Thrilling Adventures Among the Early Settlers E-Book

Warren Wildwood

• Herausgeber: Antelope Hill Publishing LLC
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Originally published in 1861, Warren Wildwood’s Thrilling Adventures Among the Early Settlers is a fun and fascinating foray into the tribulations of some of America’s most beloved folk heroes, as well as ordinary men and women who showed bravery in the face of Indians, wild animals, and criminals. These inspirational and entertaining escapades depict true tales of exceptional men like Daniel Boone and David Crockett, along with storied groups like the Texan Rangers and the Patriot Army of 1776. From colonial, revolutionary, and antebellum times, and spanning across America, these spirited tales have something for everyone. Short enough for a bedtime story, and plentiful enough to read again and again, Thrilling Adventures is perfect for adventure-loving men and boys of all ages.
 
Antelope Hill Publishing is proud to preserve Warren Wildwood, Esq.’s Thrilling Adventures Among the Early Settlers as a classic piece of American literature to be enjoyed by a new generation and many more to come.  
 
“Probably the most restless people in the world are the Americans, and for this reason, they make the most troublesome prisoners. They will not settle down to inactivity under any wrong or oppression; they will not bear any burden meekly or tamely; nurtured in the lap of freedom, they chafe fearfully under any restraint; their liberty they will seek at any hazard—they pant for it as for the air they breathe; show them the remotest possibility of accomplishing their purpose, and no danger, no thousand dangers, will deter them from the attempt; destroyed they may be, but not subdued.”

Leseprobe

Thrilling Adventures Among the Early Settlers

THRILLING ADVENTURESAMONG THE EARLY SETTLERS

EMBRACING

DESPERATE ENCOUNTERS WITH INDIANS, TORIES, AND REFUGEES; DARING EXPLOITS OF TEXAN RANGERS

AND OTHERS, AND INCIDENTS OF GUERILLA

WARFARE; FEARFUL DEEDS OF THE

RAMBLERS AND DESPERADOES,

RANGERS AND REGULATORS

OF THE WEST AND SOUTH-

WEST; HUNTING STORIES,

TRAPPING ADVENTURES,

ETC., ETC., ETC.

BY WARREN WILDWOOD, ESQ.

L I T T L E F R O G H I L L

A N T E L O P E ii H I L L ii P U B L I S H I N G

The content of this work is in the public domain.

Republished 2022 by Little Frog Hill, the children’s imprint of Antelope Hill Publishing.

First printing 2022.

Originally published by John E. Potter and Company, Philadelphia, 1861.

Cover art by Swifty.

Edited by Malta and Margaret Bauer.

Formatted by Margaret Bauer.

Antelope Hill Publishing

www.antelopehillpublishing.com

Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-956887-39-6

EPUB ISBN-13: 978-1-956887-40-2

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

Note that some edits have been made to update more archaic word choices and phrasing, but most of the charm of the original remains, along with intentional misspellings in speech to indicate pronunciation. Parental guidance is advised for children under ten both due to the violent nature of many of these stories, which report the whole truth of these historical accounts, and due to the advanced vocabulary and sentence structure, which may not be accessible to younger readers. These stories represent a time in our nation’s history when men were much more daring and adventurous, cunning and noble, and we thoroughly hope you enjoy these tales and are inspired by them as much as we are.

“In a great crisis, one brave, clear-headed man is worth many timid statesmen or cowardly rhetoricians.”

