Several years previous to the Revolution a Scotchman and his wife, named M'Dougal, emigrated to America. Having but very little money, he purchased land where it was then sold for almost nothing, in a country thinly peopled, and on the extreme verge of civilization.
His first care was to construct a house and clear away some of the trees around it This done, he spent his whole time, early and late, in making a garden and cultivating a few fields. By unwearied industry and with the occasional help of older settlers, he by degrees acquired a stock of cattle, sheep, and pigs, and was in a rough way, possessed of a comfortable independence. His greatest discomforts were, distance from his neighbors, the church, market, and even the mill; but, above all, the complete separation from his friends; and this he would have felt still more had he been an idle man.
One day, Farmer M'Dougal, having a quantity of corn to grind, knowing that the distance was considerable, and the road none of the smoothest, set out in the morning at sunrise, hoping he should reach home again before dark.
When the farmer was at home he always drove up the cows for his wife to milk, morning and evening; but now this care devolved on her, and the careful woman went out in quest of them. Not accustomed to go far from the house, she found herself in an unknown country, and, with neither pocket compass nor notched trees to guide, it is not to be wondered that she wandered long and wearily to very little purpose. Tall trees seemed to encompass her on every side, or where the view was more open, she beheld the distant blue hills rising one behind another; but no village spire or cottage chimney was there to cheer her on her way, and fatigued with the search, and despairing of finding the cattle, she resolved while it was yet light, to retrace her steps homeward.
But this resolution was more easily formed than executed; she became completely bewildered; she knew not in which direction to turn, and, at length, with tears in her eyes, and her mind agitated almost to distraction, she sunk on the ground. But she had not rested there many minutes before she was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps, and, on looking up, she beheld before her an Indian hunter.
Although Mrs. M'Dougal knew that there were Indians living in the neighborhood, she had never yet seen one, and her terror was very great. The Indian, however, knew her; he had seen her before, he knew where she lived, and he instantly guessed the cause of her distress. He could speak but a few words of English; but he made signs for her to follow him. She did so, and after a few minutes' walk, they arrived at the door of an Indian wigwam. He invited her to enter, but not being able to persuade her to do so, he darted into the wigwam, and spoke a few words to his wife, who instantly appeared, and by the kindness of her manner induced the stranger to enter their humble abode. Venison was prepared for supper, and Mrs. M'Dougal, though still alarmed at the novelty of her situation, could not refuse to partake of the savory meal.
Seeing that their guest was weary, the Indians removed from their place two beautiful deer skins, and, by stretching and fixing them across, divided the wigwam into two apartments. Mats were then spread in both, and the stranger was made to understand that one division was for her accommodation. But here again her courage failed her, and to the most pressing entreaties she replied that she would sit and sleep by the fire. This determination seemed to puzzle the Indian and his squaw sadly. They looked at one another, and conversed softly in their own language; and at length, the squaw taking her guest by the hand, led her to her couch and became her bedfellow.
In the morning she awoke greatly refreshed, and anxious to depart without further delay; but this her new friends would not permit, until she had eaten of their corn cakes and venison. Then the Indian accompanied his guest, and soon conducted her to the spot where the cattle were grazing. These he drove from the wood, on the edge of which Mrs. M'Dougal descried her husband, who was equally delighted at seeing her, as her absence from home all night had caused him great uneasiness. They invited their Indian benefactor to their house, and, on his departure, presented him with a suit of clothes.
Three days after, he returned and endeavored, partly by signs, and partly by broken English, to induce Farmer M'Dougal to follow him into the forest; but he refused. Time was precious to him, who had to work hard for every thing he possessed, and the Indian repeated his entreaties in vain. The poor fellow looked grieved and disappointed; but a moment after, a sudden thought struck him. He hit on an expedient which none but an Indian hunter would have thought of.
Mrs. M'Dougal had a young child, which the Indian's quick eye had not failed to notice; and, finding that his eloquence was completely thrown away upon the parents, he approached the cradle, seized the child, and darted out of the house with the speed of an antelope. The father and mother instantly followed, calling loudly on him to return; but he had no such intention. He led them on, now slower, now faster, and occasionally turning towards them, laughing, and holding up the child to their view.
It is needless to go into all the details of this singular journey, further than to say that the Indian, instead of enticing them to his own wigwam, as they expected, halted on the margin of a most beautiful prairie, covered with the richest vegetation, and extending over several thousand acres. In a moment the child was restored to its parents, who, wondering what so strange a proceeding could mean, stood awhile panting for breath, and looking at one another with silent astonishment.
