be his companion. The chieftain knew how closely the two were allied, and he indulged in the little fiction of allowing one to keep company with the other, when the truth was he was afraid to let the Wolf go alone. Since on each of the two former excursions he had lost something, the probabilities were that if he came back again, it would be without his scalp. The eagerness with which the Wolf accepted this task, the moment he found that he was to have a companion, showed that he was an admirable representative of the average Indian: gratitude to him was a vice rather than a virtue. The expression on the face of Deerfoot showed that all forbearance was ended. He had twice spared the ingrate: he would do so no more. Had the Wolf told his leader that the mercy of Deerfoot had touched his heart, so that his arm could never more be raised in anger against him, but that he would seek the scalps of the hunters at the base of the mountains, the Shawanoe would have felt an admiration for him. Had he sought out Deerfoot and asked for the return of his weapons (though that would have been very unlike his race), Deerfoot would have restored them to him. But now, as it was, when they should meet it would be as mortal enemies. Nothing showed the vicious ingratitude of the Wolf more vividly than the fact that instead of waiting for the morning before entering upon his wicked enterprise, he started within three minutes after Black Bear, the chieftain, finished his little speech. The sachem picked up his own rifle from where it leaned against the tree and handed it to him, while Wau-ko-mia-tan stood at the other end of the group, until the warrior, his ugly face glowing like that of a demon, stepped to his side. Then the two, without a word or motion like a farewell, turned away and vanished in the gloom of the wood. They had not taken a dozen steps, when Deerfoot glided from behind the tree and passed after them, as if he were the shadow thrown out by the light of the camp-fire. The expression on his face was such as would have hushed Fred Linden and Terry Clark to awed silence could they have seen it. The two Winnebagos did not come directly back to the trail, but fell into it at almost the precise point where Deerfoot had led his two friends. They stopped a few minutes and talked in their low, guttural tones, none of which was understood by the Shawanoe, who listened with the closest attention. There was considerable distance at that time between the warriors and Fred and Terry, who had set out with the ambition to keep up their traveling through the entire night. The Winnebagos did not wait long, when they moved on at their usual pace. Less than a mile from the camp, the warriors again came to a halt and as before talked in a low voice. The point was where the wood was more open, so that the moonlight which found its way among the limbs above showed their forms quite plainly. More than that, enough of their words were audible to enable the listening Shawanoe, who had crept dangerously near, to catch their meaning. The Winnebagos turned off at almost a right angle and left the trail behind them. The ground was broken, but they had not gone far, when it became evident that they were following another path, though it was so faintly marked that no eye except that of an American Indian could have discovered it in such an uncertain light. As they advanced, the surface became not only rougher, but the grade which they ascended was so steep that it would have been tiresome to an ordinary traveler. Suddenly Deerfoot himself wheeled aside from the indistinct path to which the Winnebagos clung and passed lightly and with great speed through the wood where no one had walked before. So swiftly did he make his way, that, though he crossed a deep ravine and went a considerable distance, it was less than live minutes before he came back to the shadowy trail. Instead of keeping along this path, in the same direction as that of his enemies, he turned about and advanced to meet the red men who had dared to come that way. He walked with his usual noiseless step, and stopped on reaching the edge of the ravine over which he had leaped when it crossed his path only a few minutes before. This gully was more than twenty feet in depth, and about half as wide. The trail led to the edge on one side, continuing on the margin directly opposite, so that any one who wished to keep to it was perforce compelled to leap the chasm--a slight task for any Indian, though it would have been easy to make a bridge by means of a fallen tree. The moon was now directly overhead, so that a flood of light fell into the craggy ravine, lighting up the gray rocks and bowlders, the prostrate trees that had fallen from the sides, the vegetation along the slopes and the mossy grass that had been watered by the torrents when they roared through. The trees grew rank and close to the edge at the top--so close that some of them had slidden off and fallen part way below, carrying the gravel, sand and earth with the prong-like roots part way to the bottom. So faint was the mark of the trail opposite that even with the help of the moonbeams, it took an eye as keen as that of Deerfoot to tell where his enemies would appear. But he coolly awaited them, though his calmness was the fearful calm of a fury such as even he rarely knew. CHAPTER XXIV. THE DEFIANCE. The expression of the face of Deerfoot was terrible. The whole fury of his nature was at white heat. He knew that the two Winnebagos had set out to commit a fearful crime, and it was his work to stay their hands. There was but the single way in which they could be stayed. The young Shawanoe kept back a couple of paces from the edge of the ravine, where the shadow of the stunted trees above would hide him from his foes when they should come in sight. He held his gun pointed and cocked. Though his passion had the glow of the furnace, he was as calm as death. [Illustration: "There was a fierce whizz like the rush of an eagle's wing."] He had not long to wait. By and by a low guttural exclamation struck his ear, and his hearing, strung to a marvelously fine point, caught the sound of the soft moccasins on the hard earth. Less than a minute later the form of the Wolf came into the moonlight, as a bather emerges from the side of a lake. Seeing the open ravine at his feet, he stopped, and instantly his companion, Wau-ko-mia-tan, appeared at his side. They quickly saw that the leap was an easy one. "Wau-ko-mia-tan will leap across," said that warrior, "then the Wolf will follow; let us lose no time, for the Shawanoe may be gone." The speaker recoiled a single pace and gathered his muscles for the leap. He took one quick step and made a terrific bound upward and outward, straight for the rocky brink whereon Deerfoot the Shawanoe instantly stepped into the moonlight. The Winnebago was in mid-air, crouching like a leaper, with his legs gathered under him and his arms at his side, when there was a fierce whiz, like the rush of an eagle's wing, something flashed in the moonlight, and the tomahawk, driven by a lightning-like sweep of the Shawanoe's arm, was buried in the chest of the Winnebago as it would have sunk in so much sodden earth. An ear-splitting screech burst from the throat of the smitten warrior, who struck the edge of the ravine like a bundle of rags flung thither, and then tumbled to the bottom as dead as the jagged rock on which he lay. The Wolf stood transfixed, unable to understand what had taken place. Then he saw the figure of the youthful warrior on the other side and heard his voice. "Rattlesnake of a Winnebago! Die the death of the rattlesnake!" The wretch was given no time to protest again, for the words were yet in the mouth of Deerfoot when the flash of his rifle lit up the partial gloom, and the crack of the weapon mingled with the death shriek of the redskin, who slumped end over end down the ravine and lay beside the body of Wau-ko-mia-tan as dead as he. "Thus shall die all that seek to follow your footsteps," muttered the Shawanoe, who, standing where he stood when he slew both, proceeded to reload his rifle with as much coolness as though he had just fired at a target on a tree. This finished, he let himself over the edge of the ravine, holding fast a moment by one hand, and then letting go, dropped lightly beside the two bodies that lay below. His face showed no excitement now, and he moved with his usual care and deliberation. Drawing the hunting-knife which he had taken from the Wolf, he partly bent over, but straightened up again, saying to himself: "Deerfoot is a Christian Indian and can not scalp a foe though as base as they." Picking up each rifle (that of Wau-ko-mia-tan being still clutched by his nerveless fingers while the Wolf's had fallen from his grasp), he deliberately broke the locks of each by striking them on the stones. He then recovered his own tomahawk, and carried off the useless weapons with him. He passed down the ravine until he reached a point where the sides were not so high. There he clambered out, still keeping the two broken guns. He had reached high ground on the side from which had come the Winnebagos, and he walked grimly forward, until in a brief while he reached the main trail over which he and the boys had passed a brief while before. He turned toward the left, which led him in the direction of the camp of the Ozarks as well as toward the camp of Black Bear and his Winnebagos. He took longer steps than usual, but did not trot or run. When he once more caught the glimmer of the camp-fire among the trees, he slackened his pace and drew nigh with the caution that had become a second nature to him. He quickly saw that the Winnebagos had disposed of themselves for the night. The fire was burning as brightly as ever, because of the attention it received from the two warriors who were standing on guard. The party were in a portion of the country where they knew there was scarcely a possibility of their being molested by any one; but the American Indian loves nothing like laziness and war; and, treacherous by nature himself, he expects treachery at all times in others. And so, although they knew of no enemies within miles of them (unless it was Deerfoot, whom they did not fear) they had two vigilant sentinels on duty. The rest were stretched out on their blankets with their feet turned toward the blaze, sleeping like so many tired animals. At the moment of Deerfoot's approach, the Winnebagos on guard were standing some twenty feet apart, with the fire burning between them. Each held a loaded gun in hand and cast his keen glance hither and thither in the gloom, eyes and ears alert for the first suspicious sight or sound. The sentinel nearer Deerfoot was Black Bear himself. The chieftain evidently believed that the best way to instruct his warriors in their duty was to set the example. His attitude showed that something had arrested his attention. Deerfoot knew that the sound had been made by his moccasin, for he purposely rustled the leaves. Black Bear looked intently off in the gloom, but seeing nothing, turned his head and told the other guard to fling more wood upon the fire. He obeyed, and the circle of light quickly extended out among the trees. It would have been an easy matter for the Shawanoe to slay both, but he had no thought of doing so. That would have been killing without justification. The Winnebago chieftain was gazing intently into the night, when from behind a tree, no more than a dozen steps distant, softly stepped the young Shawanoe. "Listen, Black Bear," said he, "to the words of Deerfoot the Shawanoe. Twice did he spare the life of the Wolf and the Wolf thanked him, but he went out a third time to take his life; he was a rattlesnake, but he had not the courage of the rattlesnake, for he took with him Wau-ko-mia-tan, whose heart was that of a rattlesnake also; they bent their steps where none but Deerfoot has the right to go; therefore Deerfoot killed them and took away their guns. _There they are!_" In the same minute that Deerfoot began speaking, the second sentinel stepped forward and took his place beside his chief. That both were amazed need not be said. Each stood with the muzzle of his gun lowered, neither dreaming that the youth thought of assailing them. Deerfoot spoke in the slow but impressive voice natural to his race. But the last exclamation escaped him like the discharge from a Leyden jar. So quickly that neither saw a movement, he hurled the broken gun of the chief straight at him, following it with the second gun driven at his companion. Both hit their mark. Black Bear was struck in the chest with such force, that he was carried off his feet and knocked half fainting to the earth. The other was hit and compelled to recoil a step, but the weapon struck him lengthwise, and he was not harmed. He rallied and brought his gun to his shoulder, but by the time it was leveled, the Shawanoe had vanished. Such an exploit, as you may well suppose, caused consternation among the Winnebagos for the space of several minutes. No gun had been fired, but the American Indian is a light sleeper, and slight as was the disturbance, it aroused every one. There was a gathering about the fallen chieftain, who, however, came to his feet without help, though he gasped and was weak for a few moments. The explanation given by the other sentinel removed the general fear of an attack, but three of the warriors scattered through the wood to make sure that no surprise overtook them, while the others with an agitation rare among red men talked over the astounding occurrence. The broken rifles lying on the ground left no doubt that when the Shawanoe declared he had slain both the Wolf and Wau-ko-mia-tan he spoke the truth. Else, how could their shattered guns be in his possession? And this same youth, with an audacity beyond comprehension, had flung the two guns at the chieftain and his brother warrior and defied them. It seemed as though he must be more than a human being, to be capable of such deeds. Legends had reached them of some of the exploits of the wonderful young Shawanoe, but this surpassed them all. The Winnebagos, however, were among the bravest tribes in the west, and when they broke camp at early dawn, Deerfoot, who was on the watch, knew that it was their determination to slay every one of the three hunters in the camp at the foot of the Ozarks, as soon as they could reach them. CHAPTER XXV. THE SIGNAL FIRE. Deerfoot the Shawanoe remained in the vicinity of the Winnebago camp until the warriors made their start at an early hour the following morning. He took more than one survey of the red men, who gathered about the blazing fire and talked over the remarkable events of the night. He could easily have slain every one of the scouts whom they kept moving through the wood, but he had no wish to do so. He heard and saw enough to convince him that they intended to make an attack on the camp in the mountains, but he did not feel absolutely sure that they would not turn aside and follow in the path of the Wolf and Wau-ko-mia-tan, until the party had advanced several miles to the southward along the Ozark trail. It seemed strange that the Winnebagos paid no attention to the two missing warriors, and yet, after all, it was not singular. They knew they were dead and it was therefore a waste of time to give heed to them. If by any possibility they were alive, they must take care of themselves, just as all brave Indians did: if unable to do so, the consequences must be on their own heads. So the ten Winnebagos, under the lead of the famous chieftain Black Bear, moved along the trail in the direction of the camp of the Hunters of the Ozark, and the expressions and words that had been overheard by the watchful Shawanoe, left no doubt that by way of revenge they meant to slay the three trappers who had located there for the winter. The Winnebagos came from the north-east. Their lodges, villages and hunting grounds were many moons' travel away, and the section of country through which they were journeying was so sparsely settled that they had no fear of pursuit. Now, when you give an American Indian the chance to commit some vicious mischief with no fear of being made to pay therefor, you may set it down as a truth that nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every one thousand will commit that crime. It was a matter of indifference, in the first place, whether they harmed the hunters or not. Since the latter were removed some distance from their path, it is probable that they would not at that time have taken the trouble to go in quest of them: it was the feeling of revenge that was the deciding weight in the scale. Let us recall the situation as it was on the second morning after Fred Linden and Terry Clark left their homes in Greville. The boys themselves were the furthest advanced along the trail to the mountains, while at a considerable distance behind, filed the ten Winnebago warriors, and hovering in the vicinity was Deerfoot the Shawanoe, watching every movement with the vigilance of a lynx. Whenever he chose he could make a circuit around the Winnebagos, and joining the boys beyond, hasten to the hunters' camp and apprise them of their danger; but there remained an abundance of time in which to do that, and he did not wish to leave the vicinity of the enemies until he saw a little more of them. It was evident that the Winnebagos were in no hurry. They must have known that two of the youths were following the trail in advance, for the heavy shoes of the lads could not fail to leave their imprints in many places; but, such being the case, the red men might ask in what manner they could know that a party of Winnebagos were following them, unless such knowledge came through Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who, wherever he might be, certainly was not in front of them. When the Indians came to a stream of water, they did not rush in and wade or swim to the other side, as they would have done had there been any call for haste, but like those who had gone before, they stopped long enough to make a raft on which they could float across. The American Indian is not as fond of water as he should be, and though the Winnebagos would have cared little for the chill of the stream, it was more pleasant for them to pass over dry shod; so they made their several rafts and poled themselves to the opposite bank. You would not look for humor under such circumstances, and yet on one of the three rafts there was so much of it shown that even the grim Shawanoe smiled. The structures on which the red men floated were, as a matter of course, of the frailest nature, intended as they were to last only long enough to bear them to the other shore. With proper management, all would have done this, but on one of the rafts holding four of the warriors, there was an aboriginal wag. A single Indian managed the pole, while the others squatted carefully in their respective positions and were expected to keep quiet, so as not to disintegrate the frail structure. The wag to whom I have referred, while sitting with an innocent expression on his painted countenance, quietly loosened the two or three withes, and gave the logs such an impetus that they separated like two bodies positively charged with electricity, when brought together. The warrior who handled the pole was standing with legs somewhat apart, resting on a different log, when they suddenly separated still more, and he sat down with a splash in the water. Another log revolved backwards, as did the savage who was sitting on it, while the others were also plashing in the stream, which was not deep enough to make them swim, though it came to the neck of the shortest one. The four warriors waded to shore amid the grins of the others, and with no suspicion of the criminal that had played the trick upon them. The next stream was reached by the Indians a couple of hours later. This was not as deep as the other and they did not stop to make rafts. After a little searching, they found a portion where the current did not come above their knees and they waded. In doing so, Black Bear took the lead, and, in accordance with a custom universal among Indians, each warrior carefully stepped into the footprints in front of him. The water was so limpid that the impression made by the chieftain's moccasin was plainly shown, so that there was no difficulty in this respect. Had a person been trailing them, he would have seen before him what seemed to be the footprints of a single man. There was but a slight variation near the further shore, where the moccasin of one of the Winnebagos had slid from a stone on which, like all the others, it was placed. The brown stone was slippery with a faint coating of slime, and the scrape of the deerskin down the side gave it a white gleam like the belly of a fish. It was a "slip" in every sense, and, when the slight splash announced it, Black Bear at the head of the procession turned about with his most impressive scowl. The party made a halt on the other bank. It was considerably past noon, and, while some busied themselves in starting a fire, and a couple began fishing in the stream, two others going into the woods with their guns, Deerfoot was quite sure that they had decided to spend an hour or so for dinner. He concluded, however, to follow the two who went into the woods, and it was fortunate that he did so. The first surprise that came to him was when the Winnebagos had gone nearly an eighth of a mile from camp. All this time they were making their way up quite a steep slope, so that they were close to the top of a high, wooded ridge. The Shawanoe might well wonder why they had taken such a course, but when two frightened deer burst through the undergrowth and dashed by at full speed, within easy gun shot, and the Winnebagos looked at them without raising their guns to fire, then it was that Deerfoot was genuinely astonished. The conclusion was inevitable that these red men were not looking for game. With a suspicion of their real errand (and that caused another surprise), Deerfoot stealthily followed the Winnebagos until they paused on the highest part of the ridge. He was not long kept in doubt as to their business. The top of the ridge was almost bare. There were a few stunted trees, a number of bowlders and rocks, and here and there, patches of scraggly grass. From this elevation, however, a magnificent view opened out on every hand before the spectator. To the north stretched the undulating country covered with prairie, stream, valley and forest, the last brilliant with all the gorgeous hues