CONTENTS

Preface

McCulloch’s Fearful Leap

The Bloody Blockhouse

Poe’s Desperate Encounter with Big Foot

Adventures of Daniel Boone

A Perilous Adventure in a Canoe

The Mystery at Lancaster

David Crockett’s Fight with a Bear: As Related by Himself

The Romance of War: Sergeant Jasper and Sally St. Clair

An Old Trapper in a Tight Place

The Wonderful Escape

The Desperado and the Regulators

The Ranger’s Thrilling Indian Adventure

The Fighting Parson

The Seminole Chieftain’s Touching Appeal

The Horrors of a Bombardment: Norfolk in 1776

A Texan Ranger’s Fearful Adventure among the Guerillas

The Gambler’s Den at Natchez

Perilous Adventure of Captain Brady

Daring Exploits of General Putnam

John Minter’s Fearful Encounter with a Bear

The Massacre at Fort Mimms: An Incident of the Creek War

Moody, the Jersey Refugee

The White Horseman

Black Dick and the Lynchers: A Fearful Mississippi Tragedy

Big Joe Logston’s Desperate Encounter with Two Indians

The Patriotic Quakeress

Crockett’s Fight with a Cougar: As Related by Himself

Adventures of Simon Kenton

A She-Devil among the Tories

The Rose of Guadaloupe: A Texan Ranger’s Story

The Swamp Robbers of Louisiana

Lewis and the Rattlesnake

Daring Exploits of Colonel Jack Hays, The Texan Ranger

Thrilling Escape from a Prison-Ship

The Rifleman of Chippewa

The Horse Stealers of Illinois: A Lawyer’s Story

Surprised by Guerillas: An Incident of the Mexican War

Wonderful Escape of Tom Higgins

Adventures of a Navy Officer in the Canadian Rebellion: How He Outwitted General Scott

A Desperado’s Thrilling Adventure

The Gamblers of the South and West

Thrilling Adventure in the Northwest: How a Brave Man Saved Detroit

Jacob Wetzel and His Faithful Dog: A Legend of Cincinnati

A Desperado among the Mail Bags: The Stage Driver’s Story

Brady and the Dutchman

Major Stout, The Regulator

Desperate Adventure of Colonel McLane

The Backwoodsman and the Turkey

The Indians and the Hollow Log

The Traveler and the Arkansas Bully

A Race for Life

Desperate Fight with a Panther: A Kentuckian’s Story

La Fayette and the Jerseyman

Thrilling Adventure of Two Scouts

The Bravo of Texas

John Dean and the Indians

The Murderer’s Ordeal: A Californian’s Story

Thrilling Contest with a Stag: A Kentucky Sportsman’s Story

The Wolves and the Darkey Fiddler

The Murderer’s Creek

PREFACE

B

ut a brief period has elapsed since this continent was peopled by a new and daring race, a race who sought a refuge from tyranny and oppression among these American wilds, for civil and religious liberty, for liberty of conscience to worship their Creator according to their own conceptions of heaven’s revealed will. Among savage beasts and more savage men, liable at any moment to meet death in its most appalling forms, they yet shrunk not from the burdens they had assumed, until their efforts were crowned by a glorious and final triumph.

And now, from the old world and the new, a vast tide of emigration swept in upon the immense prairies of the west and the fertile fields of the south, a heterogeneous mass of elements, the enterprising and virtuous seeking to improve their condition, the vicious of all grades desiring to escape from the terrors and trammels of the law. Between such opposing interests and passions, collisions were inevitable, and fearful have been some of the deeds that stain the history of these localities.

In every new country, there is an era of strife, turbulence, and general combat, a state of nature which is always a state of war, when sanguinary crimes provoke still more sanguinary punishments, and savage fury, and brutal force inaugurate a reign of universal terror. It is peculiar to no geographical section, but applies with more force to the west and southwest than elsewhere. Petty villains and noted criminals—gamblers, counterfeiters, murderers, and others—who have outraged the laws of older localities, have here sought a comparatively secure retreat and inviting fields in which to continue the perpetration of their crimes. But happily, in all instances, the phenomenon is of brief duration; the evil soon runs its course. In the absence of legitimate authority and regular organizations, lynch law usurps its place and often visits a swift and terrible retribution upon the offenders. Anarchists and desperadoes are either exterminated, or driven farther west, and the beautiful spirit of order and progress emerges from the chaos of confusion and blood.

While therefore we can never sufficiently admire those noble founders of the republic, who were ready and willing to sacrifice their all for their country’s good, we yet dwell with an intense and living interest upon the bold and daring, though sometimes unscrupulous deeds of the men of a later day, who have made “the wilderness to blossom as the rose.” For no more in the petty contests of life on the frontier, than in the mightiest shock of adverse nations and races, will humanity or civilization ever suffer permanent check, or lose a single important battle.

No efforts of the imagination can equal these startling realities—these lights and shadows of life among the early settlers—some of which the editor has presented in the following pages. He claims no originality in the work, having gleaned his subjects from a variety of sources and simply seeking to admit none but those he believed reliable and truthful. The facts of each are common property, some of which have been given by a variety of parties, but in all cases where there was a choice, he has adopted the one which seemed to him best and most truthfully told, without regard to whom should be the narrator. To many of our readers, therefore, some of the tales may not be new, but he believes all are worthy of preservation. The aid of the artist has been invoked, who has added largely to the force and beauty of the text, by many graphic delineations of the more important points in the various stories.

With the hope that the public generally may be as deeply interested in its perusal as has been the author in its preparation, the volume is left in their hands to be dealt with as to them shall be deemed meet and proper.