The Indian, on the other hand, seemed overjoyed at the success of his manoeuvre, and never did a human being frisk about and gesticulate with greater animation. We have heard of a professor of signs, and if such a person were wanted, the selection would not be a matter of difficulty, so long as any remnant exists in the aborigines of North America. All travellers agree in describing their gestures as highly dignified, and their countenances intelligent; and we have Mr. M'Dougal's authority for stating that the hero of this tale proved himself a perfect master of the art of eloquence his broken English was nearly in these words:
"You think Indian treacherous; you think him wish steal the child. No, no; Indian has child of his own. Indian knew you long ago; saw you when you not see him; saw you hard working man. Some white men bad, and hurt poor Indian. You not bad; you work hard for your wife and child; but you choose bad place; you never make rich there. Indian see your cattle go in forest; think you come and catch them; you not come; your wife come. Indian find her faint and weary; take her home; wife fear go in; think Indian kill her! No, no; Indian lead her back; meet you very sad; then very glad to see her. You kind to Indian; give him meat and drink, and better clothes than your own. Indian grateful; wish you come here; not come; Indian very sorry; take the child; know you follow child. If Indian farm, Indian farm here. Good ground; not many trees; make road in less than half a moon; Indians help you; Indians your friends; come, live here."
M'Dougal immediately saw the advantage that such a change would be to him, and, taking the Indian's advice, the day was soon fixed for the removal of the log-house, along with the rest of his goods and chattels; and the Indian, true to his word, brought a party of his red brethren to assist in one of the most romantic removals that ever took place, either in the Old World, or the New.
In a few days a roomy log-house was raised, and garden marked out in the most fertile and beautiful part of the prairie. The Indians continued friendly and faithful, and the good understanding; between them and the white settlers was a source of great comfort to both parties.
Nature, ever provident, has scattered with a bounteous hand her gifts in the country of the Orinoco, where the jaguar especially abounds. The savannahs, which are covered with grasses and slender plants, present a surprising luxuriance and diversity of vegetation; piles of granite blocks lie here and there, and, at the margins of the plains, occur deep valleys and ravines, the humid soil of which is covered with arums, heliconias, llianas. The shelves of primitive rocks, scarcely elevated above the plain, are partially covered with lichens and mosses, together with succulent plants and tufts of evergreen shrubs with shining leaves. The horizon is bounded with mountains overgrown with forests of laurels, among which clusters of palms rise to the height of more than a hundred feet, their slender stems supporting tufts of feathery foliage. To the east of Atures other mountains appear, the ridge of which is composed of pointed cliffs, rising like huge pillars above the trees.
When these columnar masses are situated near the Orinoco, flamingoes, herons, and other wading birds perch on their summits, and look like sentinels. In the vicinity of cataracts, the moisture which is diffused in the air, produces a perpetual verdure, and wherever soil has accumulated on the plains, it is adorned by the beautiful shrubs of the mountains.
Such is one view of the picture, but it has its dark side also; those flowing waters, which fertilize the soil, abound with alligators: those charming shrubs and flourishing plants, are the hiding places of deadly serpents; those laurel forests, the favorite lurking spot of the fierce jaguar; while the atmosphere, so clear and lovely, abounds with musquitoes and zancudoes, to such a degree that in the missions of Orinoco, the first questions in the morning when two people meet, are, "How did you find the zancudoes during the night? How are we to-day for the musquitoes?"
It is in the solitude of this wilderness, that the jaguar, stretched out motionless and silent, upon one of the lower branches of the ancient trees, watches for its passing prey; a deer, urged by thirst, is making its way to the river, and approaches the tree where this enemy lies in wait. The jaguar's eyes dilate, the ears are thrown down, and the whole frame becomes flattened against the branch. The deer, all unconscious of danger, draws near, every limb of the jaguar quivers with excitement every fibre is stiffened for the spring; then, with the force of a bow unbent, he darts with a terrific yell upon his prey, seizes it by the back of the neck, a blow is given by his powerful paw, and with broken spine the deer falls lifeless to the earth. The blood is then sucked, and the prey dragged to some favorite haunt, where it is devoured at leisure.
Humboldt surprised a jaguar in his retreat. It was near the Joval, below the mouth of the Cano de la Tigrera, that in the midst of wild and awful scenery, he saw an enormous jaguar stretched beneath the shade of a large mimosa. He had just killed a chiguire, an animal about the size of a pig, which he held with one of his paws, while the vultures were assembled in flocks around. It was curious to observe the mixture of boldness and timidity which these birds exhibited; for although they advanced within two feet of the jaguar, they instantly shrunk back at the least motion he made. In order to observe more clearly their proceedings, the travellers went into their little boat, when the tyrant of the forest withdrew behind the bushes, leaving his victim, upon which the vultures attempted to devour it, but were soon put to flight by the jaguar rushing into the midst of them.
The following night, Humboldt and his party were entertained by a jaguar hunter, half-naked, and as brown as a Zambo, who prided himself on being of the European race; and called his wife and daughter, who were as slightly clothed as himself, Donna Isabella and Donna Manuela. As this aspiring personage had neither home nor hut, he invited the strangers to swing their hammocks near his own between two trees, but, as ill-luck would have it, a thunder storm came on, which wetted them to the skin; but their troubles did not end here, for Donna Isabella's cat had perched on one of the trees, and frightened by the thunderstorm, jumped down upon one of the travellers in his cot; he naturally supposed that he was attacked by a wild beast, and as smart a battle took place between the two, as that celebrated feline engagement of Don Quixotte; the cat, who, perhaps had most reason to consider himself an ill-used personage, at length bolted, but the fears of the gentleman had been excited to such degree, that he could hardly be quieted. The following night was not more propitious to slumber. The party finding no tree convenient, had stuck their oars in the sand, and suspended their hammocks upon them. About eleven, there arose in the immediately adjoining wood, so terrific a noise, that it was impossible to sleep. The Indians distinguished the cries of sapagous, alouates, jaguars, cougars, peccaris, sloths, curassows, paraquas, and other birds, so that there must have been as full a forest chorus as Mr. Hullah himself could desire.