that come with the frosts of autumn. These flaming colors were visible in whatever direction the eye turned, and the same varied surface was seen everywhere, but to the southward, the Ozark Mountains had a faint bluish tinge, like a mass of clouds resting in the horizon. It was in that direction that the camp of the hunters lay, and thither the footsteps of pale face and redskin were directed. The two Winnebagos spent only a minute or so in scanning the surrounding country, when they began gathering wood, until they had quite a pile. A quantity of leaves, some of which were damp, was mixed among the twigs, so that when with a little trouble they were fired by means of the flint and steel in the hands of one of the red men, the fuel did not burn clearly but gave off considerable dark smoke, which was what the Winnebagos wanted. As soon as the fire was fairly burning, one of the Indians flung his blanket over it, his friend seizing the other part, while both held it thus until it was in danger of taking fire or smothering the flames. Had the coarse cloth been a little more cleanly it is likely that it would have been burned, but as it was it strangled the blaze until it may be said there were several bushels of smoke gathered beneath and the embers were at their last gasp. At that moment, the Indians raised the blanket so that they stood upright, and plenty of fresh air was allowed to feed the blaze. Then they slowly waved the blanket between them, sometimes lowering it until it was scorched by the sleepy flames, and then elevating it above their heads. All the time, they manipulated the blanket, sometimes straight up and down, sometimes diagonally, and indeed, in every possible way. The result of all this varied swinging was that the black column of vapor which slowly climbed the sky, was broken into circles, spiral curves, and all sorts of odd-shaped figures, which did not dissolve for several minutes in the clear air above. I need not tell you what this meant, for in another place I have described the same thing. It was a signal fire intended by the Winnebagos for the eyes of a party of friends who were too far off to be reached in any other way. Deerfoot had seen such telegraphy many a time and oft, and more than once he had used it. He could interpret such a signal when made by a Shawanoe, Wyandotte, Sauk or Fox, but he had never learned the code in use by the Winnebago military authorities. However, it was not possible that there was any very fine shade of meaning in the various manipulations of the two warriors. Keen brained as is the American Indian, he is unable to do a great many things with which he is credited: one of these is to do more than telegraph the simplest messages by means of fire, though it is beyond question that important tidings has been flashed hundreds of miles in a single night, from mountain top to mountain top, by means of the signal fires of the Indians. What disturbed Deerfoot was this proof that there was a second party of Winnebagos in that section of the country. He had not dreamed of such a thing, and it might well cause him alarm, that is, for the three men who were so intent on gathering their furs comparatively a short distance away. Carefully screening himself from observation, the Shawanoe looked intently in the direction of the gaze of the Winnebagos. He saw that they were not peering at any other ridge, but at the broad low valley to the north-west. They had not long to look when they detected a thin bluish column of smoke creeping upward among the tree tops and dissolving in the clear air above. Deerfoot also saw it, and he knew that it was a reply to the first signal. There was another party of Winnebagos in the neighborhood; they would soon join Black Bear's party, and there was no time for delay. Indeed, but for the discovery he had made, the Shawanoe would have felt that he had tarried too long already. It was not far now to the camp of the Hunters of the Ozark, and it was perilous to wait to warn them. Every hour counted. Not only that, but, as you can readily see, Fred Linden and Terry Clark were in still greater danger. CHAPTER XXVI ON THE EDGE OF THE PRAIRIE. The night was far advanced when Fred Linden and Terry Clark reached the stream, where the former remarked that their progress was stopped. Of course he meant that they could continue if they chose to make another raft or they could wade, but they had journeyed so far since dusk, and the trouble of constructing a float was such that he thought it best to wait where they were until daylight. They were pretty well fagged out, and nothing could have been more grateful than to throw themselves on the ground and sleep for several hours. Terry was as tired as his companion, but he stood irresolute, inclined to think it best that they should push on. "The stream doesn't look very deep," said he, "and if ye agraas wid me that we can wade, it'll be wiser if we make tother side and then journey to the nixt straam." "But that may be a good many miles further on." "Thin all we have to do is to travel a good many miles," said the plucky Irish lad, sitting down to take off his shoes. "I shall never give in to _you_," remarked Fred, also seating himself and beginning to remove his foot-gear. Before any thing more could be done, however, both were startled by the discovery that some one was on the other side of the stream. First they heard the guttural exclamations which they knew were made by Indians, and then they saw one of the red men come out into full view in the moonlight. Without a word, the boys hastily moved back under the shadow of the trees, making sure that they also placed several rods between them and the trail which they had followed to the edge of the water. Secure from observation, they fastened their eyes on the other bank, where they saw an interesting sight. Three Indian warriors stood for fully five minutes in plain sight, while they discussed the same question that had engaged the lads--that is, in what manner the stream should be crossed. It did not take them long to decide. The foremost stepped into the water, followed by the other two, none removing his moccasins or leg-gear, and in a brief while they came out upon dry land again, within fifty feet of where the lads were crouching under shelter. The boys trembled as they realized how narrow their escape had been. Had they not paused for a few minutes, they would have been in the middle of the stream, just as the others came down to the edge of the water. In the light of their recent experience with the Winnebagos, they had not a particle of doubt that the three belonged to the same tribe and that they were fierce enemies. Had they not slain the boys, they would have made captives of both and conducted them to the main party. Then when it should have been found that one of the prisoners had the gun that once belonged to the Wolf, their fate would have been sealed. The incident drove from the mind of Fred all wish to tarry on the road. He wished that they were many miles on their way to the camp in the Ozarks. They considered themselves members of the little party of hunters whom they could not reach any too soon. "I obsarved while the spalpeens were wadin'," said Terry, "that none of them wint lower in the water than their knees. Why didn't they take off their shoes like dacent gintlemen, and cross as they should; but bein' as they didn't do the same, why, we'll sit them the example." A minute later, the boys stepped into the stream, and, by using care, reached the other side, with all their garments dry. Their shoes were quickly replaced, and the two were off again, so moved by what they had seen, that for the time they forgot fatigue and every thing else. "I tell you, Terry, that matters are beginning to look worse than even Deerfoot thought, and you know that when he left us he didn't feel satisfied, by any means." "Could it be," asked his companion, "that these spalpeens don't belong to the same crowd that we saw?" "I am quite sure they do; these three would not have been so separated from the others." "Where could they have come from?" asked the puzzled Terry. "Where all the Indians come from--the woods. I suppose a large party of Winnebagos have been off on a tramp, and they are coming together with a view of going home or of making an attack on some place or persons." A random guess, like this, sometimes comes closer to the truth than a labored theory. The three Indians whom they had so narrowly escaped were members of Black Bear's party and were on their way to meet him. Furthermore, there were more of them at no great distance. "Me father lost his life by the Indians," said Terry, in a soft voice; "but though it was not known what tribe the same belonged to, I don't think they were Winnebagos; but Indians are Indians and are always ready to kill white people whiniver the chance comes along." "You are right; father doesn't think there is the least danger or he wouldn't have sent for me. He has hunted several seasons without any trouble with them, but he ought to have learned long ago to be forever on the watch." "Fred," said the other, stopping short in his excitement; "do ye think they are goin' to attack the _sittlement_?" "Impossible! There's the blockhouse and plenty of men to defend it against a thousand savages." "But the woods saam to be full of thim; there may be some kind of an Indian war that has broke out and these are the first part of the rid army that is to coom down and swaap us over the Rocky Mountains." But Fred could not share in this prodigious fear. He faced to the front again and laughed, as he resumed his walk. "There couldn't be any thing like _that_ without warning reaching us; some of the runners would have come to Greville with the news; besides, Deerfoot would have been certain to know something about it." "_That_ sittles it!" exclaimed Terry, with a sigh of relief; "ye are right in sayin' the Shawanoe would have knowed about it; he would have larned it before the spalpeens that started out on the war path, and, bein' as he didn't say any thin', I'm sure ye are right; but all the same, it looks bad for the Hunters of the Ozark, which maans oursilves as well as the men in the mountains." "There's no use of denying that there is enough to make all of us anxious, but when I remember that father and Mr. Hardin and Bowlby have spent so many years in the Indian country, I can not help feeling hope that they will be able to take care of themselves. You know they are all good shots and they have a cabin strong enough to stand a rough siege." "I don't forgit the same; but there's a good many more rid than white men and Mr. Bowlby is lame." "What of that? He doesn't expect to fight with his feet." "There are many scrimmages in which it's handy to use yer faat. If Deerfut hadn't popped along just as I keeled over the Wolf I'd jumped on him; then, do ye not mind that the men may take it into their heads to run away." "They have their horses," said Fred, foreseeing and agreeing with the response that his young friend would make. "Not one of 'em is worth a cint at such a time; a one-legged Indian could outrun the fastest; they would have to stick fast to the trail while the spalpeens would walk all around 'em." "All that is true, but if they could get a good start, it would be very handy for Mr. Bowlby to have one of the horses to ride." "I don't see much chance of the same," was the sensible comment of Terry; "but, me boy, have ye any idaa of what time it is?" "It must be far beyond midnight: surely we are a long ways in advance of the Winnebago camp where we left Deerfoot." "They are not meaning to make a start to-night?" "Of course not; they will not move until morning." "Thin I'm in favor of an adjournment _sine die_, at once and without waitin' any longer." "What do you mean?" asked the puzzled Fred, stopping and looking around at his companion. "I'm tired out." "So am I, but I made up my mind to keep walking till I dropped, before I would give in to you. It will be a sensible thing for us to rest, but we must get far enough from the trail, so that if any more stragglers come along this way, they won't stumble over us." This was only simple prudence. They groped along for several rods, through the undergrowth and among the limbs, and were still walking, when Terry's foot struck some obstruction and he fell flat. "Are you hurt?" asked Fred. "Hurt? No; that's the way I always lay down, as me uncle obsarved whin he fell off the roof--call me early, Fred, and be sure ye don't take up more of the bed--than--a--gintleman----" The poor wearied fellow was asleep. Fred smiled, as he lay down beside him The air was quite brisk, so he unstrapped his blanket and flung part of it over his friend and the rest over himself, the two lying back to back as they lay the night before in the cavern. The dried leaves made as soft a couch as they could want and Fred had only time to murmur a prayer to heaven, when he too became unconscious. They slumbered for four full hours, when both awoke at the same moment, refreshed and strengthened. The sun was well up in the sky, and fortunately the weather continued clear, crisp and bracing. Indeed it could not have been more nearly perfect. They laughed when they saw where they had made their bed, right in the open wood, just as any wild animal would have done when overcome by fatigue. There was no water within sight and no food at command. The blanket was quickly folded up into a neat parcel and strapped to the back of Fred and the two retraced their steps to the trail, which they hoped to follow until it took them to the camp at the foot of the Ozarks. "I have found out one thing, that have I," remarked Terry, with the air of one announcing a great discovery. "What is that?" "The hungriest young gintleman on the western side of the Mississippi is the handsome youth whom ye have the honor of walkin' with this very minute." "I can feel for you on _that_ question," added Fred; "for it seems to me that I never wanted food so bad in all my life; we must be on the lookout for game. Do you know how to make that call that Deerfoot used to bring the turkey to him?" "No, but I know how to use the turkey after the same is brought to me. If I should try the signal, it would scare all the turkeys and deer and foxes and bears and wolves and beavers out of the country, which bein' the same, I won't try it, principally because I don't know how to begin to try it." "My gracious, Terry; if you could shoot like you can talk, we wouldn't have to wait long for something to eat." "Whisht, Fred," whispered Terry, in some excitement; "the wood just beyanst ye looks as if it wasn't any wood at all." Fred Linden had noticed the peculiarity. The trees were becoming so scarce and far apart that it was evident they were approaching some extensive clearing where no trees grew at all. The next minute the two stood on the edge of an immense prairie, which revealed a sight that profoundly interested them. CHAPTER XXVII. A MORNING MEAL. The two boys stood on the edge of a prairie which had a varying width of from one to three miles. Looking to the right and the left, neither end could be seen, so that there was no means of judging its length. The trail led straight across to the wilderness on the other side, which at that point was all of two miles distant. You can understand that walking was so much easier on the open ground that any party of travelers would hasten to take advantage of such a chance. The hoofs of the half dozen horses had left such a distinct impression that the eye could follow the trail a long ways from the margin of the woods. This prairie was entirely covered with a growth of succulent grass. The season was so late that it had lost most of its verdancy, but there was an abundance of nutriment in the blades and it was splendid feeding-ground--one of those breaks in the almost limitless forest of which grazing animals were sure to take advantage. The boys had paused only a minute or two, gazing out on the almost level expanse, when Terry uttered an exclamation of delight and pointed to the right. Looking in that direction (as Fred had done at the moment his companion spoke), he saw a welcome sight indeed. A herd of buffaloes were cropping the grass within gunshot of the young hunters. As I have said in another place, there were no such droves as have sometimes been seen on the vast prairies of the far west, numbering fully a hundred thousand, though a century ago some amazing collections of animals were met within sight of the Mississippi. The herd upon which our friends looked with so much interest numbered little more than a hundred, and they were ruminating along the side of the prairie instead of cropping the grass in the middle of the plain. Some of them seemed to be browsing among the trees and undergrowth, but the major part were scattered over the prairie to a distance of two hundred yards, while they were strung to a still greater extent parallel with the course of the prairie itself. From this you will see they were much dispersed, none of them being close to another, except he may have brushed against him now and then. The front of the drove was not less than two hundred feet away and others could be heard ruminating among the trees, where their huge bushy heads and big round eyes were often thrust into view. Some of them may have caught sight of the lads, but if so, they did not consider them worth attention, for they continued browsing and grazing, advancing step by step toward the spot where our young friends stood. "Frederick," said Terry, laying his hand on the arm of his companion, and speaking with the gravity of a judge, "whin ye swoop yer gaze on thim playthings out there, bear in mind that there's our breakfast, as me grandmither obsarved whin the dinner table upsit and ivery thing rolled down cellar." "Our opinion is unanimous on that point; I have already selected my victim, and if you will go away and start a fire, it will hurry matters along." "It ain't as bad as that," said Terry in some surprise, "I'm not so near dead that I'm goin' to die in ten minutes if I don't git somethin' to ate: I will stay and superintind the operations of shootin' one of them little pets out there." "It isn't the first buffalo I have killed--" "I'm not aware that ye have killed that yit," interrupted the Irish lad in his quizzical fashion. "You soon will be, but I have been out with father before to-day and shot buffaloes: have you?" "No; whin I goes out huntin' yer fither has't the proud distinction of bein' taken along. Lucky for the buffaloes I niver took a notion to go out and kill siveral thousand: for that raison we find the drove out there so innocent and confidin' that they don't know enough to be afeard of us." "Maybe they have no cause to be." "But they can't know that _I'm_ not goin' to shoot among them,--so why shouldn't they be scared out of their siven sinses? Howsumiver, ye have me permission to show the animals that ye are actin' under me own eye and orders and it will be an incouragement to yersilf to know the same." From what has been said, it will be understood that Fred Linden knew much more about buffaloes than did his companion. [The proper name is _bison_: the genuine buffalo is not found in America.] As he had said, this was not the first time he had hunted them, but with Terry Clark it was different. He had spent a good deal of his time in the woods and had gone in quest of wolves, bears and deer, but he had never brought down one of the lumbering animals for whose flesh he now yearned with a yearning that only the most ravening hunger can inspire. Terry had formed a deep plot during the short conversation. He did not know the best manner in which to shoot a buffalo and he was too proud to ask instruction. He encouraged the scheme, therefore, of Fred making the first shot. That would give him a chance to see how it was done, so that when he came to exhibit _his_ skill, he would make no mistake. Although up to this time the animals had not shown that they cared a straw for the two beings who stood so near and were looking at them with loaded guns in their hands, yet they were liable to become stampeded at any moment. A snort and jump by a single animal were likely to set the whole drove on a dead run, in which all hope of a breakfast on buffalo steaks would be gone for that morning at least. So, as a matter of prudence, Terry stayed where he was, but partly sheltered himself, so as not to startle any one of the animals that might come upon him suddenly. At the same time, Fred bent low and with loaded and cocked rifle began stealing toward the nearest buffalo. As it happened this was a cow in fine condition. She was plucking a ribbon of grass that followed the edge of prairie. By some chemistry of shadow and sunshine, there was this little strip of unusually tender herbage, which the cow was eating in her quick, vigorous way, as though afraid that some of her companions would find and take it from her. Fred singled out this one as his prize. Being so close to the wood, he could not have wanted a better chance to steal up to her. Indeed he had but to stand still, for she was coming a regular half step at a time as she clipped the grass in front of her; but the youth's hunger would not allow him to wait the few minutes that would have been required. When within fifty feet of the cow, Fred knelt on one knee and brought his rifle to a level. The cow was still advancing, "head on," when he made a noise similar to that which comes natural to you when you wish to drive the hens out of your garden-patch. The cow stopped abruptly, threw up her head and stared at the hunter. The sight of the crouching figure must have suggested to the stupid animal that every thing was not right, for with a frightened whiff, she bounded short around with the intention of joining the other animals. At the very moment she turned, Fred Linden fired, sending the bullet directly back of her fore leg, where it tore its way through flesh, muscles, bones and the heart, the battered bullet humming off through the air on the other side. No shot could have been more effective. The cow made a couple of wild leaps and then lunged forward, her nose striking the earth with such force that her head doubled under her and she swung over on her back and side with a violence that made it seem as if she had fallen down a high precipice. Following his old rule, Fred loaded his gun where he stood, before moving out to examine his prize. It was at this juncture that a stampede of the whole drove was due. Now that the boys had secured