Warren Wildwood

McCULLOCH’S FEARFUL LEAP

G

eneral Putnam’s bold plunge on horseback down the steep declivity at Horseneck, in his escape from the British troops, has passed into general history, and there are but few who are ignorant of its details. This exploit, however, is by no means a solitary example of desperate daring, as the narrative which we subjoin will abundantly attest.

Fort Henry was situated about a quarter of a mile above Wheeling Creek, on the left bank of the Ohio River, and was erected to protect the settlers of the little village of Wheeling, which, at the time of its investment, consisted of about twenty-five cabins. In the month of September, 1775, it was invested by about four hundred warriors, on the approach of whom the settlers had fled into it, leaving their cabins and their contents to the torch of the savages. The whole force comprising the garrison consisted of forty-two fighting men all told, but there were among them men who knew the use of the rifle and who were celebrated throughout the borders as the implacable enemies of the Red man and as the best marksmen in the world. Of these, however, more than one-half perished in an ill-advised sortie before the siege commenced, and when the fort was surrounded by the foe, but sixteen men remained to defend it against their overwhelming numbers. But their mothers, wives, and daughters were there, and nerved the little band to deeds of heroism to which the records of the wars of ancient and modern history present no parallel. Here it was that Elizabeth Zane passed through the fire of the whole body of redskins in the effort to bring into the fort the ammunition so necessary to its defense. Here it was, also, that the wives and daughters of its noble defenders marched to a spring in point-blank range of the ambushed Indians, in going back and forth, for the purpose of bringing water for the garrison.

Messengers had been dispatched at the earliest alarm to the neighboring settlements for aid, and in response to the call Captain Van Swearingen, with fourteen men, arrived from Cross Creek and fought his way into the fort without the loss of a man. Soon afterwards, a party of forty horsemen, led by the brave and intrepid Major Samuel McCulloch, were seen approaching and endeavoring to force their way through the dense masses of Indians which nearly surrounded the station. Their friends within the fort made every preparation to receive them, by opening the gates and organizing a sortie to cover their attempt. After a desperate hand-to-hand conflict, in which they made several of the Indians bite the dust, they broke through the lines and entered the fort in triumph, without the loss of an individual. All except their daring leader succeeded in the effort. He was cut off and forced to fly in an opposite direction. McCulloch was as well-known to the Indians as to the Whites for his deeds of prowess, and his name was associated in their minds with some of the bloodiest fights in which the White and Red men had contended. To secure him alive, therefore, that they might enact their vengeance upon him, was the earnest desire of the Indians, and to this end they put forth the most superhuman exertions. There were very few among their number who had not lost a relative by the unerring aim and skill of the fearless woodsman, and they cherished toward him an almost frenzied hatred, which could only be satisfied in his tortures at the stake.

With such feelings and incentives, they crowded around him as he dashed forward in the rear of his men and succeeded in cutting him off from the gate. Finding himself unable, after the most strenuous exertions, to accomplish his entrance, and seeing the uselessness of a conflict with such a force opposed to him, he suddenly pivoted his horse and fled in the direction of Wheeling Hill at his utmost speed. A cloud of warriors started up at his approach and cut off his retreat in this direction, driving him back upon another party who blocked up the path behind, while a third closed in upon him on one of the other sides of the square. The fourth and open side was in the direction of the brow of a precipitous ledge of rocks, nearly one hundred and fifty feet in height, at the foot of which flowed the waters of Wheeling Creek. As he momentarily halted and took a rapid survey of the dangers which surrounded him on all sides, he felt that his chance was indeed a desperate one. The Indians had not fired a shot, and he well knew what this portended, as they could easily have killed him had they chosen to do so. He appreciated the feeling of hatred felt towards him by the foe and saw at a glance the intention to take him alive, if possible, that his ashes might be offered up as a sacrifice to the spirits of their departed friends slain by his hand. This was to die a thousand deaths, in preference to which he determined to run the risk of being dashed in pieces, and he struck his heels against the sides of his steed, which sprang forward toward the precipice.