When the jaguars approached the edge of the forest, which they frequently did, a dog belonging to the party began to howl, and seek refuge under their cots. Sometimes, after a long silence, the cry of the jaguars came from the tops of the trees, when it was followed by an outcry among the monkeys. Humboldt supposes the noise thus made by the inhabitants of the forest during the night, to be the effect of some contest that had arisen among them.
On the pampas of Paraguay, great havoc is committed among the herds of horses by the jaguars, whose strength is quite sufficient to enable them to drag off one of these animals. Azara caused the body of a horse, which had been recently killed by a jaguar, to be drawn within musket-shot of a tree, in which he intended to pass the night, anticipating that the jaguar would return in the course of it, to its victim; but while he was gone to prepare for his adventure, behold the animal swam across a large and deep river, and having seized the horse with his teeth, dragged it full sixty paces to the river, swam across again with his prey, and then dragged the carcass into a into a neighboring wood: and all this in sight of a person, whom Azara had placed to keep watch. But the jaguars have also an aldermanic gout for turtles, which they gratify in a very systematic manner, as related by Humboldt, who was shown large shells of turtles emptied by them.
They follow the turtles toward the beach, where the laying of eggs is to take place, surprise them on the sand, and in order to devour them at their ease, adroitly turn them on their backs; and as they turn many more than they can devour in one night, the Indians often profit by their cunning. The jaguar pursues the turtle quite into the water, and when not very deep, digs up the eggs; they, with the alligator, the heron, and the gallinago vulture ore the most formidable enemies the little turtles have. Humboldt justly remarks, When we reflect on the difficulty that the naturalist finds in getting out the body of the turtle, without separating the upper and the under shell, we cannot enough admire the suppleness of the jaguar's paw, which empties the double armor of thearraus, as if the adhering parts of the muscles had been cut by a surgical instrument.
The rivers of South America swarm with alligators, and these wage perpetual war with the jaguars. It is said, that when the jaguar surprises the alligator asleep on the hot sandbank, he attacks him in a vulnerable part under the tail, and often kills him, but let the alligator only get his antagonist into the water, and the tables are turned, for the jaguar is held under the water until he is drowned.
The onset of the jaguar is always made from behind, partaking of the stealthy treacherous character of his tribe; if a herd of animals, or a party of men be passing, it is the last that is always the object of his attack. When he has made choice of his victim, he springs upon the neck, and placing one paw upon the back of the head, while he seizes the muzzle with the other twists the head round with a sudden jerk which dislocates the spine, and deprives it instantaneously of life: sometimes, especially when satiated with food, he is indolent and cowardly, skulking in the gloomiest depths of the forest, and scared by the most trifling causes, but when urged by the cravings of hunger, the largest quadrupeds, and man himself, are attacked with fury and success.
Mr. Darwin has given an interesting account of the habits of the jaguar: the wooded banks of the great South American rivers appear to be their favorite haunt, but south of the Plata they frequent the reeds bordering the lakes; wherever they are they seem to require water. They are particularly abundant on the isles of the Payana, their common prey being the carpincho, so that it is generally said, that where carpinchos are plentiful, there is little fear of the jaguar; possibly, however, a jaguar which has tasted human flesh, may afterwards become dainty, and like the lions of South Africa, and the tigers of India, acquire the dreadful character of maneaters, from preferring that food to all others.
It is not many years ago since a very large jaguar found his way into a church in Santa Fe; soon afterward a very corpulent padre entering, was at once killed by him: His equally stout coadjutor, wondering what had detained the padre, went to look after him, and also fell a victim to the jaguar; a third priest, marveling greatly at the unaccountable absence of the others, sought them, and the jaguar having by this time acquired a strong clerical taste, made at him also, but he, being fortunately of the slender order, dodged the animal from pillar to post, and happily made his escape; the beast was destroyed by being shot from a corner of the building, which was unroofed, and thus paid the penalty of his sacrilegious propensities.
On the Parana, they have even entered vessels by night. One dark evening the mate of a vessel, hearing a heavy but peculiar footstep on deck, went up to see what it was, and was immediately met by a jaguar, who had come on board, seeking what he could devour; a severe struggle ensued, assistance arrived, and the brute was killed, but the man lost the use of the arm which had been ground between his teeth.
The Gauchos say that the jaguar, when wandering about at night, is much tormented by the foxes yelping as they follow him: this may perhaps serve to alarm his prey, but must be as teasing to him as the attentions of swallows are to an owl, who happens to be taking a daylight promenade; and if owls ever swear, it is under these circumstances.