their breakfast they would not have cared had the animals thundered off out of sight. But the terror of the smitten creature was too brief to affect the rest, even though several were quite close to her at the time she gave the snort and rolled over on the ground. A cow grazing near did raise her head for a moment and look at her fallen friend as though she hardly understood it. She seemed to meditate plunging into the rest of the drove with head down and with tidings of the disaster, but she must have concluded that since the other cow was dead, it wasn't worth while to make any fuss over it; for she dropped her head and resumed her grazing as though she had no further interest in the matter. Even when Fred ran out, and, stooping down, began cutting a large slice from the shoulder of the victim, none of the others paid any attention to him. Close behind him came Terry, who was so desirous of examining the prize, that he postponed starting the fire. "Terry, how will that do for a shot?" asked Fred, with some pride, as he plied his knife. "Where did ye land the shot?" "Right there, behind the fore leg; you can see the hole where it entered." Terry turned his head to one side, closed an eye and surveyed it as though he was measuring the height of a wall: then he shook his head. "What's the matter with you?" asked the impatient Fred. "Ye are a sixteenth of an inch too far forward, be the token of which the ball wint through the upper part of the heart: whin ye kill a buffalo coow ye should always sind the ball through the lower instead of the upper part of the heart. Ye surprise me so much that I am graved with ye, me own Fred." The latter laughed. "I suppose it would have done as well had I sent the bullet through her brain; but that takes the finest kind of marksmanship." "Av course, which explains why ye didn't dare attimpt it: whin we have finished our dinner, supper and breakfast all in one, I'll step out on the perarie, strike an impressive attitude and drop the biggest bull in the drove, just to tach ye the gintaal way of doin' that same thing." "Well, I shall be glad to learn the best style of bringing down the creatures." By this time, Fred had severed a piece of meat from the shoulder of the buffalo. It weighed several pounds, but Terry broke in with the wondering inquiry: "What are ye goin' to do with _that_?" "That's for our dinner; what would you suppose?" "I thought that was the part of the coow that ye were goin' to be sinsible enough to lave behind while we built a fire around the rist and had enough of a maal to stay the pangs of hunger." Without waiting to hear the response of his companion, Terry ran among the trees and began gathering wood with which to start a blaze. Both boys were such experts at this that only a brief time was necessary. Fred laid the buffalo steak on the leaves and took part, striking the flame with his own flint and tinder. There was no water within reach and this was quite a deprivation, but the boys were hungry enough to wait for that. From his scant store of mixed salt and sugar, Fred drew forth enough to season the enormous slice and it was speedily half broiled. Two such hungry youngsters are not likely to be particular about their dinner being done to a turn, and they were eager to eat it when it was exceedingly rare. Leaving Terry to make known when it was ready for the palate, Fred walked to the edge of the prairie to take a survey. He could not forget that they had serious business before them, and, though he was warranted in believing that there was nothing to fear from the Winnebagos who had caused so much trouble, he was too wise to take any thing for granted. He saw the buffaloes cropping the grass with the same vigorous persistency which they will show for hours, while the prairie, extending far to the right and left, failed to show any other living creature upon it. So far as he could tell, there was no cause for fear. CHAPTER XXVIII. A STRANGE RIDE. When the boys had eaten their fill, there was a quantity of meat left. This was cooked still more over the coals, wrapped about with the greenest leaves that could be got, and then packed in the bundle which Terry Clark strapped to his back. "There's enough of the same," he explained, "to presarve us from pinin' away with starvation, which reminds me now that I promised ye that I'd show ye the properest way in which to bring down a buffalo." "I'm willing to wait until some other time," said Fred, who feared there would be dangerous delay; "I am more anxious to get forward than I am to see you make an exhibition of yourself." "It will not take me long," replied Terry, who was sure there could be no miss where the animals were so plentiful, while of course the delay ought to be slight. "If thim Winnebagos that we obsarved last night have started this way, they ain' t any more than fairly goin', which puts thim at the laast calculation a dozen good miles behind us; they won't walk any faster than we do, so we'll git to the camp a long ways ahead of 'em." "All this sounds reasonable, but you know we have learned that they are not the only Winnebagos in these parts; but then they are under the eye of Deerfoot and he would give us warning." "That sittles it, as I previously remarked some time ago, in token of which we will shake hands on the same." The Irish lad had made such an enjoyable meal that he was in the highest spirits. He extended his hand to his friend and shook it warmly, as he was inclined to do for slight cause. "Now stand still, obsarve, admire and remimber." And with this high flown counsel, Terry with his gun in position began moving toward an enormous bull. The latter really was not so close to him as was a cow, but he thought it beneath his dignity to spend his ammunition on such game as had served for their dinner. Although Terry Clark's natural love of humor often led him to assume what he failed to feel, he was hopeful in the present instance that he would be able to carry out the little scheme in mind. He knew that the weapon in his hand was a good one, and he was already so close to the buffalo that he was sure of bringing it down at the first fire. While he was willing to admit that Fred's shot could not have been improved, so far as effectiveness was concerned, yet he was in earnest in his intention of firing at the head. He knew that no animal is of any account after its brain has been perforated, and it seemed to him that it was more appropriate for a true sportsman to bring down his game by that means instead of firing at its body. Terry made a mistake from which his experience on the border ought to have saved him. Had he driven his bullet into the eye of the buffalo, he could have slain him, but he was almost certain to fail by firing simply at the head. It would have been far better had he followed the example that his companion set. The bull upon which he had cast his eyes was about twenty yards from the wood. He did not raise his head until this distance was diminished by one half. Just then a cow showed some alarm of the approaching figure and walked hastily away. This caused the bull to throw up his head and stare at Terry. "Obsarve!" called the latter to his friend, who began to feel uneasy over the appearance of things. A dozen spears of grass seemed to be dripping from the mouth of the magnificent bull, who glared at the figure of the young man in the act of leveling his gun as though he had some curiosity to know what was going on. Terry aimed at the head, making the part between and above the eyes his target. This was probably the most invulnerable spot of the animal. The bull was still staring at the intruder, when the latter, aiming at the point named, fired. The bullet struck the bony ridge at the upper part of the head and glanced off into space, inflicting no more real injury than a paper wad. But the impingement of the lead must have given the stupid brute an idea that harm was meant. His anger was roused, and, dropping his head with a savage bellow, he charged the young hunter at full speed. This was giving the matter an unpleasant turn, but there was no time to argue, and flinging his gun aside, Terry gave the finest exhibition of running he had ever shown. No one could have realized better than did he that the bull "meant business" and it would never do to allow himself to be caught. Fred Linden himself was so startled by the sudden onslaught of the animal that he was flurried and fired without taking proper aim. He struck him, but he was unable to check his charge: indeed he rather added to his fury. Stepping back, so as to shield himself as much as he could behind the nearest tree, he began reloading his weapon with the utmost haste. Meantime Terry, by desperate running, reached the tree at which he aimed a few steps in advance of his formidable foe. He had no time to climb the trunk, but believing the lowermost limb was within reach, he made a leap, seized it with both hands and swung himself out of reach, just as the bull thundered beneath like a runaway engine. Finding he had missed his victim, the savage beast snorted with rage, wheeled about, came back a few paces and was passing beneath the limb again, when a singular accident gave an astonishing turn to the whole business. The limb which afforded Terry Clark his temporary safety was unable to bear his weight, and, while he was struggling to raise himself to the upper side and it was bending low with him, it broke like a pipe stem close to the body of the tree. This took place so suddenly that the youth had not the slightest warning. Indeed it would not have availed him had he known what was coming, for the time was too brief in which to help himself. Down he came with the limb grasped in both hands and fell squarely on the back of the buffalo bull. Fortunately the bewildered animal had just shifted his position, so that the lad fell with his face turned toward the head instead of in "reverse order." Even in that exciting moment Terry saw the grotesqueness of the situation. His legs were stretched apart so as to span the animal just back of his enormous neck. Letting go of the branch that had played him the trick, he grasped the bushy mane with both hands and yelled in a voice that might have been heard a mile away: "_All aboard! off wid ye!_" So far as a bull is capable of feeling emotion, that particular specimen must have been in a peculiar frame of mind. He glared about him, here and there, turned part way round, as if the whole thing was more than he could understand, and then as his bulging eyes caught sight of the remarkable load on his back and he felt the weight of the burden, he was seized with a panic. He emitted a single whiffing snort, and flinging his tail high in air, made for the other side of the prairie as if Death himself was racing at his heels. His actions were of that pronounced character that his fright communicated itself to the rest of the herd. There was a general uplifting of heads, and then, as the bulls and cows saw their most eminent leader tearing across the prairie with a live boy astride of his back, the sight was too much for them. A wholesale series of snorts and bellows followed, tails were flirted aloft, and away the whole herd went, fairly making the ground tremble beneath their tread. By the time the alarmed Fred Linden had his rifle reloaded there was not a buffalo within a hundred yards of him. The one that bore his friend on his back was making as good time as the fleetest and was well toward the head of the drove. The panic began like an eddy of the sea; there was a surging of the animals toward the other side of the prairie and away they went, as I have said, with their tails and heels in the air, as if they meant to keep up their headlong flight for twenty miles, as is sometimes the case, when an immense drove become stampeded on the great plains of the west. Whatever feelings of amusement might have been first aroused by the figure that Terry cut on the back of the terrified bull were lost in the dreadful fear of Fred that it would prove a fatal ride for his friend. He could see him plainly for a fourth of a mile, but by that time the trampling hoofs raised a dust in the dry grass which partly obscured the herd and made it impossible to distinguish the figure of the lad clinging to the mane of his novel charger. "He will fall off," was the exclamation of Fred, "and will be trampled to death by the others." He recalled that the bull must have been wounded by his own shot, but that knowledge gave him concern instead of relief; for if the bull should give out, he would be trampled by those who were thundering so close at his heels. The buffaloes did not preserve the open order which marked them when they were grazing, but crowded together, so that their backs looked like brown dusty waves, rising and falling rapidly from the motions of their bodies. Fred quickly recovered from his astonishment. He had reloaded his gun, but when ready to fire, was afraid to do so. Too many other buffaloes interposed between him and the bull, and had he discharged his weapon, he would have been as likely to hit Terry as to wound the brute that was carrying him away with such speed. Running to where the rifle of the boy lay, Fred picked it up, hastily reloaded it, and started after the herd. He broke into a loping trot such as an Indian shows when hurriedly following a trail. He kept his eyes on the fast receding animals, his interest being now centered on the moment when they should reach the wood on the other side of the prairie. "It will be the death of him if they dash among the trees," he thought; "for he will be struck by some limb and have his brains dashed out." But such a catastrophe did not take place. The fleeing animals must have known that their headlong speed could not be kept up among the trees and undergrowth; so, when those at the head of the drove were close to the edge of the wood they swerved to the left, and the others followed with the same furious swiftness with which they had sped across the open. Fred Linden at this time was not a third of the way across the prairie, and he stopped and viewed the sight. He could distinguish the animals much better than when they were tearing straight away from him. They ran, so to speak, from under the cloud of dust that had obscured his vision, which, sweeping backward, left all in plain view. What he saw, too, showed that the buffaloes possessed varying rates of speed. A dozen were well to the front, still crowding close together, while the rest, also in close order, were strung along at different distances. Still, they were so far from Fred that his view was any thing but satisfactory. Shading his eyes with his hand, he peered through the autumn air in the search for his friend. "There he is!" he exclaimed, but the words were hardly out of his mouth when he saw he was mistaken. The distance was too great for him to see clearly. "How long will this keep up?" was the question which he would have been glad to answer, for it included the fate of Terence Clark. If his steed should grow weary and fall behind the others, possibly he would give his rider a chance to leap to the ground and make off; but the likelihood of that taking place was so remote that Fred could feel no hope. CHAPTER XXIX. A YOUNG HUNTER'S STRATEGY. Fred Linden walked rapidly forward until he reached the middle of the prairie, when he paused and bent his eyes on the swiftly vanishing drove of buffaloes. They were speeding at right angles to the course he had been following, and, so far as he could judge at the distance, were on the same dead run with which they started. He was convinced that he was mistaken a brief while before, when, for a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of Terry on the back of the terrified bull. He was unable to distinguish any thing that looked like him. He might--and it was not at all improbable--be still clinging to his steed, but he was too far off and too mixed up with the others for even the keen eyes of Fred Linden to identify him. There seemed but the one thing to do: that was to follow the drove until he learned the fate of his friend. Certain that he would find him sooner or later, Fred resorted again to his loping trot, which he could keep up for several hours without great fatigue. But he had not gone twenty steps at this gait, when, to his astonishment and alarm, he observed three Indian warriors, each mounted on a horse, issue from the wood at the point where the buffaloes would have entered it had they not turned to the left. The red men headed their animals directly toward Fred, and advanced at a moderate gallop. The sight was enough to make the bravest person thoughtful; for you will readily see the critical situation of the boy. It was useless to turn and run, for they would overhaul him before he could get half way to cover. He was in the middle of a grassy prairie, where there was not the slightest object which could be used as a screen in a fight with them. He glanced quickly about, but did not see a stone as large as his hand. Except so far as his weapons were concerned, he was absolutely helpless. Never did Fred Linden display more coolness and knowledge of Indian character than he did at this time when caught at such fearful disadvantage. He knew that if he showed any timidity, the red men would attack him at once, while, if he could deceive them, as he hoped, there was a possibility that he would escape. Two hundred yards away, the Indians drew their cantering horses down to a walk: they evidently saw there was no call for haste and they could afford to take all the time they wished. They were riding beside each other, instead of in Indian file, and being nigh enough to be observed distinctly, showed that they were dressed precisely like the Winnebagos whom he had noticed the night before around their camp-fire. This might have been, had they belonged to another totem, for there is a similarity in the dress of different tribes, but Fred had no doubt that these were Winnebagos. It began to look indeed as if there was an irruption of them into that section of the Louisiana Territory. During those trying moments, when Fred calmly watched the approach of the dusky horsemen, he was observant of the smallest things. He recalled that they were the same in number as the party which he and Terry so narrowly missed the night before on the edge of the stream and he half suspected they were the same, though such supposition did not correspond with the theories formed and accepted at the time. He saw the middle horse, which was darker in color than the others, slightly stumble; then the rider turned his head and said something to the warrior on his left, who made answer without taking his eyes from Fred; then the one on the right said something, his painted features relaxing into a frightful grin, the guttural words being plainly audible: all these points being noticed, as I have said, by the young hunter who had so much more important matters to engage his thoughts. He recalled with relief that on picking up the gun of Terry he had reloaded it, so that he now had two weapons ready for use. With these he could make a brave resistance, and you may depend upon it that the last thing he thought of doing was to surrender. He might easily be shot down where he stood, but he would die fighting. The three horsemen advanced with the same deliberate pace, their black eyes fixed upon Fred, who stood erect, looking straight at them. When they were within twenty yards, he quietly turned so as to face the other way, and waved his cap several times over his head. At the same moment he uttered a resounding whoop, replaced his cap, laid Terry's rifle at his feet and leveled his own at the amazed savages, who could not have suspected what was coming. You understand that the purpose of Fred was to make the Winnebagos believe that he had friends on the edge of the wood behind him to whom he had signaled. The act of laying down his gun was to give the impression that he was so sure of support that he was ready to fight until it should appear. Now, the red men might have been deceived by this to as full an extent as the youth desired, but the fact remained that, even if there were re-enforcements on the margin of the prairie, they were so far off that they could give no help if the Indians chose to assail the boy. I am inclined to think that had the Winnebagos believed that a dozen white hunters were encamped there, they would not have been restrained from carrying out their design by such fact: but when the cool defiance of the youth was added to the same, there was enough to make them pause. They might shoot him down, wheel and dash for the woods from which they had emerged but a short time before; but they would be liable to pursuit, and, when a white borderer takes to the trail, he can be as persistent as the red man himself, though, as I have said, had they been eager to shoot the boy, they would not have been stopped by that knowledge. But they saw that he had his loaded rifle leveled at them: each Winnebago probably imagined he would be the special target. Their guns were still in their hands and no doubt the moment any one attempted to raise his weapon the white boy would fire. The distance was so short that there could be no miss. It followed therefore that the cost of an assault upon the lad would be the death of one of the Winnebagos, and none of the three could know that he would not be the victim. The cost was more than they were willing to pay, for it must be borne in mind that not only was the death of one of their number considered assured, but it was not at all unlikely that such a daring youngster would be able to do something with the gun at his feet before succumbing. But it is not to be supposed that three mounted Indians would deliberately ride away from a single youth through fear alone,--that is, not until they had tried to circumvent him by strategy. And so it came to pass that within the same minute that Fred raised his rifle, the Winnebago who sat in the middle waved his hand toward him as a sign of comity. At the same time he called out: "Yenghese! Long Knife! Friend--friend--friend!" But Fred knew too much to be deceived. He was the master of more vigorous English, and, without lowering his gun, he called out: "Keep off or I'll fire! If you ride another step, I'll let daylight through you!" As if to add emphasis to his words, he gently swayed his rifle from right to left, so that it covered each warrior in turn. There was an involuntary ducking of the heads, and the Indians, seeing that nothing was to be