The encircling warriors had rapidly lessened the space between them and their intended victim and, as they saw him so completely within their toils, raised a yell of triumph, little dreaming of the fearful energy which was to baffle their expectations. As they saw him push his horse in the direction of the precipice, which they had supposed an insurmountable obstacle to his escape, they stood in wonder and amazement, scarcely believing that it could be his intention to attempt the awful leap, which was, to all appearances, certain death. McCulloch still bore his rifle, which he had retained in his right hand, and carefully gathering up the bridle in his left, he urged his noble animal forward, encouraging him by his voice, until they reached the edge of the bank, when, dashing his heels against his sides, they made the fearful leap into the air. Down, down they went, with fearful velocity, without resistance or impediment, until one-half of the space was passed over, when the horse’s feet struck the smooth, precipitous face of the rock, and the remainder of the distance was slid and scrambled over until they reached the bottom, alive and uninjured. With a shout which proclaimed his triumphant success to his foe above him, McCulloch pushed his steed into the stream, and in a few moments horse and rider were seen surmounting the banks on the opposite side.

No pursuit was attempted, nor was a shot fired at the intrepid rider. His enemies stood in awe-struck silence upon the brow of the bank from whence he had leaped, and as he disappeared from their view they returned to the investment of the fort. They did not long continue their unavailing efforts, however, for its capture; the numerous additions it had received to its garrison, the fearlessness exhibited in its defense, together with the feat they had witnessed, disheartened them, and they beat a hasty retreat the next morning—not, however, until they had reduced to ashes the cabins outside of the stockade, and slaughtered some three hundred head of cattle belonging to the settlers.

THE BLOODY BLOCKHOUSE

W

hile Louisiana was yet a French province, Asa Nolens, with his three brothers, his brother-in-law, a cousin, and their wives, tired of their settlement on the Ohio, floated down the Mississippi and squatted on the banks of the Red River. There they become involved in a quarrel with certain Creoles about a horse-trade and Asa, the leader of the party, advised the erection of a blockhouse, as a means of defense against any attack which the Creoles might make. An attack was attempted, with what result this narrative given by Nathan Strong, one of the attacked, will disclose:

One morning we were working in the bush and circling trees, when Righteous, a brother of Asa, rode up full gallop.

“They’re coming!” cried he. “A hundred of them at least!”

“Are they far off?” said Asa, quite quietly, as if he had been talking of a herd of deer.

“They are coming over the prairie. In less than half an hour they will be here.”

“How are they marching? With van and rear guard? In what order?”

“No order at all, but all of a heap together.”

“Good!” said Asa. “They can know but little about bush-fighting or soldiering of any kind. Now then, the women into the blockhouse.”

Righteous galloped up to our fort to be there first in case the enemy should find it. The women soon followed, carrying what they could with them. When we were all in the blockhouse, we pulled up the ladder, made the gate fast, and there we were.

We felt somehow strange when we found ourselves shut up inside the Palisades and only able to look out through the slits we left for our rifles. We weren’t used to being confined in a place, and it made us right down wolfish. There we remained, however, as still as mice. Scarce a whisper was to be heard. Rachel tore up old shirts and greased them for wadding for the guns, we changed our flints and fixed everything about the rifles properly, while the women sharpened our knives and axes, all in silence. Nearly an hour had passed in this way when we heard shouting and screaming and a few musket-shots. We saw through our loopholes some Spanish soldiers running backward and forward on the crest of the slope on which our houses stood. Suddenly a great pillar of smoke arose, then a second, then a third.

“God be good to us!” said Rachel. “They are burning our houses.”

We were all trembling, and quite pale with rage. When men have been slaving and sweating for four or five months to build houses for their wives and for the poor worms of children, and then a parcel of devils come and burn them down like maize stalks in a stubble-field, it is no wonder that their teeth should grind together and their fists clench of themselves. So, it was with us; but we said nothing, for our rage would not let us speak. But presently, as we strained our eyes through the loopholes, the Spaniards showed themselves at the opening of the forest yonder, coming toward the blockhouse. We tried to count them, but at first it was impossible, for they came on in a crowd, without any order. They thought little enough of those they were seeking or they would have been more prudent. However, when they came within five hundred paces, they formed ranks and we were able to count them. There were eighty-two foot-soldiers with muskets and carbines, and three officers on horseback with drawn swords in their hands. The latter dismounted, and their example was followed by seven other horsemen, among whom we recognized three of the rascally Creoles who had brought all this trouble upon us. He they called Croupier was among them. The other four were also Creoles, Acadians or Canadians. We had seen lots of their sort on the Upper Mississippi, and fine hunters they were, but mostly wild, drunken, debauched barbarians.

The Acadians came on in front and they set up a whoop when they saw the blockhouse and stockade, but finding we were prepared to receive them, they retreated upon the main body. We saw them speaking to the officers, as if advising them, but the latter shook their heads, and the soldiers continued moving on. They were in uniforms of all colors: blue, white, and brown, but each man dirtier than his neighbor. They marched in good order, nevertheless, the captain and officers coming on in front, and the Acadians keeping the flanks. The latter, however, edged gradually off toward the cotton trees and presently disappeared among them.