Mr. Darwin, when hunting on the banks of the Uruguay, was shown three well-known trees to which the jaguars constantly resort, for the purpose, it is said, of sharpening their claws. Every one must be familiar with the manner in which cats, with out-stretched legs and extended claws, will card the legs of chairs and of men; so with the jaguar; and of these trees the bark was worn quite smooth in front; on each side there were deep grooves, extending in an oblique line nearly a yard in length. The scars were of different ages, arid the inhabitants could always tell when a jaguar was in the neighborhood, by his recent autograph on one of these trees.
Captain William Wells was a noted hunter and ranger in the western country. He was captured by the Indians when but a child, and raised among them. When the Indians defeated the United States troops, who were under the command of Generals Harmer and St. Clair, Captain Wells fought among the red men, and distinguished himself by his courage and skill. But when General Wayne was placed at the head of the United States forces in the west.
Captain Wells came over to the side of the whites, and received the command of a company of rangers, or woodmen, who acted as spies and scouts for General Wayne. The captain performed many daring exploits, and caused the Indians to feel that in losing him they had gained a terrible enemy.
Captain Wells was desperate in battle, but he often displayed much kindness and generosity. On one of his excursions with a party of rangers, through the Indian country, he came to the bank of the river St. Mary, and discovered some Indians in canoes coming across the stream. The captain dismounted, and concealed his men near the bank of the river, while he went to the bank in open view, and called to the Indians to come over. As he was dressed nearly in the Indian style, and spoke to them in their own language, the Indians, without suspicion of danger came across the river. The moment the first canoe struck the shore, Wells heard the clicking of the locks of his comrades' rifles, as they prepared to shoot the Indians. But who should be in the canoe, but his Indian father, mother, and their children! As his comrades were coming forward with their rifles cocked, ready to pour in the deadly storm, Wells called upon them to hold their hands. He then informed them who the Indians were, and solemnly declared, that the man who would attempt to injure one of them should receive a ball in his head. He continued, "That family fed me when I was hungry, clothed me when I was naked, and kindly nursed me when I was sick. In every respect they were as kind and affectionate to me as they were to their own children. No one belonging to them shall be hurt." But four men were with the Indian party, and they did not attempt hostility. The short, pathetic speech of Captain Wells found its way to the hearts of his comrades. They entered into his feelings, threw down their rifles and tomahawks, went to the canoe, and shook hands with the trembling Indians in the most friendly manner.
Captain Wells assured the red men that they had nothing to fear from him, and after talking with them to dispel their dread, he said, that General Wayne was approaching with an overwhelming force; that the best thing that the Indians could do was to make peace; that the white men did not wish to continue the war. He urged his Indian father to keep out of danger for the future. The Indians appeared very grateful for his clemency. After the captain bade them farewell, they pushed off their canoe, and went down the river as fast as they could paddle.
Wells's conduct on this occasion proved him to be as generous as he was brave. This famous ranger was killed near Chicago, at the commencement of the war of 1812, in an attempt to save an American garrison. At that time sixty-four whites were attacked by four hundred red men, and all killed or captured. The Indians were very glad to get the scalp of Captain Wells. He was as wild a spirit as ever shouldered a rifle or wielded a tomahawk.
About 1784 and '85, boats ascending the Ohio river were often fired upon by the Indians, and sometimes the crew were all killed or made prisoners. A t that time, the whites had no settlements on either side of the Ohio. But Kentucky contained several very important stations. In 1785, Captain James Ward descended the river, under circumstances, which rendered a meeting with the Indians peculiarly to be dreaded.
The captain with half a dozen others, one of them his nephew, embarked in a crazy boat, about forty-five long, and eight feet wide, with no other bulwark than a single pine plank, above each gunnel. The boat was much encumbered with baggage, and seven horses were on board. Having seen no enemy for several days, they had become secure and careless, and permitted the boat to drift within fifty yards of the Ohio shore. Suddenly several Indians showed themselves on the bank, and opened heavy fire upon the boat. The astonishment of the crew may be conceived. Captain Ward and his nephew were at the oars when the enemy appeared, and the captain knowing that their safety depended upon their ability to regain the middle of the river, kept his seat firmly, and exerted his utmost powers at the oar, but his nephew started up at the sight of the enemy, seized his rifle and was in the act of levelling it, when he received a ball in the breast, and fell dead in the bottom of the boat. Unfortunately, his oar fell into the river, and the Captain having no one to pull against him, rather urged the boat nearer to the hostile shore than otherwise. He quickly seized a plank, however, and giving his own oar to another of the crew, he took the station which his nephew had held, and unhurt by the bullets which flew around him, continued to exert himself, until the boat had reached a more respectable distance. He then, for the first time, looked around him in order to observe the condition of the crew. His nephew lay in his blood, perfectly lifeless,—the horses had been all killed or mortally wounded. Some had fallen overboard—others were struggling violently, and causing their frail bark to dip water so as to excite the most serious apprehensions.