done without large risk, opened out--two riding to the right and one to the left. Thus they passed by Fred without lessening the space between him and them. After all, this was the most trying moment to the youth, for it diverted his attention in the most exasperating manner. The three horsemen were in his field of vision, but it was hard to keep watch upon each. He suspected the maneuver was for the purpose of taking him off his guard, but it is doubtful whether such was the case, for there was something in the grim pose of the youthful hunter which warned them that it was unsafe to trifle with him. When the horsemen were opposite each other and on a line with Fred, he suddenly wheeled with great quickness and held his piece still leveled so that he could shift it from one to the other the moment needed. On their part, the Winnebagos watched him with cat-like vigilance, keeping their heads turned until they came together a hundred feet beyond, and between him and the wood which he had just left. There they stopped, their position such that the sides of their animals were turned toward the lad, whom they continued to view with an interest that it is safe to say they had never felt in any other of his race. It was tiresome to hold his heavy rifle leveled, but Fred stuck to it, for he knew how much depended on the next minute or two. It looked for a time as though the Winnebagos had decided not to leave without a demonstration, but finally they moved off with their backs toward Fred, and their horses on a walk. "How nicely I could pick one of them off," said he to himself, as the broad shoulders, with the black hair streaming over them, moved gently up and down with the motion of the animals, and ranged themselves beside each other like three dusky targets. "I could hit _him_ or _him_ or _him_" he added, shifting his aim from one to the other in turn, "and it's because they know it that they are afraid to risk a shot. If one of them had made a motion to take aim, I would have let fly, and I wouldn't have missed either. Then I would have done something with Terry's gun." These thoughts had hardly found expression, when the middle Winnebago suddenly turned on his horse, raised his gun and discharged it at Fred Linden. The instant he did so, he and his two companions threw themselves forward on their animals and dashed off on a dead run for the wood. Had the warrior been less hurried, it is probable he would have struck the astonished youth, who plainly heard the _pinge_ of the bullet as it almost touched his ear. His own arms were beginning to ache because of their constrained position, but he took as careful aim as possible and fired at the savage who fired at him. More than that, he hit him. A screeching yawp broke the stillness, the warrior half straightened up on his steed, seemed to sway, and would have fallen had not one of his companions caught his shoulder and supported him for a minute or two. The horses were brought down to a walk, and finally came to a standstill, though they halted at a point beyond rifle shot. "I hope I finished him," muttered Fred Linden, with a snap of his eyes; "they are seeking my life, and, if I could have my way, I would tumble every one of them off his horse." Never was the value of two rifles shown more strikingly than at this time. The moment his gun was discharged--had he possessed no other--Fred would have been helpless, and the Winnebagos would have been upon him before he could reload his piece; for that was in the days of flint-locks, when the charge had to be rammed down and the powder poured into the pan before the weapon was ready for use. It may be said, however, that under such circumstances he would not have fired. But before the horsemen could wheel about, they would have found the youth standing at "present arms" precisely as before, and the situation unchanged, except that one of their own number had been disabled, and to that extent (which was considerable) the gain was on the side of the lad. There could be little doubt that the stricken Winnebago was hit hard, though after some attention from his companions, he was able to sit his horse. The three warriors seemed to have lost all interest in Fred, for a few minutes later they rode off at a walk, without, so far as he could judge, once bestowing a look upon him. It struck him as singular that after his stratagem, by which he believed he gave the impression that he had a party of friends on the margin of the wood, that the Winnebagos should guide their horses to the very point. After all, it began to look as though he was not so successful in that respect as he imagined, and that it was his own courageous demeanor that for the time had saved his life. "I am glad they have ridden off in that direction," said the youth to himself, as he saw them carefully enter the wood, where they were lost from sight; "for if they had ridden the other way they would have bothered me in my hunt for Terry." CHAPTER XXX. TERRY FINISHES HIS RIDE. That ride of Terry Clark on the back of the buffalo bull was one which he could never forget had he wished to do so, which of course he did not. The first thrill, when the beast dashed off on a dead run, and the wind began blowing by the ears of the lad, was that of pleasure. He was having an exciting ride, and, as good fortune would have it, the animal was bearing him straight along the trail toward the camp in the Ozarks. "If the baste will show enough consideration for me," thought the lad, "to kape up his coorse for twinty miles or so, he will give me a good lift toward raichin' the folks, though sorry I am that I haven't Fred alongside or rather behind me." The bull being on a run, his progress consisted of a series of quick jumps, which jarred the rider so much that had he not kept a good grip upon the shaggy mane, he would have been unseated. The hair of the animal was so long that he was able to make his hold secure, though he had a constant fear that he would stumble, in which case the rider was sure to take a tremendous header that was likely to break his neck. Terry could feel the throb, as it may be called, of the engine. His position was such that his heels touched the body close to the shoulders of the bull. At that point there was an alternate swelling and sinking of the muscles, as the animal alighted on his feet and leaped away again, which Terry felt as plainly as if he had held his open hand on the shoulder. Then, too, the bull had a peculiar sidelong motion, as though some of his muscles occasionally got out of "gear," and the action of the hind legs did not "dovetail," so to speak, with that of the fore legs. Nothing escaped the eye of Terry during those exciting minutes. He thought the head of the bull was held unusually low, but he noticed the short, thick horns, curving outward and then coming over until they ended within a few inches of each other, and he was sure that amid the dusty frontispiece of the immense area of skull bone he could see where his useless bullet had struck and glanced off; once or twice he caught a whiff of the breath of the buffalo, redolent with the not unpleasant odor of grass, and now and then he could hear his fierce snort. It seemed to Terry that the animal turned his head partly to one side as if to get a view of the strange creature on his back. Doubtless such was the fact, and, after each sight, it seemed that he bounded away with more terror than before. Brief as was the time taken by the bull in galloping across the prairie, it allowed Terry to see every thing. As soon as he felt sure of retaining his seat, he glanced at the other animals, all of which were galloping in the same direction as the bull. Some of them were so fleet that they passed him, but he retained his place near the middle of the herd. The buffalo, or properly the bison, is a stupid animal, but a peculiar fact about the small drove amid which Terry Clark was riding was that a number noticed him and in their way tried to push him off. They would dash up beside the bull with head lowered, and rub their horns against him in the effort to reach the rider and unseat him. "The only way in which ye can do that," said Terry, when he saw what they were trying to do, "is to climb up and take a saat behind me. Thin, if ye'll lock yer arms about me nick ye may persuade me to stip down, but ye can't do much while on the ground." The buffaloes were too dull of intellect to realize their helplessness in this respect, and they continued crowding close to the bull until they must have caused him some discomfort. This crowding was of such a marked character that, as you will remember, it was noticed by Fred Linden as far off as he stood. Once or twice the rider had one of his feet slightly jammed, but he was able to lift it out of danger without imperiling his position. The dust caused by the hoofs of the animals did not rise until his steed had passed beyond, so that he suffered nothing therefrom and every thing in front was in plain view. The speed of the beast, however, caused some inconvenience, for the wind made him blink, and it was only by half closing his eyes that he could peer out between the lids and see clearly. Before the other side of the prairie was reached, Terry Clark began asking himself the natural and important question,--How is this to end? The same theories that I have mentioned as occurring to Fred Linden passed through his brain also. If the bull should dash among the trees at that headlong pace, the rider could not retain his place for more than a minute or two; if he was wounded enough to cause him to give out and fall to the ground, he would be trampled upon by those behind and Terry of course would share his fate. Brief as was the time given for thought, the youth considered a half dozen plans. He glanced over his shoulder and was alarmed to see how many animals were in the rear of him. He asked himself whether he could not slip backward, grasp the swinging tail, and dropping to the ground, keep his feet while he held fast to the caudal appendage, and pulling the other way, act as a brake upon the progress of the animal until all the others had passed on. Then he would "release brakes," and allow the bull to continue his career as suited himself. But he was compelled to admit that the plan was not feasible. The bull was going at such a pace that the rider would be sure to lose his balance the moment he struck the ground, and, though he might still hold fast to the tail and retard the progress of the beast, he was sure of getting in the way of his heels. "If his tail was a little longer," reflected Terry, "I would try the same, but I'm afeard I would git mixed up with his hind hoofs and things wouldn't be agraaable." So that plan was abandoned. "If he goes in among the trees, I'll lean forward on me face until he knocks out his brains--that is, if he has any--whin I'll dismount." That was all well enough if the bull should happen to follow the programme, but the prospect of his doing so was too remote to afford much comfort to the youth. "I guess I'll kaap erict like a gintleman," he concluded, "and as soon as a chance comes for me to jump off, I'll go." Terry had no thought but that the buffaloes would dash among the trees and continue their flight in the same headlong fashion, as long as they could; but, to his amazement, the head of the drove suddenly swerved to the left and the bull followed. "Be the powers, but this will never do," was his conclusion; "this perarie may raach all the way to the Gulf of Mexico, and the bull doesn't act as if he meant to stop before he raaches there; I'm goin' to make other arrangements." He kept his seat until the drove had gone several hundred yards with unabated speed. So far as he could judge, the bull was holding his own with the rest: whatever wound he had received was of no account, so far as its immediate effect was seen. The others continued crowding up as before, but Terry did not mind them. He yelled and shook his head in the hope of frightening them off so as to give him the room he wished in order to make his venture, but they did not mind him. The odd crackling of their hoofs, the rattling of their horns as they struck together, and their occasional bellowing, made a din amid which no shout that he could raise would gain any consideration whatever. "There's one thing sartin," said Terry, compressing his lips and showing by his action that he had made up his mind to end the business one way or the other. "I'm tired of this crowd, and I ain't goin' to spind any more time with it." Between him and the wood were seven or eight buffaloes, crowding close in their idiotic fashion, as though to push off the rider. Terry recalled the day, early in spring, when he ran rapidly across the creek near his home, by stepping upon the surging masses of ice, one after the other, and leaping off again before they had time to respond to his weight. He resolved to try something of the kind. Holding fast to the wiry mane with his hands, he drew his feet up under him, balanced himself a moment, then straightened up, and, turning quickly, stepped upon the back of the bull that was immediately alongside. Before that creature could know what had been done, the pressure was removed and the weight of the lad was borne by a cow which was his next neighbor. Terry Clark ran as nimbly as a monkey across the backs of the intervening buffaloes, until his foot rested on the one nearest the wood. A slight slip at the moment of stepping upon his back disconcerted him so that he could not recover himself. His intention was to land on the ground with his face in the same direction he was going. Then, even if he could not keep his feet, he could run with such speed that his fall would not hurt him; but unfortunately as he struck the ground he faced the other way, and before he could check himself, he went over backward with such force that he was knocked senseless. After all, the fall may be considered a fortunate one, for he was not seriously hurt and soon recovered himself. He had received a severe shock, but in a short time he sat up and stared about him. Recalling what had taken place, he looked in the direction of the herd of buffaloes. None of them was in sight, but a dark heap a short distance away showed where the bull on which he had ridden had given out and fallen to the ground. He was wounded more seriously than at first seemed to be the case. Had Terry stayed on his back a few brief minutes longer, he would have gone down with him and been trampled to death by the hoofs of those in the rear. "I think I'm all here, as me cousin used to remark after he had enj'yed himself at Donnybrook Fair," said Terry, rising carefully to his feet, swinging his arms and kicking out his legs. He had been violently jarred, and he was alarmed by a dizziness that caused him to sit down again. But he recovered quickly, and soon was as well as ever. He turned to the left and passed among the trees, where, despite the coolness of the day, he felt the relief of the shade thus afforded him. "I s'pose Fred will be jealous whin he finds out what a foine ride I have had," he added, his old sense of humor coming back; "but all he has to do is to catch a buffalo bull and git on his back: but I don't think he'll forgit the same right away." Looking over the prairie, he saw the figure of his friend walking in almost a direct line toward him, though he was so far off that he was not distinctly visible, partly because of the dust which still lingered in the air. Fred's encounter with the Winnebago horsemen had taken place and ended while Terry lay senseless on the ground, so that the latter had no suspicion of the exciting occurrence. Terry ought to have walked out on the plain, swung his hat and cheered his friend; but that would have been contrary to his nature. He kept out of sight among the trees, until Fred was quite close, when he broke into vigorous whistling. Fred heard the familiar sound, stopped short, looked about him and then burst into laughter as he saw his comrade. The next moment they ran together, shook hands and mutually congratulated each other, as you will admit they had full warrant in doing. CHAPTER XXXI. THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL. It was a thrilling story which Terry Clark had to tell about his ride on the back of the buffalo, but, after all, it was not so stirring as the experience which befell Fred Linden, and the Irish lad declared that it surpassed his own in every respect. "Thim Winnebagos are gittin' altogether too plintiful," said he; "whin they come on horseback as will as on foot, there must be more than we can take care of, though you managed the three as well as I could have done the same mesilf. And so ye hit one of 'em whin ye touched off yer gun, did ye?" "There is no doubt of it, though I am sorry to say that it did not end his career right away." "It'll sarve him the good turn of givin' him time to think what a maan spalpeen he is any way, and that's a good deal. And so ye say they was mounted on horseback: what has become of thim?" "They rode in among the trees over yonder, near where we kindled the fire and cooked the buffalo steak." Terry walked out to the edge of the prairie, and shading his eyes, peered in that direction. "I can see nuthin' of thim; they must have found out that ye hadn't any frinds there after all the fuss ye made, and it may be they will come back to sittle with ye." "If I alone could attend to them, do you think we together have any thing to fear?" "Of course not, if it's only thim three, but we have seen so many of the spalpeens that they won't be loikely to foind much trouble in scarin' up a few hundred more and makin' it uncomfortable for us." "Well," replied Fred, with a sigh, "I am so relieved and thankful to know how well we got through it all, that I am hopeful we shall have no great trouble during the rest of the way. We ought to be able to reach the camp by to-morrow night if we don't have any interruption." The young friends surely had good reason to feel grateful for their deliverance from the perils of the morning, and with hopeful hearts they walked along the margin of the wood until they came to the point where the trail turned to the left. Over this they started at a brisk pace, Fred slightly in advance of his companion, for the path was not broad enough for them to walk any other way with freedom. "Terry," said the elder, "do you think it possible that the three Winnebagos with whom I had the trouble could be the three that we met last night, when we were about to cross the stream?" "Niver," was the emphatic reply; "how could they have got around so far in front? It was a good many miles the ither way that we saw the same!" "I have thought of that, but, you know, we spent several hours in sleep, during which they might have turned back." "But where could they have got their horses?" "They may have had them within easy reach?" "It couldn't be." "I guess you are right; we hadn't a very good view of them last night, though the moon shone on them when they were wading the stream and I had a fancy that one of them looked like the fellow I hit when I fired." "All a fancy," insisted Terry. "Well, there's no use of guessing, for any way it must be only a guess; but where do you suppose Deerfoot is?" "I've been thinkin' of the fellow and it saams to me that it's time he showed up." "I wonder whether he could have passed us in the night." "That couldn't be, for he meant to stay near the camp-fire where we lift him till he found out what the spalpeens were goin' to do, and he couldn't have got that chance till mornin'." "Unless they made a start last night." "Which the same they didn't do." The boys were more in want of water than food, and fortunately they had not gone far when they struck another stream, narrow enough for them to leap across, and which afforded them a draught with which to quench their thirst. "Now," said Fred, "since we have had such a good breakfast, we will think of nothing more to eat until night." "I don't know about not _thinkin'_ of the same," said Terry doubtfully, "but I am with ye in agraain' that we won't go out of the path to hunt any of the same onless--that is, onless we should think what I've brought along isn't aqual to our appetites." "We must have passed considerably more than half the distance between home and the camp in the mountains," added the elder, some minutes later; "so, if all goes well, we ought to be with our friends some time to-morrow afternoon." "I'm of the opinion," remarked the sagacious Terry, "that Deerfut sint us on ahead last night so as to git us out uv the way; thim pritty legs of his can travel so fast that he wanted a chance to stritch the same without waitin' fur us." "More than likely you are right; whenever he thinks it necessary, he will branch out ahead of the Winnebagos and overhaul us; so even though we see nothing of him, we ought not to feel much concern." "How about the wither, me lad?" Fred had noticed since resuming their journey, that the sky, which was clear and sunshiny in the morning, had become overcast. The sun was no longer visible, and a chilliness in the air warned them that the fine weather could not last much longer. They had not only been favored in this respect, but for several days before leaving home equally charming skies had spanned them. And so, in accordance with the laws of our changeable climate, a disagreeable turn was to be expected. "I was hopeful that it would keep off until we reached camp," said Fred, looking up through the tree tops at the darkening sky; "but that is too much, and we must take it as it comes." "Push on as fast as ye choose." Taking his friend at his word, Fred broke into a slow, easy trot, not much more rapid than an ordinary walking gait, but one which they could keep up a long time, where the ground was not too rough. Terry of course did the same, and they covered fully two miles in that manner, when they slackened their pace before an extensive rise of the ground. But for that, they would have gone much further at the same speed. Some fifteen minutes were spent in clambering up the stony incline, when they descended into a broad valley, the path still rough and difficult of passage. They recognized a dull but increasing roar as made by a rapid torrent, and ere long stopped on the edge of a stream fifty feet wide, which dashed and foamed over the rocks, breaking into eddies, and agitated pools, falling in foamy cataracts and splashing forward again with a rollicking freedom that formed one of the prettiest and most romantic sights on which they had