“Them be the first men to pick off,” said Asa, when he saw this maneuver of the Creoles. “They’ve steady hands and sharp eyes, but if we get rid of them, we need not mind others.”

The Spaniards were now within a hundred yards of us.

“Shall I let fly at the thievin’ incendiaries?” said Righteous.

“God forbid!” replied Asa, quite solemn-like. “We will defend ourselves like men, but let us wait till we are attacked, and may the blood that is shed lie at the door of the aggressors.”

The Spaniards now saw plainly that they would have to take the stockade before they could get at us, and the officers were seen consulting together.

“Halt!” cried Asa, suddenly.

“Messieurs les Américains,” said the captain, looking up at our loopholes.

“What’s your pleasure?” demanded Asa.

Upon this the captain stuck a dirty pocket-handkerchief upon the point of his sword, and laughing with his officers, moved some twenty paces forward, followed by the troops. Thereupon Asa again shouted to him to halt.

“This is not according to the customs of war,” said he. “The flag of truce may advance, but if it is accompanied, we fire.”

It was evident that the Spaniards never dreamed of our attempting to resist them, for there they stood in line before us, and if we had fired, every shot must have told. The Acadians, who kept themselves all this time snug behind the cotton-trees, called more than once to the captain to withdraw his men into the wood, but he only shook his head contemptuously. When, however, he heard Asa threaten to fire, he looked puzzled, as if he thought it just possible, we might do as we said. He ordered his men to halt and called out to us not to fire till he had explained what they came for.

“Then cut it short,” cried Asa, sternly. “You’d have done better to explain before you burned down our houses, like a pack of Mohawks on the war-path.”

As he spoke three bullets whistled from the edge of the forest and struck the stockades within a few inches of the loophole at which he stood. They were fired by the Creoles, who, although they could not possibly distinguish Asa, had probably seen his rifle barrel glitter through the opening. As soon as they had fired, they sprang behind their trees again, craning their heads forward to hear if there was a groan or a cry. They’d have done better to have kept quiet, for Righteous and I caught sight of them and let fly at the same moment. Two of them fell and rolled from behind the trees, and we saw that they were the Creole called Croupier, and another of our horse-dealing friends.

When the Spanish officer heard the shots, he ran hark to his men and shouted out, “Forward! To the assault!” They came on like mad for a distance of thirty paces and then, as if they thought we were wild geese, to be frightened by their noise, they fired a volley against the blockhouse.

“Now then!” cried Asa. “Are you loaded, Nathan and Righteous? I take the captain—you, Nathan, the lieutenant—Righteous, the third officer—James, the sergeant. Mark your men and waste no powder.”

The Spaniards were still some sixty yards off, but we were sure of our mark at a hundred and sixty—and that if they had been squirrels instead of men. We fired; the captain and lieutenant, the third officer, two sergeants, and another man, writhed for an instant upon the grass. The next moment they stretched themselves out—dead.

All was now confusion among the musketeers, who ran in every direction. Most of them took to the wood, but about a dozen remained and lifted up their officers to see if there was any spark of life left in them.

“Load again—quick!” said Asa, in a low voice. We did so and six more Spaniards tumbled over. Those who still kept their legs ran off as if the soles of their shoes had been of red-hot iron. We set to work to pick out our touch-holes and clean our rifles, knowing that we might not have time later, and that a single misfire might cost us all our lives. We then loaded and began calculating what the Spaniards would do next. It is true they had lost their officers, but there were five Acadians with them and those were the men we had most reason to fear. Meantime, the vultures and turkey buzzards had already begun to assemble and presently hundreds of them were circling and hovering over the carcasses, which they as yet feared to touch.

Just then, Righteous, who had the sharpest eye of us all, pointed to the corner of the wood just yonder, where it joins the bushwood thicket. I made a sign to Asa, and we all looked and saw there was something creeping and moving through the underwood. Presently we distinguished two Acadians heading a score of Spaniards and endeavoring, under cover of the bushes, to steal across the open ground to the east side of the forest.

“The Acadians for you, Nathan and Righteous—the Spaniards for us,” said Asa. The next moment two Acadians and four Spaniards lay bleeding in the brushwood. But the bullets were scarcely out of our rifles when a third Acadian, whom we had not seen, started up.