But the crew presented the most singular spectacle. A captain, who had served with reputation in the continental army, seemed now totally bereft of his faculties. He lay upon his back in the bottom of the boat, with hands uplifted, and a countenance in which terror was personified, exclaiming in a tone of despair, "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" A Dutchman, whose weight might amount at about three hundred pounds, was busily engaged in endeavoring to find shelter for his bulky person, which, from the lowness of the gunnels, was a very difficult undertaking. In spite of his utmost efforts, a portion of his posterial luxuriance, appeared above the gunnel, and afforded a mark to the enemy, which brought a constant shower of balls around it. In vain he shifted his position. The lump still appeared, and the balls still flew around it, until the Dutchman, losing all patience, raised his head above the gunnel, and in a tone of querulous remonstrance, called out, "Oh, now I git tat nonsense, tere,—will you!" Not a shot was fired from the boat.
At one time, after they had partly reined the current, Captain Ward attempted to bring his rifle to bear upon them, but so violent was the agitation of the boat, from the furious struggles of the horses, that he could not steady his piece within twenty yards of the enemy, and quickly laying it aside returned to the oar. The Indians followed them down the river for more than an hour, but having no canoes, they did not attempt to board; and as the boat was at length transferred to the opposite side of the river, they finally abandoned the pursuit and disappeared. None of the crew, save the young man already mentioned, were hurt, although the Dutchman's seat of honor served as a target for the space of an hour, and the continental captain was deeply mortified at the sudden, and, as he said, "unaccountable" panic which had seized him. Captain Ward himself was protected by a post, which had been fastened to the gunnel, and behind which he sat while rowing.
During the settlement of the interior of Pennsylvania, the Indians were almost constantly hostile. Houses were burned, fields desolated, and the poor, hard-working settlers were killed, or carried into a dreadful captivity. The sufferings of some of these captives can scarcely be described. The following narrative will give some idea of savage nature.
On the 22nd of May, 1792, Massy Herbeson and her children were taken from their house, within two hundred yards of Reed's blockhouse, and about twenty-five miles from Pittsburg. Mr. Herbeson, being one of the spies, was from home; two of the scouts lodged with her that night, but had left her house about sunrise, in order to go to the blockhouse, and had left the door standing wide open. Shortly after the two scouts went away, a number of Indians came into the house, and drew her out of bed by the feet; the two eldest children, who also lay in another bed were drawn out in the same manner; a younger child, about one year old slept with Mrs. Herbeson. The Indians then scattered the articles about in the house.
Whilst they were at this work, Mrs. Herbeson went out of the house, and hallooed to the people in the blockhouse; one of the Indians then ran up and stopped her mouth, another ran up with his tomahawk drawn, and a third ran and seized the tomahawk and called her his squaw; this last Indian claimed her as his, and continued by her. About fifteen of the Indians then ran down towards the blockhouse and fired their guns at the block and store-house, in consequence of which one soldier was killed and another wounded, one having been at the spring, and the other in coming or looking out of the store-house. Mrs. Herbeson told the Indians there were about forty men in the blockhouse, and each man had two guns, the Indians then went to those that were firing at the blockhouse, and brought them back.
They then began to drive Mrs. Herbeson and her children away; but a boy, about three years old, being unwilling to leave the house, they took it by the heels, and dashed it against the house, then stabbed and scalped it. They then took Mrs. Herbeson and the two other children to the top of the hill, where they stopped until they tied up the plunder they had got. While they were busy about this, Mrs. Herbeson counted them, and the number amounted to thirty-two, including two white men, that were with them, painted like the Indians. Several of the Indians could speak English, and she knew several of them very well, having often seen them go up and down the Alleghany river; two of them she knew to be Senecas, and two Munsees, who had got their guns mended by her husband about two years ago.
They sent two Indians with her, and the others took their course towards Puckty. She, the children, and the two Indians had not gone above two hundred yards, when the Indians caught two of her uncle's horses, put her and the youngest child on one, and one of the Indians and the other child on the other. The two Indians then took her and the children to the Alleghany river, and took them over in bark canoes, as they could not get the horses to swim the river. After they had crossed the river, the oldest child, a boy about five years of age, began to mourn for his brother, when one of the Indians tomahawked and scalped him. They travelled all day very hard, and that night arrived at a large camp, covered with bark, which, by appearance, might hold fifty men. That night they took her about three hundred yards from the camp, into a large dark bottom, bound her arms, gave her some bed clothes, and lay down one on each side of her.
The next morning they took her into a thicket, on the hill side, and one remained with her till the middle of the day, while the other went to watch the path, lest some white people should follow them. They then exchanged places during the remainder of the day. She got a piece of dry venison, about the size of an egg, that day, and a piece about the same size the day they were marching; that evening, (Wednesday, 23d) they moved her to a new place, and secured her as the night before. During the day of the 23'd, she made several attempts to get the Indian's gun or tomahawk, that was guarding her, and, had she succeeded, she would have put him to death. She was nearly detected in trying to get the tomahawk from his belt.