ever looked. Directly at their feet was a curious formation. By some means at a remote day, a number of hard stones had been flung downward and given a spinning motion, which, acting on the softer sandstone beneath, had begun hollowing it out, as if by the chisel of an engraver. This strange operation had gone on for years, until a bowl a dozen feet across and half as deep had been formed. It was almost mathematically round, very smooth and with a tapering shape to the bottom that made the resemblance to an enormous punch bowl strikingly accurate. This formation (which in accordance with the taste prevailing in all parts of our country, should be christened the "Devil's Punch Bowl"), was full of limpid water, fed by a slight overflow from above and overrunning and flowing calmly over the lower rim. In the bottom lay three stones, looking like cannon balls. These were the tools with which the stream had carved the Devil's Punch Bowl. Having done their work, they were resting in the bottom, where they had lain for a period that could not be guessed. Out beyond, a thin sheet of the water hung like a transparent curtain over the edge of the rocks. It was so smooth and unruffled that it seemed stationary, like a film of glass, but, after striking the stones below, it broke into foam, whirlpools and eddies, which helped to form as lovely and picturesque a scene as the most devoted lover of nature could long to see. The picture was so pretty indeed that the boys stood for several minutes lost in admiration. They had never viewed any thing of the kind, and it was something that would always be a pleasant memory to them. But, great as was their admiration, there was a startling question that came to them: how was this interesting stream to be crossed? In front and up and down the bank, the eyes searched in vain for a ford. It was idle to think of ferrying themselves over, while the cascades, pools, eddies and general "upsetting" of a broad deep stream, made its passage as perilous as that of the rapids nearer home in which the two had come so near losing their lives. "There is no possible way by which we can reach the other side," said Fred, after they had walked a few rods up and down the stream. "I don't obsarve any way mesilf," was the response of Terry. "But there _must_ be, for how could father and the rest have crossed?" "They may have put up a bridge." "But where is the bridge? There are no signs of any thing of the kind," said the bewildered Fred; "they couldn't have made a bridge without leaving it behind." "The high water has swipt it away." Fred stood surveying the stream and the banks, for several minutes, during which he once more walked back and forth, but he was right when he said that the place had never been spanned by even the simplest structure, for it could not have been done without leaving some traces behind. This being the case, the mystery was greater than ever; for it was certain that at that hour their friends were many miles distant on the other side. "This is a little ahead of any thing I ever heard tell of," remarked Fred, taking off his cap and scratching his head, after the fashion of Terry when he was puzzled. "It couldn't be," ventured the latter, who also had his cap in his hand and was stirring up his flaxen locks, "that they carried a bridge along with 'em." "Impossible!" "That's what I thought, as me sicond cousin remarked whin they told him his uncle carried his shillaleh a half mile and passed two persons without beltin' 'em over the head." "There's something about this which I can not understand." Terry turned and looked at him in his quizzical way and solemnly extended his hand. Fred shook it as he wished, though he was far from feeling in a sportive mood. "They _must_ have crossed," he added, replacing his cap with some violence, compressing his lips and shaking his head in a determined way; "do you walk up the bank, while I make a search in the other direction; we _must_ find the explanation." The proposition was acted upon, Terry clambering carefully along the slippery bank and over the rocks, until he was fully a hundred yards from his friend, who busied himself in doing the same thing in the opposite direction. All at once the Irish lad shouted. Looking up to him, Fred saw that he was beckoning him to approach. "I knew there must be something of the kind," thought Fred, who after much labor placed himself beside his friend. To his disappointment, Terry had paused before the worst part of the series of cascades. It was at the broadest portion of the stream, where the falls, whirlpools, eddies and deep water would have turned back the most skillful swimmer. "What do you mean?" asked the astonished Fred. "I thought I'd show you the place where they _didn't_ cross," was his reply, and then he broke into the merriest laughter, as well he might, for he had solved the mystery. CHAPTER XXXII. THE TERROR IN THE AIR. "Do obsarve where the trail comes down to that big bowl?" asked Terry, pointing to the huge, circular cavity below them. "Of course." "Well, that's a mistake; _that isn't the right trail_." Fred turned about, and jumped and ran back to the Devil's Punch Bowl, at a rate that threatened his neck. Stooping over, he carefully examined the path. He saw that his companion was right; the trail which they had followed to the edge of the stream was one that had been worn by animals in coming to and going from the Punch Bowl. You will admit that no better punch in the wide world could be furnished the dumb beasts than that which was thus freely given to them. As if to confirm that which did not need confirming, a large buck at that moment appeared in the path, within a hundred feet of where Fred had straightened up, after examining the trail. He threw up his head on catching sight of the young hunter, gave one quick, inquiring stare and then whirled about and was off like a flash. Fred Linden could have brought him down at the moment he wheeled had he chosen to do so, but he recalled his own proposition to Terry some time before, about firing such a shot. Indeed, since they had some of the cooked buffalo steak left, there was no call to use any more ammunition for game. Terry Clark came laughing down the rocks, looking upon the whole business as one of the funniest of incidents, but to Fred it was any thing but a laughing matter. Time was becoming of the utmost value, and this divergence from the trail meant delay--a delay, too, whose length could not be guessed. If they had turned aside several miles back, it was more than likely that they would lose all the advantage gained by the laborious travel of the night before. "How could we have made such a blunder?" asked Fred, his eyes wandering back over the path, as though searching for an explanation of the mistake; "I suppose at the point where the trails cross the direction isn't changed much and this is more distinct than the other. Terry, I can't see any thing about this to laugh at." "I don't obsarve much of the same mesilf," said the other, whose face nevertheless was on abroad grin; "I wasn't laughing at yersilf, or the mistake we made." "What was it then that amused you so much?" "I was thinkin' how funny it looked to see the deer and bears and buffaloes and foxes and panthers all standing round that big bowl and winkin' at each ither while they drank their health." "Terry, there's going to be trouble because of this blunder." "What do ye signify be the same?" "I believe that all the advantage we gained by traveling so hard last night is lost. When we follow this trail back until it reaches the main one, more than likely we shall meet the Winnebagos at that point, if they will not actually be between us and the camp in the Ozarks." "I'm afeard it's not all a falsehood that ye are telling me," said Terry, with an expression in which there was nothing like a jest. "Let's be off then." At this juncture the Irish lad made a proposition which his companion accepted, for he thought it promised them much saving in time and travel. It was quite certain that the false trail followed pretty much the same direction as the true one: at any rate there could be no doubt that it crossed the stream which had stopped them, so instead of picking their way back for several miles, they decided to keep along the edge of the water itself until they struck the path. To make sure of avoiding another blunder, one should have gone up and the other down stream, for manifestly they could not be certain they were above or below the true path; but each felt too strong a misgiving about such a course. Their surroundings required mutual support. Beside this, they were convinced that the trail which they wished to recover lay above instead of below, so that, when making their way they were not held back by any doubt, though each could not fail to see that it was only a piece of guess-work. Fortunately for their peace of mind, they were right, and the plan saved them much time and travel. They had not gone very far, when they came upon the path, marked so distinctly that there could be no possible mistake. The width of the stream was about the same as below. The water was smooth, deep, clear and sluggish. The bank sloped gently down from each side and on the other shore were plainly seen the prints of the hoofs where the animals had left the water. It was so deep that whoever went over there had done so by floating or swimming. The crossing was so far above the point where the cascades began, that nothing was to be feared from them. The clumsiest raft could be ferried over by a child before it would drift into danger, while in case of swimming, the peril was still less. "If it wasn't so chilly," said Fred, "I would propose that we swim the stream." Terry shivered and shook his head. "We must go over on a raft; it is not only cowld, but is gittin' cowlder." "There's a storm brewing; it looks as black as ink off yonder." At this moment the boys made a discovery which both pleased and alarmed them. Such a float as they needed was at their call. There lay a half dozen logs and trees fastened together by several withes, and with enough buoyancy to bear them to the other side. Even the pole to be used in propulsion lay upon the heavy timbers that were pulled just far enough against the bank to prevent them floating off with the current. While it was pleasant to know that they would not have to go through the labor of constructing any thing of the kind, yet there was a cause for fear in the presence of the structure which led them to hesitate several minutes before using it. It proved that some one had crossed from the other side upon it, while the withes were so white and fresh at the angles, where they were twisted open, as to show that the raft had been made but a short time. The natural question was as to who could have been coming from the other way. "I know," said Terry, compressing his lips and shaking his head. "Who?" "Winnebagos; they're so plintiful that it couldn't have been any one ilse, for they wouldn't have had a chance." "I suppose you are right," remarked Fred thoughtfully, "for they do seem to be almost everywhere, though I can't understand why they should be coming this way." "Suppose there was but one of the spalpeens, and he'd been out on a scout, and was on his way back to the rist of the spalpeens with the news, would it be onraisonable to think he would take a little pains to kaap his leggins and moccasins from gittin' damp enough to give him cowld?" "Well, I can think of no better reason than that, and am willing to believe it is correct, but don't you see, Terry, that all this goes to prove that we have lost a dangerous amount of time? We ought to have been many miles further on the road than we are." "The buffalo bull had a good deal to do with our impolite tarryin', and as he is slaapin' with his four mithers, I maan his forefathers, let him rist in pace." The boys did not allow their words to delay their hands. The raft was shoved clear, and the two took their positions upon it, Fred holding the pole, while his companion looked after the guns. They were astonished to find, directly after leaving land, that the pole, which was nearly twenty feet in length, would not reach bottom. This compelled them to use it as a paddle. The progress was slow, but the distance was so slight that it did not take them long to reach the other bank, where they set the structure adrift, so that it could not be used by any one else. Looking directly up stream, where the sky was in plain sight, its blackness startled even the boys, who were used to seeing the most violent changes of temperature. The hue was not of the dark blue which often gives warning of the coming tempest, but there was a greenish tinge to the blackness that would have awed any one. While they looked, a zigzag ribbon of flame fluttered across the darkened portion, accompanied by a crash that seemed to shiver the earth. Fred Linden, who happened to be staring straight at the fiery burst, saw the upper part of a large cypress that leaned over the water, leap from the trunk as though it had been sawn short off and flung into the water. It was all ablaze, and, falling upright into the current, kept its equilibrium, that is, it did not fall to any side, but swept slowly downward as upright as when on the tree, and suggested that some giant as big as the Statue of Liberty was walking beneath, with an enormous torch held above his head to light his path. "Did ye iver see the like?" asked Terry. "No; it is wonderful." [Illustration: "Did ye iver see the like?" asked Terry.] Although it was about mid-day, the heavens were so overcast that the gloom was like night itself. At the same time the darkness had a ghastly tinge which made the faces of the boys, when they looked at each other, livid and unearthly. The scene was so impressive that they stood motionless, watching the flaming tree and the inky heavens beyond. Suddenly in the sky they saw a figure that resembled a vast balloon slightly inclined to one side, and spinning on its axis with inconceivable swiftness. At the bottom the snout-like appendage wavered off to one side as though the amazing velocity of the upper part was twisting it loose. A similar formation appeared a few minutes after a short distance behind. And now began the most extraordinary exhibition of all. Imagine two whirling balloons, a hundred feet in height, and so black that they stood out from the surrounding gloom, showing like pitch against the dimly lit sky behind. They began a witches' waltz in the firmament, sometimes leaning far backward, then dancing forward, as if saluting each other, then "balancing," then dancing up and down, then so far away from each other that one would pass out of the field of vision, soon to reappear, however. At times they seemed as if about to rush into each other's arms, and then they coquetted away again and resumed the weird dance in the skies. You understand that I am trying to describe one of those terrible visitations of the west known as a cyclone. Little was heard of them a century ago, and the balloon to which I have compared the form of the ghostly dancers, was unknown to the lads, who watched the exhibition with an interest that was not turned into terror, as it would have been to-day, by the knowledge of the awful power for death and destruction that lies within that concentration of electricity in its most fateful form. It seemed a long time that this strange scene lasted, though it could not have been many seconds. Suddenly, while the balloon-like forms were saluting each other, they rushed together. There was no shock perceivable when they met, but there were vivid flashes from within the murky folds, as the heat lightning sometimes plays among the clouds at the close of a warm day. Having met, the forms engaged in a wrestling bout. Round and round they spun with the same bewildering swiftness, leaning far to one side, as though about to fall, and all the time whirling with such speed on the one spiral leg that it seemed unable to keep pace with the bulkier part above. CHAPTER XXXIII. FRED LINDEN AWAKENS TO AN ALARMING FACT. The approach of the cyclone was attended by an appalling roar, and a mass of branches and trees flying through the air, which warned the boys of their danger. "Terry, it won't do to stay here," shouted Fred, casting about for some place of refuge; "where shall we go?" Quite close to the stream which they had just crossed was an enormous rock. Its irregular surface, a dozen feet in extent each way, must have reached far down in the ground, so that nothing could have been more immovable. It was not the refuge that the boys would have taken, had they been given time to hunt for one, but surely they could not have found a better. A couple of leaps took Terry to the place, and, as he threw himself on his face, Fred was directly behind him. As they lay, the shelving rock was less than two feet above their heads. Though they could hear, they could not see what was coming. They could look to the right and left, but only for a few seconds in front. Using their eyes as best they could, they saw the air filled with leaves, twigs, branches, huge limbs and trunks, which spun forward and over and over, like so many feathers in a tornado. The first shock that came to the boys crouching behind the rock was a dead thump near their heads. An uprooted tree had been hurled from some point above, like an enormous spear, and, striking the rock at a slant, slid over the rough surface like the finger of a player over the face of a tambourine and out beyond, hunting for some spot where it could penetrate. It found it on the ground, but it was instantly wrenched loose by the resistless power that had first thrown it forward, and went end over end into the general wreck and ruin beyond. The next sight which startled the boys was on their left, directly over the stream. The air was filled apparently with snow, as if a violent squall had suddenly sprung up. It was accompanied by a hissing noise, which mingled with the fearful roar that had not stopped and was like that of the stormy Atlantic beating upon the rock-bound coast. Striking the stream, the cyclone whirled most of the water from its bed, scattered the mist and foam among the trees, and saturated the boys where they lay. The huge torch was quenched as suddenly as it was lighted. The most terrifying moment to Fred and Terry was when they felt the rock in front of them move. It was turned several inches to one side, and for one frightful moment, they believed that that too would be sent skimming through the air, or whirled over upon them. But there was no other refuge to which they could fly; had they attempted to rise to their feet, they would have been snatched up and dashed to death. So they flattened themselves as much as they could on their faces, and the terrific outburst could not reach them. Such an elemental fury can not last long. Having torn up the ponderous trees, overturned rocks, and cleaned out the stream, the cyclone seemed to mount upward and leave the earth entirely, probably to descend some miles away and continue its work of destruction. Fred lay still several minutes after it had passed, and then turned to look at his companion. He had unrolled the package and taken therefrom the cooked buffalo steak, which had been so roughly handled during his ride on the bull. "Well, well," said the astonished Fred, "I believe you are the only person in the world who could eat his dinner in the middle of such a storm as this." "I was thinkin', bein' as we are in so much of a hurry, that I would save some toime by dinin' without delay, though ye do me an injoostice by sayin' I'm through the same; I'm jist about to begin and I'll be plaised to have yer company." Terry may not have had much sentiment, but he was sensible. Fred sat up, his head just rising above the rock, and, for a few minutes, they gave their attention to their meal. There was enough for a fair lunch, but no more. A gentle wind blew against them, being the remnant left by the cyclone, and while they ate, you need not be told they used their eyes. The sight was a striking one: the trees lay across each other, many with their prong-like roots pointing toward the sky, limbs and trunks having been tossed about in the most bewildering confusion. The water that had been lifted from the creek rendered not only their clothing wet, but every thing around them was saturated. Walking to the side of the stream, they looked down at the sloping banks, wet and muddy, but with little water except in the bottom. The current, however, was pouring so swiftly from above that this was rapidly filling up, and before long would reach its former level. Now that the cyclone had passed, the sky rapidly cleared. There was a chilliness in the air, and the sun did not show itself. The boys took but a short time to view the destruction, great as it was, when they faced about in the direction of the camp which was their destination from the first. It looked as though they were finally separated from the trail, for since it was so covered by fallen trees and limbs, not the slightest trace of it was seen. They were filled with dismay, and indeed would have been at their wits' end had not the cyclone confined its fury to exceedingly narrow limits. All its prodigious force was spent in and directly along the stream. Twenty yards away, the forest was undisturbed, so that the elemental scythe had made a clean swath as it sped along. "Hurrah!" called out Terry, "here's the path; I follyed a straight line as I could from the water here, so I'm sure I couldn't coom out very far from the right place." Fred hurried over the ruins to his side, and a glance at the ground showed that his friend was right: there was the trail at their feet. "Now," said Terry, recovering his spirits, "if we had only knowed that that storm was coomin', we could have fastened our guns to our backs and swum across, without waitin' to build the raft, and saved all the time that we lost." "But we would have been wetted all the same, had we done so." "And gained that much time; do ye know," added Terry, in a half frightened voice, "what I obsarved?" "I suppose you saw what I did,--the air full of water, trees, limbs, stones and lightning." "While we were peepin' over the edge of the rock, ye moind that the wind cut our faces so we had to lower 'em to keep our heads flyin' off where we couldn't find 'em agin. It was yersilf that stuck yer nose in the ground, but I took a paap off beyanst the creek and I saan one of the Winnebagos." "Can it be possible! what was he