“Now’s the time,” shouted he, “before they have loaded again. Follow me, we will have their blockhouse yet!”

And he sprang across, followed by the Spaniards. Although we had killed and disabled a score of our enemies, those who remained were more than ten to one of us, and we were even worse off than at first, for then they were altogether, and now we had them on each side of us. But we did not let ourselves be discouraged, although we could not help feeling that the odds against us were fearfully great.

We had now to keep a sharp lookout, for if one of us showed himself at a loophole, a dozen bullets rattled about his ears. There were many shot holes through the palisades, which were covered with white streaks where the splinters had been torn off by the lead. The musketeers had spread themselves all along the edge of the forest and had learned by experience to keep close to their cover. We now and then got a shot at them, and four or five more were killed, but it was slow work and the time seemed very long.

Suddenly the Spaniards set up a loud shout. At first, we could not make out what was the matter, but presently we heard a hissing and crackling on the roof of the blockhouse. They had wrapped tow around their cartridges, and one of the shots had set light to the fir-boards. Just as we found it out, they gave three more hurrahs and we saw the dry planks begin to flame, and the fire to spread.

“We must put that out and at once,” said Asa, “if we don’t wish to be roasted alive. Someone must get up the chimney with a bucket of water. I’ll go myself.”

“Let me go, Asa,” said Righteous.

“You stop here. It don’t matter who goes. The thing will be done in a minute.”

He put a chair on the table and got upon it, seizing a bar which was fixed across the chimney to hang hams upon. He drew himself up by his arms and Rachel handed him a pail of water. All this time the flame was burning brighter and the Spaniards getting louder in their rejoicings and hurrahs. Asa stood upon the bar, and raising the pail above his head, poured the water out of the chimney upon the roof.

“More to the left, Asa,” said Righteous, “the fire is strongest to the left.”

“Tarnation seize it!” cried Asa. “I can’t see. Hand me another pail-ful.”

We did so, and when he had got it, he put his head out at the top of the chimney to see where the fire was and threw the water over the exact spot. But at the very moment that he did, the report of a dozen muskets was heard.

“Ha!” cried Asa, in an altered voice. “I have it.” The hams and bucket came tumbling down the chimney and Asa after them, all covered with blood.

“In God’s name, man, are you hurt?” cried Rachel.

“Hush, wife!” replied Asa. “Keep quiet. I have enough for the rest of my life, which won’t be long, but never mind. Lads, defend yourselves well, and don’t fire two at the same man. Save your lead, for you will want it all. Promise me that.”

“Asa, my beloved Asa!” shrieked Rachel. “If you die, I shall die too.”

“Silence, foolish woman, think of our child and the one yet unborn! Hark! I hear the Spaniards! Defend yourselves—Nathan, be a father to my children.”

I had barely time to press his hand and promise. The Spaniards, who had guessed our loss, rushed like mad wolves up the mound, twenty on one side and thirty or more on the other.

“Steady!” cried I. “Righteous, here with me, and you, Rachel, show yourself worthy to be Hiram Strong’s daughter and Asa’s wife, load this rifle for me while I fire my own.”

“O God! O God!” cried Rachel. “The hellhounds have murdered my Asa!”

She clasped her husband’s body in her arms and there was no getting her away. I felt sad enough myself, but there was scanty time for grieving. For a party of Spaniards, headed by one of the Acadians, was close up to the mound on the side which I was defending. I shot the Acadian but another, the sixth and last but one, took his place.

“Rachel!” cried I. “The rifle, for God’s sake, the rifle! A single bullet may save all our lives.”

But no Rachel came. The Acadian and Spaniards, who from the cessation of our fire guessed that we were either unloaded or had expended our ammunition, now sprang forward, and by climbing, scrabbling, and getting on one another’s shoulders managed to scale the side of the mound, almost perpendicular as it then was. And in a minute the Acadian and half a dozen Spaniards with axes were chopping away at the palisades and severing the wattles which bound them together. To give the devil his due: if there had been three like that Acadian, it would have been all up with us. He handled his axe like a real backwoodsman, but the Spaniards were left wanting of either the skill or the strength of arm and made little impression. There were only Righteous and myself to oppose them, for a dozen more soldiers, with the seventh of those cursed Acadians, were attacking the other side of the stockade.