The next morning one of the Indians went out, as on the day before, to watch the path. The other lay down and fell asleep. When she found he was sleeping, she stole her short gown, handkerchief, a child's frock, and then made her escape; the sun was then about half an hour high—she took her course from the Alleghany, in order to deceive the Indians, as they would naturally pursue her that way; that day she travelled along Conequenessing creek. The next day she altered her course, and, as she believes, fell upon the waters of Pine Creek, which empties into the Alleghany. Thinking this not her best course, she took over some dividing ridges,—lay on a dividing ridge on Friday night, and on Saturday came to Squaw run—continued down the run until an Indian, or some other person, shot a deer; she saw the person about one hundred and fifty yards from her—the deer running and the dog pursuing it, which, from the appearance, she supposed to be an Indian dog.
She then altered her course, but again came to the same run, and continued down until she got so tired that she was obliged to lie down, it having rained on her all that day and the night before; she lay there that night; it rained constantly. On Sunday morning, she proceeded down the run until she came to the Alleghany river, and continued down the river till she came opposite to Carter's house, on the inhabited side, where she made a noise, and James Closier brought her over the river to Carter's house.
Such outrages were frequent upon the frontier, in time of war with the Indians. Many instances of the generosity and hospitality of the red men are recorded. But when we remember that they made war and the chase the business of their lives, and that they never would be content to till the ground, as the neighbors of the whites we cannot regret that they have disappeared from our vicinity.
Mr. Cumming, whose adventures we have already found so entertaining, had a method of hunting for wild beasts, and especially lions, which was quite curious. He dug holes near the fountains or streams, where the animals were accustomed to resort at night for water, and concealed himself and his companions in them, to wait for their approach. The following is a specimen of this kind of adventure.
On the afternoon of the 4th I deepened my hole and watched the water. As the sun went down two graceful springboks and a herd of pallah came and drank, when I shot the best pallah in the troop. At night I watched the water with Kleinboy: very soon a cow black rhinoceros came and drank, and got off for the present with two balls in her. A little afterwards two black rhinoceroses and two white ones came to the waterside. We both fired together at the finest of the two black rhinoceroses; she ran three hundred yards, and fell dead. Soon after this the other black rhinoceros came up again and stood at the waterside; I gave her one ball after the shoulder; she ran a hundred yards and fell dead. In half an hour a third old borele appeared, and, having inspected the two dead ones, he came up to the waterside. We fired together; he ran two hundred yards and fell dead. I felt satisfied with our success, and gave it up for the night.
By the following evening the natives had cleared away the greater part of the two rhinoceroses which lay right in the way of the game approaching the water; I, however, enforced their leaving the third rhinoceros, which had fallen on the bare rising ground, almost opposite to my hiding-place, in the hope of attracting a lion, as I intended to watch the water at night. Soon after the twilight had died away, I went down to my hole with Kleinboy and two natives, who lay concealed in another hole, with Wolf and Boxer ready to slip, in the event of wounding a lion.
On reaching the water I looked towards the carcase of the rhinoceros, and, to my astonishment, I beheld the ground alive with large creatures, as though a troop of zebras were approaching the fountain to drink. Kleinboy remarked to me that a troop of zebras were standing on the height. I answered, "Yes," but I knew very well that zebras would not be capering around the carcase of a rhinoceros. I quickly arranged my blankets, pillow, and guns, in the hole, and then lay down to feast my eyes on the interesting sight before me. It was bright moonlight, as clear as I need wish, and within one night of being full moon. There were six large lions, about twelve or fifteen hyaenas, and from twenty to thirty jackals, feasting on and around the carcases of the three rhinoceroses. The lions feasted peacefully, but the hyenas and jackals fought over every mouthful, and chased one another round and round the carcases, growling, laughing, screeching, chattering, and howling without any intermission. The hyaenas did not seem afraid of the lions, although they always gave way before them; for I observed that they followed them in the most disrespectful manner, and stood laughing, one or two on either side, when any lions came after their comrades to examine pieces of skin or bones which they were dragging away. I had lain watching this banquet for about four hours, in the strong hope that, when the lions had feasted, they would come and drink. Two black and two white rhinoceroses had made their appearance, but, scared by the smell of the blood, they soon made off.
At length the lions seemed satisfied. They all walked about with their heads up, and seemed to be thinking about the water, and in two minutes one of them turned his face towards me, and came on; he was immediately followed by the second lion, and in half a minute by the other four. It was a decided and general move, they were all coming to drink right bang in my face, within fifteen yards of me.
I charged the unfortunate, pale, and panting Kleinboy to convert himself into a stone, and knowing, from old spoor, exactly where they would drink, I cocked my left barrel, and placed myself and gun in position. The six lions came steadily on along the ridge, until within sixty yards of me, when they halted for a minute to reconnoitre. One of them stretched out his massive arms on the rock and lay down; the others then came on, and he rose and brought up the rear. They walked, as I had anticipated, to the old drinking place, and three of them had put down their heads and were lapping the water loudly, when Kleinboy thought it necessary to show his ugly head. I turned my head slowly to rebuke him, and again taming to the lions I found myself discovered.