doin'?" "Turnin' summersets at the rate of twinty to the second and about a dozen faat above the ground; I had only the one glimpse of him, but whin I obsarved him it looked to me as if his head and one leg wint off in different directions; I s'pose he's lookin' for the same." Fred Linden could hardly believe that Terry had seen one of their enemies, though, as you can well understand, from what cyclones have done in recent years, it was not at all impossible. The youth insisted so strongly on the first part of his statement, that Fred decided that at the time the storm burst, one at least of their foes was on the bank behind them. All this confirmed the belief he had expressed that they had lost invaluable time by wandering from the trail, and that they would have hard work to keep far enough in advance to reach the camp before the Winnebagos. The proof that they had received too of some of the Winnebagos being in front complicated the situation and added to the mental discomfort of both. The sky which, as you will remember, had become overcast sometime before the bursting of the cyclone, continued to clear, and to the surprise of the young hunters, about the middle of the afternoon the sun showed itself. The chilliness, however, remained, though the two walked so briskly that they could have well stood a still lower temperature. Fortunately for them (though it also operated in favor of their enemies) the trail was traveled without difficulty. The ground was uneven, sometimes up and sometimes down, but it was not hard for the feet and they made good progress. The distance they had to go was too great for them to hope to reach the end of the journey before the morrow, even if they traveled most of the night. They had already proven their pluck and resolution, and you may be sure, now that they were on the right path, that they did not throw away any minutes. They had eaten the extra buffalo steak sooner than was intended, but they could afford to wait until the morrow before partaking of any more food. The afternoon was far along and they were pushing forward in their usual vigor, talking in a hopeful strain now and then, when both were startled by the report of a rifle. It did not sound in front nor to the rear, but only a moderate distance to the left. The boys stopped and looked in each other's face. "Anither of the spalpeens," whispered Terry; "now there ought to be a gun fired on tother side of us and one in front and one behind us." "They may be there, all the same," replied Fred, staring in the direction whence came the report, as though he expected the appearance of the one who had caused it. They looked and listened for several minutes, but saw and heard nothing more, and resumed their hurried pace, frequently glancing behind, for they were in that distrustful state of mind which comes to one who has a strong suspicion that an enemy is trying to steal behind him unawares. The actual presence of such an enemy is no more trying than the suspense itself. The shot might have been innocent--that is, fired by some wandering white man or Indian who had not the remotest thought that any other person was within hearing. Probably such was the fact, though there was enough uncertainty about it to prevent the theory affording the youth the comfort it otherwise would have done. The lads, as you may well believe, did not stop to look into the matter, but pressed on at a gait which they were confident would prevent any of their enemies overtaking them, unless they broke into their loping trot, which was hardly likely. Somehow or other, Terry seemed to be thinking more about the three Winnebago horsemen with whom Fred Linden had had his encounter than he did about his own experience. "How thim spalpeens could be ridin', whin all the rist are afoot, is somethin' that puzzles me," said he, after they had walked some distance further; "can't ye give some explanation that will relaave me mind, Fred?" "I can certainly know no more about it than you do." "Didn't ye obsarve them with particularity?" "I can't say that I did; they were rather small, tough-looking; two were bay in color, while one was black: I noticed the black one more than the others, because the Indian that I hit was riding on him; I remember that he had a star in his forehead." "Who? The Winnebago?" "You know well enough that I meant the horse----" Fred Linden stopped short, and turned his white, scared face upon his friend. He had just awakened to an astounding fact. "What's the matter, Fred? Are ye ill?" "My gracious! why didn't I think of that before? Those three horses belong to father, Mr. Hardin and Mr. Bowlby." "Are ye sure of the same?" "Why, of course; I can't understand why I did not notice it the moment I saw them!" CHAPTER XXXIV. THE CANOE. It certainly was remarkable that when Fred Linden was watching the three Winnebagos so closely, and when, as I have said, he noticed more than one trifling matter, that he failed to recognize the animals they were riding. All three were familiar to him, and the one he had spoken of as being darker in color than the others, and as having a star in his forehead, was the identical animal owned by his father. Fred, himself, had ridden him more than once. It should be said, however, that they were the pack-horses, which even when put to their best paces, could not make good speed. Nevertheless, they were of great value to the hunters. The first conviction of the lad on awaking to the alarming fact, was that his father and the other two men had been killed by the Winnebagos. The thought overcame him so that he leaned against the nearest tree and was on the point of fainting. "They are all dead, Terry--I know it--we may as well give up, and try to reach home." Terry was agitated, but not so much so as his friend. "Why, my dear boy, it's not so bad as _that_," he said feelingly; "do ye not moind that whin the gintlemen go to trappin' and huntin' they turn the horses loose to graze? The spalpeens have coom along and run off with the same." "Do you think so?" asked Fred, looking up yearningly for the grain of comfort that his companion was able to give. "I don't _think_ so; I know so; if the gintlemen took the bastes into the cabin and slipt with the same ivery night, as me rilatives do with their pigs in Ireland, why ye might think that they had suffered before the Winnebagos tuk thim away; but they have snaaked up where the animals was grazin', jumped onto their backs and rid off." This view of the case was so reasonable, that Fred rallied and half smiled at his own faintheartedness. He stood erect and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. "I believe you are right, but it strikes me that such thieves would have stolen all instead of half the horses." "They've lift the ither three for their frinds that I make no doubt will be along to take thim, if they haven't done so now." "You know that the loss of a horse is considered almost as bad as the loss of a man in this part of the world." "Sometimes he amounts to a good deal more, as me mither--" Terry paused in his remarks, for just then Fred uttered a warning--"_Sh!_" to signify that something was in the path in front. The next moment, he ran several paces to the right and sheltered himself behind a tree, Terry being only a few seconds behind him. Both had discovered what it was. A brown bear of moderate size was waddling along toward them. He had probably struck the trail, and finding it easier walking than among the trees and undergrowth, was swinging forward in the direction of the stream that had received such a visit from the cyclone. The boys could not know for a minute or two whether the beast had seen them, but they felt no alarm. As I have said, he was not very large nor formidable looking, and, if he chose to turn aside to attack them, they were more than his equal. As it was, their own eagerness to get forward was all that prevented them from shooting him. Bruin lumbered ahead in his awkward way, and, as the boys peeped forth, they fancied that his big brown eyes glanced mischievously at them; but they were mistaken. He did not see nor scent them, but went by, and, in a few minutes, disappeared from sight among the trees. Hardly waiting till he had vanished, the youths stepped back into the path and resumed the rapid pace at which they had been traveling. The sun, that had been partly shining from behind the clouds, was low in the sky, and it was not long before they were journeying in the twilight. The moon rose early, but its light was so much obscured by the mists that it gave little if any help, and the friends were disappointed to find it difficult to make any progress at all. At this trying juncture, they found themselves once more on the bank of a stream that had to be crossed before they could go any further. It was fully double the width of the one last passed, but did not look as if it was deep. "My clothes ain't all dry yit," said Terry, "and I'm in favor of wadin' if we can." "I am afraid it is too deep for that, and with our guns and bundles and thick clothes it isn't an easy thing to swim. Besides it's colder than it was last night and it won't be pleasant to spend a few more hours in wet clothing: mine is about dry." Fred added that if they should decide to push on, the only way of doing so was by the usual means of a raft. It would take considerable time to build one, and probably still longer to work their way to the other side. "No use of waitin'," said Terry; "let's take hold; I've an idaa that we ain't far from the cabin and ivery mile that we can make now counts." Fred started to give his help, when to his unbounded amazement, he narrowly missed going headlong over a small Indian canoe that lay at their feet. They would not have been more surprised had they come upon Deerfoot himself in a sound slumber, and not until they had stooped down and examined it closely were they certain that it was not some log fantastically shaped by nature that had floated thither. But an Indian canoe it was beyond all mistake, though after searching all around it, they failed to find the paddle so necessary for its propulsion. The boat had been drawn up the bank, underneath some bushes and undergrowth, where it would not have been seen by any one further off than six feet. It was so far back too from the stream that it would require an unusual overflow to carry it away. It was not so dark that the lads could not see that it was of beautiful pattern and fine make--one of those delicate vessels which under the skillful guidance of its owner skim like a swallow over the water. It was a prize indeed. Now, as you very well know, there is nothing wonderful about an Indian canoe, but the astonishment of the boys came from the fact that they found it in this place. Fred Linden, in listening to the accounts given by his father on his return in the spring from his trapping expeditions, had heard him say more than once that there was no Indian village between Greville and the camp at the foot of the Ozarks, and that, according to the friendly red men who occasionally visited them, he believed that the nearest lodge lay nearly two hundred miles to the north-west of Greville. It was this fact that gave the Hunters of the Ozark so much confidence in themselves when they went on their long hunts, though, as you have learned, danger did sometimes come from the wandering Indians, the father of Terry Clark having lost his life at their hands. All this being known to the boys, they had cause to wonder how it was that an Indian canoe lay hidden under the bushes on the shore. None of those people would go to the trouble of making such a boat, unless he expected to use it many times. It would be the same as if you had a costly rowboat constructed with which to cross only once a canal or small stream of water. But, as in many other cases, it was idle to speculate, and the boys did not allow any feeling of surprise to rob them of the valuable minutes. Finding no paddle with which to manage the boat, Fred cut a small sapling and trimmed it so that he had a pole fully twenty feet long. Then the guns were laid in the bottom, Terry took his seat, and they carefully pushed from shore, Fred managing the pole. As they suspected, the water was quite shallow, the depth nowhere being more than three or four feet; but the current was rapid, and in some places the bottom of the canoe grated over the gravel. Both had to move well to the stern to raise the bow, so as to allow them to reach land with dry feet. "It's a pity to allow this to float off and be lost," said Fred; "let's draw it up the bank where the owner won't have any trouble in finding it." "I would give a good deal if I could be introduced to that same gintleman," remarked Terry, who took off his cap and scratched his head as he added: "I wonder whither that is one of the canoes from near home?" "What are you talking about? How could it get _here_?" "By some subterranean communication, the same as we boys used to sind notes to the gurls whin I was laarnin' the higher mathematics in college." Fred made no comment upon the remark of his friend. The canoe, when relieved of their weight, was so light that the bow was pulled to the shore by means of the pole. Then Fred alone drew it up beyond the reach of the water, and it was left until the owner should come forward to claim it. The two now set out to hunt for the trail, with a view of making eight or ten miles more before they stopped to rest; but the result was discouraging. It took more than a half hour to make sure they had found it, and then they had not gone twenty yards, when Fred said he could not tell whether he was in the path or not. "It's no use," he added; "we may as well stop, for we are sure to repeat the mistake of to-day: we'll get so far wrong that it'll take many hours to find our way back again, and we shall lose far more than we gain." "That bein' the same--and I'm willin' to agraa that ye are now strivin' to till the truth--let's turn off from the trail, go back so far that there isn't any chance for any one to saa us and slaap till mornin'." Since there was nothing else to do, the boys did as Terry proposed. They were not so tired as they were the night before, and they did not dare to lie down on the leaves and sleep as they did then. There were wild animals prowling through the woods, and the fact that the lads escaped once could be no guaranty that they would have equally good fortune a second time. Terry proposed that they should climb a tree and make a bed among the branches; but that was hardly feasible. It is not often that the limbs of a tree are accommodating enough to allow any one to rest with comfort. The branches may be pleasant for a time, but the limbs soon become like iron rods and the position so cramped as to drive away all comfort. In addition, there was the danger of a fatal fall during sleep. So it was decided to hunt out the most secluded place possible and start a fire. That would keep off the wild animals, and the boys were not in such need of sleep that they could not afford to take turns with each other in watching through the night. While hunting a suitable spot, they moved down the river bank for fully a hundred yards, and then entered some dense undergrowth which they penetrated until they were sure that no safer place could be found. So they began gathering twigs, leaves and branches, and piling them against the shaggy bark of a tree, and soon had all they wanted. This was fired by means of the flint and steel, and a roaring, crackling blaze made every thing look cheerful. "Let's walk off a little ways," said Fred, "and see whether the light can be noticed very far; you know that we can not be too careful." Terry liked the proposal, and rose to act upon it. They moved in opposite directions, walking several rods, and then carefully passing entirely around the camp-fire. The result was satisfactory, for the undergrowth in all directions was so thick that they felt as secure from discovery as if the fire had been kindled within an impenetrable cave. And yet they were woefully mistaken, as they were destined to learn in a brief while. CHAPTER XXXV. AMERICA VERSUS IRELAND. Having satisfied themselves that they could not have fallen upon a safer place, the boys came back to their camp, as it may be called, and sat down in front of the blaze. Their knapsacks were unstrapped from their backs and the blankets spread upon the leaves. There was some moisture in the thick cloth, but not enough to deter them from using them as couches. Their own clothing had become dry, and, under the warm glow of the fire, the blankets would soon be the same. In spite of the reconnoissance just made, both felt some uneasiness over their own situation. They were confident that no one further away than two or three rods would observe the fire, but the possibility remained that some enemy might pass within that space, brief as it was. Their experience since leaving Greville taught them that a large number of Winnebagos were in the wilderness, and, as Terry remarked, the nearer they approached camp, the more plentiful did they seem to become. It was this feeling which caused them to let the fire sink to half its first size and led them to keep far back within the circle of light thrown into the surrounding gloom. They talked in low voices, often listening and looking around, and were in any thing but a comfortable frame of mind. The feeling with them was that if any enemy should happen to be lurking in the vicinity, every possible advantage would be on his side. "I feel, Terry, as though all this is wasted time. I know it is more than likely that the Winnebagos are doing the same as we, that is, nothing at all; but that makes me more anxious to push on." "I've an idaa," remarked the Irish lad, who was stretched out in a lazy posture, with his cap in hand, while, as was his custom, he scratched his pate with the other; "I'm thinkin' why couldn't we aich take a torch in hand and walk along over the path with the same?" Fred was half inclined to try the experiment, but fear prevented. They had learned that the Winnebagos were not only in the rear but in front. No more conspicuous target can be given than that of a person carrying a lighted torch: it was the same as when a man with a candle in his hand starts out to explore his house for burglars. So that plan was not adopted. Terry was about to speak to his companion, when the latter saw him start, and, rising quickly to the sitting position, stare at a point beyond Fred. He had seen something that terrified him. With his big round eyes still fixed on the gloom behind young Linden, Terry stealthily reached for his gun, which lay on the leaves close by, and softly drew back the flint. Fred, as may be supposed, was alarmed, and starting half to his feet, glanced nervously around. He saw nothing. "What's the matter?" he asked in an undertone, as he also laid his hand upon his weapon. "Whin I was lookin' at ye," said Terry in a husky whisper, "I obsarved one of the spalpeens standin' right behind ye and close enough to touch ye with his hand. Before I could spake, he slipped out of sight like a shadder." Fred did not ask his companion whether he was sure of what he said, for he knew he was not mistaken. "That shows we shouldn't have started the fire; it has caught the eye of some of the Indians, who will be here in a few minutes; let's slip back in the darkness and get as far off as we can; it don't make much difference what course we take, but it will never do to stay here." Fred Linden had no more than completed his guarded remark, when he too caught sight of a warrior standing on the very edge of the circle of light and looking straight at him. The view of the dusky intruder was faint but unmistakable. The outlines and figure received enough of the firelight to cause him to look like a dim painting against a dark background. He was holding a rifle in one hand and appeared to be contemplating the lads, as if seeking to learn their identity before he advanced or performed some action. "_Sh!