Righteous shot down one of the Spaniards, but just as he had done so the Acadian tore up a palisade by the roots—how he did it I know not to this hour—and held it with the wattles and branches hanging round it like a shield before him, guarding off a blow I aimed at him, then hurled it against me with such force that I staggered backward and he sprang past me. I thought it was all over with us. It is true that Righteous, with the butt of his rifle, split the skull of the first Spaniard who entered and drove his hunting knife into the next, but the Acadian alone was man enough to give us abundant occupation—now he had got in our rear. Just then there was a crack of a rifle as the Acadian gave a leap into the air and fell dead. At the same moment my son Godsend, a boy ten years old, sprang forward. In his hand Asa’s rifle, still smoking from muzzle and touch-hole. The glorious boy had loaded the piece when he saw that Rachel did not do it, and in the very nick of time had shot the Acadian through the heart. This brought me to myself again, and with axe in one hand and knife in the other, I rushed in among the Spaniards, hacking and hewing right and left. It was a real butchery, which lasted a good quarter of an hour—as it seemed to me—but certainly some minutes until at last the Spaniards got sick of it—and would have done so sooner had they known that their leader was shot. They jumped off the mound and ran away, such of them as were able. Righteous and I put the palisade in its place again, securing it as well as we could, and then telling my boy to keep watch, ran over to the other side, where a desperate fight was going on.

Three of our party, assisted by the women, were defending the stockade against a score of Spaniards who kept poking their bayonets between the palisades, till all our people were wounded and bleeding. But Rachel had now recovered from her first grief at her husband’s death—or rather it had turned to rage and revenge—and there she was like a furious tigress, seizing the bayonets as they were thrust through the stockade and wrenching them off the muskets, and sometimes pulling the muskets themselves out of the soldiers’ hands. But all this struggling had loosened the palisades, and there were one or two openings in them through which the thin-bodied Spaniards, pushed on by their comrades, were able to pass. Just as we came up, two or three of these copper-colored Dons had squeezed themselves through, without their muskets, but with their short sabers in their hands—they are active and dangerous fellows, those Spaniards, in a hand-to-hand tussle. One of them sprang at me, and if it had not been for my hunting knife, I was done for, for I had no room to swing my axe. But as he came on, I dealt him a blow with my fist, which knocked him down, and then ran my knife into him. Jumping over his body, I snatched a musket out of Rachel’s hand and began laying about me with the butt end of it. I was sorry not to have my rifle, which was handier than those heavy Spanish muskets. The women were now in the way—we hadn’t room for so many—so I called out to them to get into the blockhouse and load the rifles. There was still another Acadian alive, and I knew that the fight wouldn’t end till he was one four. But while we were fighting, Godsend and the women loaded the rifles and brought them out, and firing through the stockade, killed three or four. And as luck would have it, the Acadian was one of the numbers. So, when the Spaniards, who are just like hounds—they only come on if led and encouraged—saw their leader had fallen, they sprang off the mound with a “Carajo!Malditos!” and ran away as if a shell had burst among them.

I couldn’t say how long the fight lasted; it seemed short—we were so busy—and yet long, deadly long. It is no joke to have to defend one’s life and the lives of those one loves best against fourscore blood-thirsty Spaniards, and that with only half a dozen rifles for arms and a few palisades for shelter. When it was over, we were so dog-tired that we fell down where we were, like over-driven oxen, and without minding the blood which lay like water on the ground. Seven Spaniards and two Acadians lay dead within the stockade. We ourselves were all wounded and hacked about, some with knife-stabs and saber-cuts, others with musket-shots; ugly wounds enough, but none mortal. If the Spaniards had returned to the attack, they would have made short work of us, for as soon as we left off fighting and our blood cooled, we became stiff and helpless. But now came the women with rags and bandages, washing our wounds and binding them up, and we dragged ourselves to the blockhouse and lay down upon our mattresses of dry leaves. Godsend loaded the rifles and a dozen Spanish muskets that were lying about, to be in readiness for another attack, and the women kept watch while we slept. But the Spaniards had had enough, and we saw no more of them. Only the next morning, when Jonas went down the ladder to reconnoiter, he found thirty dead and dying, and a few wounded who begged hard for a drink of water, their comrades having deserted them. We got them up into the blockhouse and had their wounds dressed, and after a time they were cured and left us.

POE’S DESPERATE ENCOUNTER WITH BIG FOOT

A

bout the middle of July, 1782, seven Wyandottes crossed the Ohio a few miles above Wheeling and committed great depredations upon the southern shore, killing an old man whom they found alone in his cabin and spreading terror throughout the neighborhood. Within a few hours after their retreat, eight men assembled from different parts of the small settlement and pursued the enemy with great expedition. Among the most active and efficient of the party were two brothers, Adam and Andrew Poe. Adam was particularly popular. In strength, action, and hardihood, he had no equal, being finely formed and inured to all the perils of the woods.