An old lioness, who seemed to take the lead, had detected me, and, with her head high and her eyes fixed full upon me, she was coming slowly round the corner of the little vley to cultivate further my acquaintance! This unfortunate proceeding put a stop at once to all further contemplation. I thought, in my haste, that it was perhaps most prudent to shoot this lioness, especially as none of the others had noticed me. I accordingly moved my arm and covered her: she saw me move and halted, exposing a full broadside, I fired; the ball entered one shoulder and passed out behind the other. She bounded forward with repeated growls, and was followed by her five comrades all enveloped in a cloud of dust; nor did they stop until they had reached the cover behind me, except one old gentleman, who halted and looked back for a few seconds, when I fired, but the ball went high. I listened anxiously for some sound to denote the approaching end of the lioness; nor listened in vain. I heard her growling and stationary, as if dying. In one minute her comrades crossed the vley a little below me, and made towards the rhinoceros. I then slipped Wolf and Boxer on her scent, and, following them into the river, I found her lying dead within twenty yards of where the old lion had lain two nights before. This was a fine old lioness, with perfect teeth, and was certainly a noble prize; but I felt dissatisfied at not having rather shot a lion, which I had most certainly done if my Hottentot had not destroyed my contemplation.
The early settlers of New England did not suffer much from the hostility of the Indians, until the breaking out of King Philip's war, in 1675. Philip was the son of Massasoit, who was the friend of the English from the time of the landing of the pilgrims until the day of his death. Offended at the manner in which the English behaved towards his brother, Alexander, Philip resolved upon a war of extermination, and, for this purpose, he united nearly all the New England tribes. The war was very destructive to the whites, though it ended in the total overthrow of the Indian power.
One of the first places attacked was the town of Brookfield, Massachusetts. Upon receiving intelligence that Philip had begun hostilities, the inhabitants all collected in one large house. Captains Wheeler and Hutchinson went into the country of the Nipmucks, to treat with them, but they, instigated by Philip, fired upon the party of whites, killed eight men and mortally wounded Captain Hutchinson. The rest fled to Brookfield, pursued by the Indians. The inhabitants were now surrounded by a host of foes, who burned every house in the place, except the one in which the people and soldiers were collected. Here they directed their whole force. Upon this house they poured a storm of musket balls for about two days. Countless numbers pierced through the walls, yet only one person was killed. Brands and rags dipped in brimstone were thrust against the house with long poles. The Indians shot arrows, tipped with fire, upon the roof. They loaded a cart with flax and tow, and with long poles fastened together, pushed it against the house. Destruction seemed inevitable, the house was kindling. The bold and resolute settlers were beginning to give up all hope, when a sudden and providential fall of rain quenched the flames.
The savages yelled with the fury of disappointment, and resorted to other schemes for the destruction of the house and its inmates. In all probability, they would have succeeded in effecting their object; but on the 4th of August, Major Willard, with a party of troops, appeared, and attacked the besiegers. The conflict was soon decided. The Indians never could withstand an equal number of whites in a fair field. They now gave way, after suffering a great loss. The people of Brookfield were thus happily delivered from their savage foe. But their houses were burned, and stock destroyed.
The next place attacked was Deerfield, upon the Connecticut river, which experienced the horror of Indian atrocity several times during the course of the war. The town was first attacked in September, 1675, when most of the houses were burned, and some of the inhabitants killed. At Deerfield, there were three thousand bushels of wheat in stock, which it was resolved to bring to the general magazine at Hadley. Captain Lathrop, with ninety men, guarded the teams employed in this service. On the way, they were assaulted by about seven hundred Indians. Few of the whites escaped. They fought bravely, and killed a great many of the Indians, but were nearly all slain. Captain Mosely marched from Deerfield to reinforce Captain Lathrop. Arriving too late, he was compelled to sustain the onset of the whole force of the enemy, until Major Treat came to his relief, and put the Indians to flight.
In the early part of February, a large body of Indians attempted to surprise Deerfield by night. But the inhabitants were alarmed and prepared, and after a short conflict succeeded in driving off the savages. Soon after a party of whites from Deerfield attacked a party of Indians in a swamp, near that town, and killed one hundred and twenty of them. But the whites, on their return, were waylaid, and as they had expended all their ammunition they fell an easy prey. Fifty were killed and eighty-four wounded. Such were the horrors of King Philip's war.
On the night of the 11th of April, 1787, the house of the widow Scraggs, in Bourbon county, Kentucky, was attacked by the Indians. The widow occupied what is called double cabin, one room of which was tenanted by the old lady herself, together with two grown sons and a widowed daughter, who was at that time suckling an infant, while the other was occupied by two unmarried daughters, from sixteen to twenty years of age, together with a little girl, not more than half grown.
The hour was eleven o'clock at night. One of the unmarried daughters was still busily engaged at the loom, but the other members of the family, with the exception of one of the sons, had retired to rest. Some symptoms of an alarming nature had engaged the attention of the young man for an hour before any thing of a decided character took place. The cry of owls was heard in the adjoining wood, answering each other in rather an unusual manner. The horses which were enclosed as usual in a pound near the house were more than commonly their excited, and by repeated snorting and galloping, announced the presence of some object of terror. The young man was often upon the point of awakening his brother, but was as often restrained by the fear of incurring ridicule and their reproach of timidity, at that time an unpardonable blemish in the character of a Kentuckian. At length, hasty steps were heard in the yard, and quickly afterwards several knocks at the door, accompanied by the usual exclamation, "who keeps house?" in very good English.