_ don't stir," whispered Fred, softly raising the hammer of his gun, "I see him,--I'll drop him!" With the utmost caution he brought the gun around in front until it was almost to his breast. Then as quickly as he could he raised it to his shoulder and aimed at the daring redskin. But the latter was invisible, he had vanished like the picture on the slide of a magic lantern. As you may suppose, the boys began to feel queer. There was something so peculiar about this business that, as Terry expressed it, he was "crawly all over." What they might have done can only be guessed, for before they could move away from the fire, Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who had been having a little amusement at their expense, advanced from the gloom and addressed them. "The heart of Deerfoot is glad when he sees his brothers do not sleep; he has watched them, but their eyes are open." "Wal, be the powers!" muttered Terry Clark, hastily rising to his feet, as did Fred; "the spalpeen that plays that trick on me has got to fight it out." And he began taking off his coat and spitting on his hands, to show that the matter could only be settled by a bout at fisticuffs. Deerfoot had extended his hand to Fred and he smiled at the combative Irish lad, who put up his fists and began dancing about him in the most belligerent fashion. "Give him a trial," whispered Fred, with a laugh. "Deerfoot loves his brothers; he can not hurt them." "If ye can git the bist of mesilf," said Terry, who was still sawing the air and hopping about as though the ground had become hot; "I'll think more of ye than iver before, bein' that I think more of ye now than I ever can, and I defy ye to sit your gun aside and git the bist of me in any way." "Go for him," urged Fred, knowing that the Irish boy, strong and active as he was, had no chance with the Shawanoe; "he thinks he is your master when you don't use your weapons. If you will give him a lesson, it will do him good." "Deerfoot will try to be a teacher to my brother," said the Shawanoe gravely, handing his gun to Fred, and following with his knife and tomahawk, that he might have no weapons except such as nature gave him. Then he threw some wood on the fire, so that the space immediately surrounding them was as light as noonday. Finally, every thing being ready, he proceeded to "go for" Mr. Terence Clark in a truly aboriginal fashion. Now, it must be borne in mind that, though there was and could not be the least ill feeling between the youths, yet each was resolutely resolved to overcome the other in the most emphatic manner at his command. Terry did not mean to batter the handsome face of his dusky friend, but to tap it so smartly that he would feel it. The naturally combative lad was an adept with his fists, and he meant to strike Deerfoot often enough to convince him of his inferiority. Then he would rush in, seize the young warrior and throw him to the ground, repeating it several times, until his antagonist cried, "Hold! Enough!" Fred Linden was to play the part of referee, and decide which was the better man. Thus you see the match bore some similarity to those of the present day, in which the victor is declared to be the one who in a certain number of rounds gains the advantage of the other. "As I am to be the boss of this business," sald Fred, with the keenest zest, "let me explain the terms: Each one is to strike the other as often as he can, the blows to be sharp enough to be felt pretty plainly, but not enough to cause any injury. I will let this go on until one of you has enough, or until I am satisfied of the superiority of one over the other. After that you are to have a wrestling match. When I call for you to stop, you must do so, no matter how anxious you may be to go on. Is that understood?" "The terms are agraaable to mesilf," said Terry; "it is sittled that there's to be no bettin' on the match." "I have no objection to your betting if you wish, but inasmuch as you haven't a cent and Deerfoot never did such a thing as bet in all his life, I don't think there will be any trouble about holding the stakes." "There ain't to be any foul blows in this," added Terry, who showed that he knew more than most of his friends about the "Irish champions" and the cause that made them champions of England and Ireland. "What do you mean by foul blows?" asked the puzzled Fred. "Hits below the belt. What I wished to observe, howiver, is that we ain't to recognize such things as foul blows in this fight for the championship of Louisiana. Aich one is to git the bist of the ither in the bist way he can. The rule, Deerfut, is for such pugilists to shake hands before beginnin' to try to knock aich ither out." And Terry extended his hand, which the young warrior gravely shook, for, as you can well understand, this was something to which he was altogether unaccustomed. He knew, however, the nature of the contest between himself and his doughty Irish friend, and he entered into it with the calm confidence with which he would have engaged Tecumseh himself in a fight to the death with knives. Deerfoot did not put up his hands after the manner of a pugilist, nor did he even close them, but fixing his eyes on those of Terry (just as he always did in his deadly fights with his antagonists), he began softly circling about him, like a cat searching for a chance to leap upon his prey. This did not disconcert Terry, whose pose would have been pronounced excellent by any one competent to judge. The left arm and foot were advanced, the right fist being held across and just in front of the breast, ready to take advantage of the first opening that presented itself. As Deerfoot circled around Terry, the latter moved around him, each on the alert for a chance. "Moind yer eye," Terry was kind enough to say; "it's a pity to sp'il such a handsome face, but a sinse of dooty will not allow me to thrifle, and so here goes!" With that he made a creditable lunge with his left, instantly following it with his right hand, and leaping back to avoid a counter. He did not strike Deerfoot nor did he receive a blow in return. "Ye are quick on yer faat and very good at dodgin', but it is an obligation ye owe to yersilf and to America to show whither thim foin purty hands can hit----" _Rap, whack, spat!_ The Shawanoe smote one cheek of Terry, then the other, and then his mouth, the blows being so quick that they seemed to be simultaneous. At the moment they were delivered, the Irish lad could not see that the young warrior had stirred. He appeared to be moving in his cat-like way around him, but beyond reach of Terry's own tough fists. Seeing that he must force matters, he made a furious rush for his antagonist. You must not set down Terry Clark as an awkward fellow who went into the contest without any skill. His father in his younger days was one of the best fighters in the north of Ireland, and he had taught considerable of his science to his only son, who gave an exhibition of what he could do when he smote the Winnebago that was swinging the cow-bell. There was not a lad anywhere near his years in Greville whom he could not master. Deerfoot knew nothing of the modern rules of self-defense. His superiority lay in his unequaled dexterity and quickness. It was that, as you will recall, which enabled him to win so many victories over foes who were his superior in every other respect. CHAPTER XXXVI. AMERICA VERSUS AMERICA. Terence Clark gathered himself for another rush and blow at the Shawanoe, when the latter with a quickness which the eye of Fred Linden could hardly follow, ducked under the arm of the Irish lad and again struck him a resounding blow with the flat of the hand, first on one side of the face and then on the other. Terry wheeled and returned the blows with skill. Once his hand grazed the black hair that was dangling about Deerfoot's head, and several times he touched the nodding feathers, but strive as much as he might, he could not reach the fellow himself. Now that the combat may be said to have opened, it went through to the end without halt or break. Here, there, everywhere dodged and struck the Shawanoe, while Terry was always just too late to catch him. Deerfoot might have inflicted considerable injury upon his plucky antagonist, had he struck him with his closed hand, but he always used his open palm. Some of the blows resounded like pistol shots. Having delivered all that he wished, Deerfoot doubled up his left hand so that only the index finger was extended. With this he punched the right and left ribs of Terry, then his chest, and then actually flipped each side of his nose, easily dodging the blows which the half angered Irish lad aimed at him in return. Suddenly Terry turned his back on his foe and deliberately struck several times at vacancy. Then he dropped his hands and walked back by the fire, saying, with a shake of his head: "I've enough! ye could bate the divil and his uncle." Fred Linden was sitting on the ground shaking with laughter. He had not seen any thing for a long time that pleased him so much. He had observed Terry in more than one fight with the boys at home and he knew he was an ugly customer, as full of grit as a bull dog, but the Shawanoe struck him fully a dozen times, while the Irish lad with all his skill desperately put forth never once touched him. The discomfiture of the brave Irish lad was complete. No witness of the bout, however, could have failed to admire the skill and pluck of Terry. He acquitted himself well and kept up the struggle, even after he was convinced that he could do nothing with his alert antagonist. Then, when Deerfoot began to trifle with him, he turned around as I have shown and struck the empty air. "Why did you do that?" asked Fred, as the three stood by the fire discussing the incident. Terry passed his open hand over his cheeks, which were red and smarting from the sharp taps of Deerfoot, and closing one eye and scratching his head, made answer: "I had been sthrikin' at Deerfut until I obsarved that ivery time I sthruck _at_ him I didn't hit him; so thinks I to mesilf, I will see whither I can hit him by tryin' not to hit him; so I sthruck where I knowed he wasn't, thinkin' he was there." "Well, I must declare Deerfoot the winner." "I can't deny that he is; I throw up the sponge and extind to him the best wishes for himself and family." Smiling in a way that left no doubt of his relish of the incident, Deerfoot warmly shook the hand of his friend, whose brave fight had increased his admiration of him. "My brother is brave," said he admiringly; "perhaps he can lay Deerfoot on his back; Deerfoot will rejoice if he can do so." "Be the powers! but that suits me," exclaimed the delighted Terry; "I forgot we were to have a wrestling match; Fred, ye will be koind enough to sarve as riferee again; we'll take side holts and it'll be the bist two out of thraa." Terry was warranted in feeling more confidence in this test of skill. He had failed--as he knew he would always fail--in a sparring contest, for the reason that Deerfoot was so quick that he could not touch him; but one of the necessities of a wrestling match is that the contestants shall first seize each other. Terry believed that he had as much physical strength as Deerfoot, and if he once got a fair hold, he would not let go until he downed him. Terry being right and Deerfoot left handed, each was able to secure his most effective grip. So, standing side by side, in the old fashioned style, with a dusky left arm around the white neck and a white arm around the dusky neck, they began the struggle. In this match, as before, Deerfoot allowed his antagonist to dally with him awhile before he took the aggressive. Passing him over his hip Terry gave Deerfoot such a violent fling that a pang of fear shot through him, lest he had broken the Shawanoe's neck; but though he shot headlong out of the grasp of the Irish lad, the Shawanoe landed lightly on his feet and instantly leaped back and closed with Terry again. "I'll fetch ye this time," he muttered between his compressed lips; "ye shan't git out of me hands till ye's down flat on yer back and mesilf layin' a-straddle of ye. There's a difference between boxin' and sparrin' and I shall taich ye the same, as me grandmither--" Both went down that instant, but the Shawanoe was on top. His antagonist could not have fallen flatter had he been dropped from the roof of a house. "Mark the first fall for Deerfut," called out Terry, hastily clambering to his feet, the Shawanoe extending his hand to help. This result weakened the confidence of the Irish lad in himself, that is, so far as concerned his opponent. He reflected that many of the Indians are skillful wrestlers, and while Deerfoot had had no training in boxing, he had in the other art. Such a cool headed athlete would be sure to learn fast. Terry recognized the peculiar flirt by which he had been turned off his feet as the very trick he had played successfully on his playmates at home, but which he never dreamed was known to Deerfoot. The Irish lad tried every possible lock, twist and turn upon his rival, but he could not get him off his feet. It seemed to Terry that he whirled in the air when almost on the ground, and that if he had been dropped head downwards from the height of a rod, he would alight on his feet. Fred saw Deerfoot, who was carefully watching his antagonist, smile, and he knew what was coming. So deftly that, for the life of him, the spectator could not see how it was done, Terry went over again as "flat as a flounder." Not only that, but to the astonishment of the victim as well as of the witness, the Shawanoe remained erect, so that he literally flung his antagonist to the ground and looked smilingly down upon him. "Ye can baat the baaters," exclaimed Terry, rising to his feet, and shaking hands with his victor. "I niver met any one who could down me in that sthyle. I don't know how ye did the same, but I haven't any doubts that ye done it, as me great uncle remarked whin the cannon ball took off his head." With the same shadowy smile Deerfoot looked inquiringly at Fred Linden. "Deerfoot thinks maybe his brother would be glad to lay him on the ground?" "I'll be hanged if I don't try it," laughed Fred, springing to his feet, and instantly but cautiously closing arms with the graceful warrior. "My brother can not throw Deerfoot," said the latter; "but the heart of Deerfoot would be glad if he would tell him how he would like to fall--on his shoulders, or side, or back." "I wouldn't like to fall at all; but if you think you can get me on my shoulders, just try it; that's all." "It shall be as my brother wishes." The words seemed yet in the mouth of Deerfoot when Fred felt himself sailing through space, and the next instant he landed on his shoulders with a shock that Terry declared made the ground shake. As before, Deerfoot himself did not fall, but looked smilingly down on his prostrate friend as he began climbing to his feet again. "Now, if my brother wishes to fall on his back, it shall be so." "I've little doubt that you will not do just as you say you will; I only ask that you wait till I say I am ready; you did the last before I had time to prepare." "Ye bitter not ax him to wait," said Terry, who rolled over on the ground in the exuberance of his mirth, at the sight of his big friend going down before the lithe, willowy Shawanoe; "for since he's bound to do what he says, the sooner ye are out of yer suspinse, the sooner ye'll be out of it." "Be kind enough to attend to your own affairs," said Fred stiffly; "Deerfoot and I are running this show." "It looks as if Deerfut had charge of the whole of it," was the comment of Terry, who broke into laughter again; "and whin he is done ye'll agraa with me." Once more the arms passed over each other's neck. Fred resolved that whatever came, he would not be taken by surprise this time. He was stronger than Terry and he had thrown him more than once. He could not understand, therefore, why he should not at least give the Shawanoe a struggle. He braced his feet, with every muscle strained, and every faculty on the alert. "I am ready," said he; "do your best." "On which side shall Deerfoot throw his brother?" "On my right side, and as hard as you can." Now, you will see the difficulty of the task, for Fred had his right arm tightly locked over the neck of Deerfoot, so that that side was guarded by the body of the warrior himself. It would seem, that if Fred should fall on either side it could only be on the left. Manifestly if it should be the right, the Shawanoe could not go down with him. He must bring him to the ground and escape from beneath him before he fell. He did it. For a second or two the contestants stood motionless. Then, like a flash, Deerfoot slipped from the grasp of his friend, dropped down in a stooping posture almost to the earth, holding the right hand of Fred firmly with his left (this was to prevent him using that hand to save himself), and then by a quick dart to the left, he carried both feet of his opponent off the ground, and Fred fell squarely on his right side, his conqueror straightening up as he went down. "I would be obleeged," said Terry, throwing back his head with laughter, "if yees will be koind enough to till me who is runnin' the show about this time." Fred was chagrined at the ease with which Deerfoot had overthrown him, and it was not lessened by the honest compliment which the young warrior gave to his skill. Both Fred and Terry had been pretty well jarred, for they were downed with such amazing suddenness that it could not be otherwise; but neither referred to it and they could only praise the wonderful ability of their friend. "I tell you," said Fred, seating himself on the ground beside the other two, after the flurry was over, "all this proves that skill is worth more than strength. I am quite sure that I am as strong as you, Deerfoot, but I don't believe that Terry and I together could lay you on your back. When I had my arm around your neck, I suspected you would try to slip out, and I squeezed you pretty hard. You slid out so quickly that at the moment you were down at my heels, I thought I had you fast." "I'm thinkin' that the nixt thing we should try is a race; Fred can outrun me and I'll agraa that he will outrun Deerfut, that is, if ye'll allow me to make the conditions." "What would they be?" asked Deerfoot, Looking gravely down upon his friends. "The race should be for a hundred yards, and Deerfut must give Fred ninety-five yards start, though to make it sure enough, maybe it ought to be ninety-six or siven." "Then you would require about ninety-nine, according to the same calculation," said Fred. "Ye's are right," replied Terry, to whom it seemed that no athletic feat was impossible for the Shawanoe; "nayther yersilf nor mesilf have a right to be mintioned in the same day with him." CHAPTER XXXVII. THE LAST CAMP-FIRE. It seemed to strike all three of the friends at the same moment that they had shown a strange forgetfulness of the occasion. A sudden impulse had led them into a test of skill, that had continued fully a quarter of an hour, during which there was no thought on the part of any one of the gravity of their situation. But a little while before, both Fred Linden and Terry Clark were in distress on account of their friends, while their own position (believing as they did that there were Winnebagos in front as well as in the rear), ought to have driven away all inclination for sport or amusement. One of their strongest desires was the presence of Deerfoot, that they might have his counsel and help. Here he was, and no reference had been made to the subjects uppermost in their minds. Now that he took his seat near them by the camp-fire, as if to invite their confidence, they quickly returned to the all important business. First of all, they asked for his experience since their separation the night before. He gave only a part of it. He told nothing about his conflict with the Wolf and his companion, which resulted in the death of both, but said that he had kept watch of the Winnebagos until morning, when he saw them start for the camp in the mountains. He learned from their signaling that they had other warriors in the neighborhood, and there could be no doubt that an attack was intended upon the Hunters of the Ozark. Nevertheless the Shawanoe kept in their vicinity, until they approached the open prairie of which mention has been make. Then he decided to pass them and join his young friends. Feeling no doubt that the latter were following the right trail (several examinations which he made satisfied him that they were doing so), he left it altogether, and took a shorter route across the country. He was so familiar with it that he could easily do this. His intention was to strike the main path again at the crossing, where they had such a narrow escape from the cyclone; but he calculated that by nightfall they would be a considerable distance beyond, and he wished to test their watchfulness when left to themselves. So he came back to the trail about half way between that point and the creek which they had crossed by means of the canoe. He saw from an examination of the ground that he was ahead of them, so he sauntered forward, firing off his gun where a turn in the path made it seem to come from one side instead of in front of them. He did this as he explained with a view of warning them to keep their eyes open. It soon began growing dark and he kept on until he reached the stream, where he decided to wait and see what they would do. He was as surprised as they when they brought forth the little canoe and pushed themselves across by means of the pole which Fred Linden himself cut. He followed them, easily wading the stream. After that he indulged in a little diversion with which you are familiar. "Wasn't it strange, Deerfoot," said Fred, "that we should have found that canoe?" He nodded his head to signify that he thought it was. "Have you any idea how it got there?" "He who owned the boat hid it under the bushes." "But there are no Indian villages within a great many miles of this place--is that not so?" He gave another affirmative nod. "Have you any idea of who the owner can be?" A third affirmative nod followed. "Who is he?" asked Fred in astonishment. "Deerfoot." "What! Does that little canoe belong to _you_?" "Deerfoot made it and hid it under the bushes: why did not my brothers use the paddle?" "We hunted all round, but could not find it." "It was within reach of my brother's hands; it was covered with leaves." "And so the boat is yer own?" repeated Terry; "why that looks as if ye lived somewhere in this neighborhood; is such the case, owld boy?" The question did not seem to please the Shawanoe. He was sitting directly in front of his young friends, who looked earnestly in his face. He made no answer to Terry's question, but continued looking among the coals, as if he was pondering some other matter that had thus been brought to mind. Fred shook his head at Terry as a warning that he should not repeat his query, and the latter was wise enough not to do so; but the friends concluded from that moment that the wandering young Shawanoe made his home at no great distance from where all three were at that moment sitting in the wilderness. And they were right. A minute later, Deerfoot raised his head and signified that he wished to know in turn what had befallen them since they parted company twenty-four hours before. You will admit that each had a stirring story to tell and he told it. The Shawanoe first listened to Terry's account of his ride on the back of the wounded buffalo, and, when it was finished, he quietly remarked to his young friend that he had done well. Though he showed no emotion, it was clear to both boys that he felt the most concern in the experience of Fred Linden. He said nothing until the narrator was through, including the account of the cyclone. Deerfoot had heard the noise made by the latter, but he was so far removed from its path that he saw none of its fearful effects, and in fact cared little about it, for he had seen the same thing more than once before. But that which interested him was the account of Fred Linden's meeting with the Winnebago horse thieves. This was the first knowledge he received that any of their enemies were mounted on animals. Deerfoot had turned off the main trail so early in the day that he missed them altogether. When he came back to the path, near where the three were in camp at that moment, and he examined the ground for signs of the footprints of the boys, there were none that had been made by the hoofs of horses. They had struck the trail further to the north, taking a different course from the camp where they had stolen the animals. Fred blushed under the warm compliments of Deerfoot on his coolness, bravery and skill in the presence of the three Winnebagos. You will agree that it was a daring exploit indeed, which would have done credit to a veteran frontiersman. It could not have been otherwise to draw such warm praise from the Shawanoe. But the compliments could well be deferred to some other season. The fact that three Indians had stolen the