The young man, supposing from the language, that some benighted settlers were at the door, hastily arose and advancing to withdraw the bar which secured it, when his mother, who had long lived upon the frontiers, and had probably detected the Indian tone in the demand for admission, sprung out of bed, and ordered her son not to admit them, declaring that they were Indians. She instantly awakened her other son, and the two young men seizing their guns, which were always charged, prepared to repel the enemy.
The Indians finding it impossible to enter under their assumed characters, began to thunder at the door with great violence, but a single shot from a loophole, compelled them to shift the attack to some less exposed point; and, unfortunately, they discovered the door of the other cabin, which contained the three daughters. The rifles of the brothers could not be brought to bear upon this point, and by means of several rails taken from the yard fence, the door was forced from its hinges and the three girls were at the mercy of the savage. One was immediately secured, but the eldest defended herself desperately with a knife which she had been using in the loom, and stabbed one of the Indians to the heart, before she was tomahawked.
In the meantime the little girl, who had been overlooked by the enemy in their eagerness to secure the others, ran out into the yard, and might have effected her escape had she taken advantage of the darkness and fled, but instead of that the terrified little creature ran round the house wringing her hands, and crying out that her sisters were killed. The brothers, unwilling to hear her cries without risking every thing for her rescue, rushed to the door and were preparing to sally out to her assistance, when their mother threw herself before them and calmly declared that the child must be abandoned to its fate—that the sally would sacrifice the lives of the rest without the slightest benefit to the little girl. Just then the child uttered a loud scream, followed by a faint moan, and all was again silent. Presently the crackling of flames was heard, accompanied by a triumphant yell from the Indians, announcing that they had set fire to that division of the house which had been occupied by the daughters, and of which they had undisputed possession.
The fire was quickly communicated to part of the building, it became necessary to abandon it or perish in the flames. In the one case, there was a possibility that some might escape; in the other, their fate would be equally certain and terrible. The rapid approach of the flames cut short their momentary suspense. The door was thrown open, just as some of the Indians began to enter the house through a breach made by the fire. The old lady, supported by her eldest son, attempted to cross the fence at one point, while the other son carried his sister and her son in another direction.
The old lady was permitted to reach the stile unmolested, but in the act of crossing, received several balls in the breast and fell dead. Her son, providentially, remained unhurt, and by extraordinary agility effected his escape. The other party succeeded also in reaching the fence unhurt, but in the act of crossing, were vigorously assailed by several Indians, who throwing down their guns, rushed upon them with their tomahawks. The young man defended his sister gallantly, firing upon the enemy as they approached, and then wielding the butt of his rifle with a fury that drew the whole attention upon himself, and gave his sister an opportunity of effecting her escape. He quickly fell, however, under the tomahawk of his enemies, and was found at daylight, scalped and mangled in a shocking manner. Of the whole family, consisting of eight persons, when the attack commenced, only three escaped. Four were killed upon the spot, and one, the second daughter, carried off a prisoner.
The neighborhood was quickly alarmed, and by daylight about thirty men were assembled under the command of Colonel Edwards. A slight snow had fallen during the latter part of the night, and the Indian trail could be pursued at a gallop. It led directly into the mountainous country bordering on Licking, and afforded evidences of great hurry and precipitation on the part of the fugitives. Unfortunately, a hound had been permitted to accompany the whites, and as the trail became fresh and the scent warm, she followed it with eagerness, baying loudly and giving the alarm to the Indians.
The consequences of this imprudence were soon displayed. The enemy finding the pursuit keen, and perceiving that the strength of the prisoner began to fail, sunk their tomahawks in her head and left her, still warm and bleeding upon the snow. As the whites came up, she retained strength enough to wave her hand in token of recognition, and appeared desirous of giving them some information, with regard to the enemy, but her strength was too far gone. Her brother sprung from his horse, and knelt by her side, endeavoring to stop the effusion of blood, but in vain. She gave him her hand, muttering some inarticulate words, and expired within two minutes after the arrival of the party.
The pursuit was renewed with additional ardor, and in twenty minutes the enemy was within view. They had taken possession of a steep narrow ridge and seemed desirous of magnifying their numbers in the eyes of the whites, as they ran rapidly from tree to tree, and maintained a steady yell in their most appalling tones. The pursuers, however, were too experienced to be deceived by so common an artifice, and being satisfied that the number of the enemy must be inferior to their own, they dismounted, tied their horses, and flanking out in such a manner as to enclose the enemy, ascended the ridge as rapidly as was consistent with a due regard to the shelter of their persons. The firing quickly commenced, and now for the first time they discovered that only two Indians were opposed to them. They had voluntarily sacrificed themselves for the safety of the main body, and had succeeded in delaying pursuit until their friends had reached the mountains. One of them was shot dead, and the other was badly wounded, as was evident from the blood upon his blanket, as well as that which filled his tracks in the snow for a considerable distance. The pursuit was recommenced, and urged keenly until night, when the trail entered a running stream and was lost. On the following morning the snow had melted, and every trace of the enemy was obliterated.