same number of horses from the Hunters of the Ozark, and then had ridden leisurely away to meet their friends, showed that they had great confidence in themselves, doubtless caused by the belief that they were safe against any attempt to recover the property. "Deerfoot," said Fred, after there had been a full exchange of experiences; "we stopped here only because we could not keep to the trail in the darkness. Don't you think it best that we should now go on, since you will not have the same trouble that we did?" He shook his head in the negative. "It is not far to the camp of my brothers; the Winnebagos are a long ways back on the trail; they will not come up with us; my brothers have a chance to sleep; they may have no chance when they reach the cabin; let them sleep now." The natural inference from this remark was that he believed nothing more was to be apprehended from the Winnebagos, so long as our three friends were on their way to the cabin of the Hunters of the Ozark. The danger would now be transferred to that point. "Is it not likely that some of the red men are between us and our friends?" asked Fred, as though their guide had not thought of every contingency. "There is none," was the quiet answer, and then he added the explanation. The Winnebagos, as soon as they had captured the horses, had mounted them and ridden off to meet Black Bear and the rest, so as to combine with them in the attack upon the cabin in the mountains. Being so few in numbers, they did not dare stay in the neighborhood, but were certain to come back with the others. The theft of the animals was no part of the original plan of the red men, and was therefore what may be considered poor generalship, since it was likely to draw attention to the presence of hostiles and to put the Hunters of the Ozark on their guard. Deerfoot made no such remark at the time, but he afterward expressed his regret that he had not joined Fred and Terry earlier in the day, so that he could have been with them when they met the horse thieves. Had he done so, there can be no doubt that they would have recaptured every one of the animals, even if they had had to shoot each thief from the back of his stolen steed. Such a result would have changed the whole course of the events that followed. Since the Shawanoe advised them to stay where they were until morning, the natural query of the lads was as to the degree of danger they ran. They had thought there was little to be feared from Indians, but after the fire was started, both had misgivings--afterward intensified no doubt by the little trick played upon them by Deerfoot. He assured them that there was nothing to be feared from Indians. There was and would be none near them through the night. They were at a safe distance from the trail, so that if any one should pass back or forth he could not possibly catch a glimpse of the camp. "I never dispute a man's sintimints," said Terry, "onless it happens to disagraa with me own, so I'll say ye are right because we think the same way; but it's within me own ricolliction that whin ye enj'yed the honor of our coompany night before last, ye kipt guard all the night; Frederick and mesilf will now return the coompliment and take charge of the honors oursilves. If ye have any disputation that ye want to inter into, we'll sittle it by maans of a wristling match." Deerfoot was inclined at first to act as sentinel, just as he had done before, but he had already declared that there was nothing to be feared, and his friends were so in earnest that he could not well refuse their request. He would have preferred that they should gain all the sleep they could, so as to lay up a stock, as may be said, against what was likely to come at the cabin, but he yielded. He agreed to their wishes, and in doing so, indulged in one of his smiles, the depth of whose meaning neither of the youths fully comprehended. In fact it simply meant that he understood their ability in that respect better than they did themselves. And so, after reading his Bible, a portion of it aloud, he lay down upon the blanket of Terry, as he did two nights before, and soon fell asleep. "I'm glad to obsarve the same," remarked Terry; "for the good lookin' spalpeen must be in naad of slumber. I say, Fred, did ye iver saa the loikes of him? We must git him to run a race and jump and swim and stand on his head and show jist what he can do. I'm glad as I say to obsarve that he is aslaap, for he must naad the same. I say, Fred, let's stay awake till daylight, so as to fool him." "I am glad to do that in return for the watch he kept over us the other night; but if you and I undertake to sit up at the same time we shall fail. So I'll lie down and sleep awhile. When you find yourself getting drowsy, wake me up and then I shall be able to keep my eyes open until morning. In that way Deerfoot may have a whole night of rest." "I'm agraaable to the same." The plan was carried out, that is, a part of it, Fred Linden soon dropped asleep, and, within an hour, Terry Clark did the same. When Deerfoot threw his blanket off his face and assumed the sitting position, he saw just what he expected to see and he allowed them to slumber peacefully until daylight. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION. The awaking of the boys was of the most pleasant character. The sky had cleared and the sunlight penetrated between the branches from which the autumn leaves were fast falling. The crispness which is felt at that season of the year, stirred the young hearts and enlivened the spirits in spite of the serious situation in which all three found themselves. The odor of broiling fish was snuffed by the lads, and nothing could have been more delicious and appetizing. They were very hungry, and the night before they supposed they would have to wait indefinitely for their morning meal, but they opened their eyes to find that Deerfoot had provided the most toothsome breakfast that could be imagined. In the early morning light, fully two hours before the sun appeared, Deerfoot crossed the stream in his own canoe, and, taking the trail, ran several miles at the highest speed. While he did not go far enough to see the camp-fire of the main war party of Winnebagos, he did not pause until certain that they had stayed in camp all night and would not cross the stream where the boys lay asleep until the forenoon was half gone. So the Shawanoe hastened back, and dropped a short distance down stream in his canoe, having obtained his paddle, to an eddy where it took but a few minutes for him to coax a half dozen fish from the cool, clear depths, and these were just browning to a turn when the boys opened their eyes. Fred and Terry looked in each other's faces and laughed. They knew what an absurd failure they had made. They had promised to watch while Deerfoot slept, and then left him to act as sentinel until morning. "It was your fault," whispered Fred, hunting in his pocket for the package of salt and pepper which survived, despite the wetting it had received; "why didn't you wake me up, as I told you to do?" "How could I wake ye up when I was aslaap mesilf?" was the pertinent query of Terry; "I think I was only a half minute behind yersilf in beginning me swate dreams." "Even if you had roused me," said Fred, "I suppose I would have dropped to sleep the same as you; no one can keep awake (unless it is Deerfoot) while sitting on the ground. Well, I am sure I shan't say any thing about it if _he_ doesn't." "Let us shake on that," whispered Terry, stealthily extending his hand. Deerfoot acted as though unaware that any such lapse had occurred. The browned fish were spread on the green leaves, and Fred sprinkled the seasoning upon the portions to be eaten by himself and Terry; the Shawanoe preferred none on his. "If nothing unexpected happens," said Fred, "we will arrive at the cabin to-day." The Shawanoe inclined his head by way of answer. "When will the Winnebagos that are following us come to this stream?" Deerfoot pointed to a portion of the sky which the sun would reach in about three hours from that time. "The Winnebagos are together; there may be a few coming from different parts of the wood, but Black Bear has most of his warriors with him, and he feels strong enough to destroy the cabin and our brothers who are there." "There are three there now, and when we join them there will be six. If father and the rest have fair notice of their coming, they ought to be able to put every thing in good shape for a defense. It won't take them long to gather enough food to last for weeks, but how about water?" "They have no water; our brothers know not why they should have it." The Shawanoe meant to say that the men, seeing no reason why they should collect any store of water within their primitive structure, never did so. It was at their door, and, when they wished to drink, they had but to stoop down and drink. Believing no such emergency as now threatened could arise, they failed to make any provision against it. "I've been thinkin'," said Terry, "that bein' as how we started from Greville to j'in the Hunters of the Ozark, with the idaa of spindin' the winter with the same, that from the time we started we were mimbers of the same, but timporarily separated by a wide stritch of woods; what are yer own idaas?" "I am not sure that I understand what you are trying to get at, but if you mean to say that we may call ourselves two of the Hunters of the Ozark, I see no objection if we are a few days behind the rest in reaching the beaver runs." "Oblige me by tistifying to the same," said Terry, rather effusively, shoving his hand toward his friend, who suspended operations with the fish long enough to salute him. The breakfast was quickly finished, and the boys helped each other with their knapsacks, caught up their guns and followed Deerfoot as he led the way back to the trail. He did not hint any thing about their failure to keep guard for him the night before, though they felt sure that they would hear from him at some time not very far distant. When they found themselves following the path that had become so familiar, they glanced furtively behind, half expecting to hear the Winnebago war whoop and to see the warriors rushing after them; but not a living soul beside themselves was in sight, and the quiet assurance of their leader very nearly removed all such fear from them. "Are there any more streams to cross?" asked Fred, a moment after they started along the trail. "There are none." "That is good, and since we are several hours in advance of the Indians, we ought to be able to reach the cabin in time to give them warning, that is, if they are in need of it." "How can they help being in need?" asked Terry. "The horses were turned loose to look after themselves, and though I can't know for some time how it is, it seems to me that it could well happen that they would not miss the animals for several days and possibly not for a week or two." The best ground for doubting that the Hunters of the Ozark were aware of the theft of the horses was the fact that there had been no pursuit. Those men, it is safe to say, would not have stayed idle had they known that three vagabond Indians were astride of their property and riding to the northward. With the three fleeter animals at command, they would have been after them in a twinkling: they would not have been obliged to wait till they met Fred Linden before receiving some rifle shots. Fred was confirmed in this theory by Deerfoot, who declared that such was his explanation of the failure of the hunters to pursue the thieves. For two hours the trail which they were following steadily ascended, until they were considerably higher than when they left camp in the morning. The undergrowth was abundant, and the wood in some places was so dense that they could see only a short distance on either hand. The trail was sinuous, winding in and out among the rocks in a way that would have bewildered any one not used to such traveling. At last they reached the ridge of the elevation up which they had been climbing, and found themselves on the margin of a plateau or rather valley, beyond which rose the rugged, precipitous Ozarks. Since the ground sloped away from them, in the direction of the mountains, their view was extended over many square miles of forest, stream and natural clearing, to the mountain walls beyond, looking dim and soft in the distance, with the hazy air between. "Do my brothers see the gleam of the water yonder?" asked Deerfoot, pointing to a winding stream, large enough to be called a river, though it was half hidden by the woods. Its course was in the main at right angles to the trail which the boys had been following, though, at times it seemed to run straight toward and then away from them. The youths answered that they could not very well look in the direction indicated by their friend, without seeing the stream to which he directed their attention. The Shawanoe placed himself so that he stood in front of the two. "Now," said he, "let my brothers follow Deerfoot's finger and tell me what they see." Pointing well to the right, he slowly swung his index finger toward the left, until he had described about a quarter of a circle. Since it was not easy for the two to look exactly at the point meant, at the same time, Terry Clark first tried it. Removing his cap, he closed one eye and carefully peered along the extended arm of the Shawanoe as though it was a rifle which he was about to aim and fire. "What is it?" asked Fred, a moment later, with some impatience over the plodding deliberation of his companion. "I obsarve a big lot of traas, some rocks, some water and a claarin' where ye could raise a big lot of praties, and--and--and--" "I see what you mean!" exclaimed Fred in some excitement; "right in the middle of the clearing stands a large cabin made of logs." "It's mesilf that obsarves the same," added Terry, replacing his cap and looking inquiringly at the Shawanoe, who let his extended arm fall as he faced about and said: "That is the home of my brothers; that is the cabin of the Hunters of the Ozark." "Hurrah!" called out Terry; "we're purty near there." "But we don't know how matters stand," said Fred; "even Deerfoot can not tell whether they are all alive or dead." "I know bitter than that," remarked Terry, appealing straight to the Shawanoe, who, without directly answering the question, notified them of an interesting fact: a thin column of smoke was rising from the cabin. "That shows that some one is in there," said the Irish lad, "but whither he is white or rid, I don't s'pose the Shawanoe, with all his smartness, can tell even at this distance." "My brother speaks truth," said Deerfoot; "our brothers may be well and they maybe dead and the Winnebagos may have built the fire to lure us to them: we shall soon know." * * * * * Here for the present we must pause, for we have already filled the space assigned to us; but we propose soon to tell you all about the adventures of Deerfoot, Fred and Terry, and of their friends the Hunters of the Ozark, whom they were trying to help. The story in which this will be related will appear under the title of "THE CAMP IN THE MOUNTAINS." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- FAMOUS STANDARD JUVENILE LIBRARIES. ANY VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY AT $1.00 PER VOLUME (Except the Sportsman's Club Series, Frank Nelson Series and Jack Hazard Series.). Each Volume Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. HORATIO ALGER, JR. The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one of their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr. Alger's books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear. Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book, "Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York." It was his first book for young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then, and Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about 200,000 copies of the series have been sold. --Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls. A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He should be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He should learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A boy's heart opens to the man or writer who understands him. --From Writing Stories for Boys, by Horatio Alger, Jr. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- RAGGED DICK SERIES. 6 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $6.00 Ragged Dick. Rough and Ready. Fame and Fortune. Ben the Luggage Boy. Mark the Match Boy. Rufus and Rose. TATTERED TOM SERIES--First Series. 4 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $4.00 Tattered Tom. Phil the Fiddler. Paul the Peddler. Slow and Sure. TATTERED TOM SERIES--Second Series. 4 vols. $4.00 Julius. Sam's Chance. The Young Outlaw. The Telegraph Boy. CAMPAIGN SERIES. 3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3.00 Frank's Campaign. Charlie Codman's Cruise. Paul Prescott's Charge. LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES--First Series. 4 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $4.00 Luck and Pluck. Strong and Steady. Sink or Swim. Strive and Succeed. LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES--Second Series. 4 vols. $4.00 Try and Trust. Risen from the Ranks. Bound to Rise. Herbert Carter's Legacy. BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. 4 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $4.00 Brave and Bold. Shifting for Himself. Jack's Ward. Wait and Hope. NEW WORLD SERIES. 3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3.00 Digging for Gold. Facing the World. In a New World. VICTORY SERIES. 3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3.00 Only an Irish Boy. Adrift in the City. Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary. FRANK AND FEARLESS SERIES. 3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3.00 Frank Hunter's Peril. Frank and Fearless. The Young Salesman. GOOD FORTUNE LIBRARY. 3 vols. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $3.00 Walter Sherwood's Probation. A Boy's Fortune. The Young Bank Messenger. RUPERT'S AMBITION. 1 vol. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $1.00 JED, THE POOR-HOUSE BOY. 1 vol. By Horatio Alger, Jr. $1.00 ----------------------------------------------------------------------- HARRY CASTLEMON. HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK. When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It was our custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates, and we were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subject the teacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out "What a Man Would See if He Went to Greenland." My heart was in the matter, and before the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled. The teacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when they were all over he simply said: "Some of you will make your living by writing one of these days." That gave me something to ponder upon. I did not say so out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good as the best of them. By the way, there was another thing that came in my way just then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid's works which I had drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as I did upon what the teacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to his readers he made use of this expression: "No visible change was observable in Swartboy's countenance." Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his education could make such a blunder as that and still write a book, I ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very day and began a story, "The Old Guide's Narrative," which was sent to the _New York Weekly_, and came back, respectfully declined. It was written on both sides of the sheets but I didn't know that this was against the rules. Nothing abashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, from a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I wrote it on only one side of the paper. But mind you, he didn't know what I was doing. Nobody knew it; but one day, after a hard Saturday's work--the other boys had been out skating on the brick-pond--I shyly broached the subject to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She listened in amazement, and then said: "Why, do you think you could write a book like that?" That settled the matter, and from that day no one knew what I was up to until I sent the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was it work? Well, yes; it was hard work, but each week I had the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the "Young Naturalist" was all complete. --Harry Castlemon in the Writer. GUNBOAT SERIES. 6 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $6.00 Frank the Young Naturalist. Frank before Vicksburg. Frank on a Gunboat. Frank on the Lower Mississippi. Frank in the Woods. Frank on the Prairie. ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 Frank Among the Rancheros. Frank in the Mountains. Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho. SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.75 The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle. The Sportsman's Club The Sportsman's Club Afloat. Among the Trappers. FRANK NELSON SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.75 Snowed up. Frank in the Forecastle. The Boy Traders. BOY TRAPPER SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 The Buried Treasure. The Boy Trapper. The Mail Carrier. ROUGHING IT SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 George in Camp. George at the Fort. George at the Wheel. ROD AND GUN SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 Don Gordon's Shooting Box. The Young Wild Fowlers. Rod and Gun Club. GO-AHEAD SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 Tom Newcombe. Go-Ahead. No Moss. WAR SERIES. 6 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $6.00 True to His Colors. Marcy the Blockade-Runner. Rodney the Partisan. Marcy the Refugee. Rodney the Overseer. Sailor Jack the Trader. HOUSEBOAT SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 The Houseboat Boys. The Mystery of Lost River Cañon. The Young Game Warden. AFLOAT AND ASHORE SERIES. 3 vols. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 Rebellion in Dixie. A Sailor in Spite of Himself. The Ten-Ton Cutter. THE PONY EXPRESS SERIES. 3 vol. By Harry Castlemon. $3.00 The Pony Express Rider. The White Beaver. Carl, The Trailer.