They had not followed the trail far before they became satisfied that the depredators were conducted by Big Foot, a renowned chief of the Wyandotte tribe, who derived his name from the immense size of his feet. His height considerably exceeded six feet, and his strength was represented as Herculean. He had also five brothers, but little inferior to himself in size and courage, and as they generally went in company, they were the terror of the whole country. Adam Poe was overjoyed at the idea of measuring his strength with that of so celebrated a chief and urged the pursuit with a keenness that quickly brought him into the vicinity of the enemy.

For the last few miles, the trail had led them up the southern bank of the Ohio, where the footprints in the sand were deep and obvious, but, when within a few hundred yards of the point at which the Whites as well as the Indians were in the habit of crossing, it suddenly diverged from the stream and stretched along a rocky ridge, forming an obtuse angle with its former direction. Here Adam halted for a moment and directed his brother and the other young men to follow the trail with proper caution, while he himself still adhered to the river path, which led through clusters of willows directly to the point where he supposed the enemy to lie. Having examined the priming of his gun, he crept cautiously through the bushes until he had a view of the point of embarkation. Here lay two canoes, empty and apparently deserted. Being satisfied, however, that the Indians were close at hand, he relaxed nothing of his vigilance and quickly gained a jutting cliff, which hung immediately over the canoes.

Hearing a low murmur below, he peered cautiously over and beheld the object of his search. The gigantic Big Foot lay below him in the shade of a willow and was talking in a low deep tone to another warrior, who seemed a mere pigmy by his side. Adam cautiously drew back and cocked his gun. The mark was fair—the distance did not exceed twenty feet—and his aim was unerring. Raising his rifle slowly and cautiously, he took a steady aim at Big Foot’s breast and drew the trigger. His gun flashed. Both Indians sprung to their feet with a deep interjection of surprise, and for a single second all three stared upon each other. This inactivity, however, was soon over. Adam was too much hampered by the bushes to retreat, and setting his life upon a cast of the die, he sprung over the bush that had sheltered him and, summoning all his powers, leaped boldly down the precipice and alighted upon the breast of Big Foot with a shock that bore him to the earth. At the moment of contact, Adam had also thrown his right arm around the neck of the smaller Indian, so that all three came to the earth together.

At that moment a sharp firing was heard among the bushes above, announcing that the other parties were engaged, but the trio below were too busy to attend to anything but themselves. Big Foot was for an instant stunned by the violence of the shock, and Adam was enabled to keep them both down. But the exertion necessary for that purpose was so great, that he had no leisure to use his knife. Big Foot quickly recovered and, without attempting to rise, wrapped his long arms around Adam’s body and pressed him to his breast with the crushing force of a boa constrictor. Adam, as we have already remarked, was a powerful man and had seldom encountered his equal, but never had he yet felt an embrace like that of Big Foot. He instantly relaxed his hold of the small Indian, who sprung to his feet. Big Foot then ordered him to run for his tomahawk, which lay within ten steps, and kill the White man, while he held him in his arms. Adam seeing his danger, struggled manfully to extricate himself from the folds of the giant, but in vain. The lesser Indian approached with his uplifted tomahawk, but Adam watched him closely, and as he was about to strike, gave him a kick so sudden and violent as to knock the tomahawk from his hand and send him staggering back into the water. Big Foot uttered an exclamation in a tone of deep contempt at the failure of his companion and, raising his voice to its highest pitch, thundered out several words in the Indian tongue, which Adam could not understand but supposed to be a direction for second attack. The lesser Indian now again approached, carefully shunning Adam’s heels, and making many motions with his tomahawk, in order to deceive him as to the point where the blow would fall. This lasted for several seconds, until a thundering exclamation from Big Foot compelled his companion to strike.

Such was Adam’s dexterity and vigilance, however, that he managed to receive the tomahawk in a glancing direction upon his left wrist, wounding him deeply but not disabling him. He now made a sudden and desperate effort to free himself from the arms of the giant and succeeded. Instantly snatching up a rifle (for the Indian could not venture to shoot for fear of hurting his companion), he shot the smaller Indian through the body. But scarcely had he done so when Big Foot arose and, placing one hand upon his collar and the other upon his hip, pitched him ten feet into the air, as he himself would have pitched a child. Adam fell upon his back at the edge of the water, but before his antagonist could spring upon him he was again upon his feet, and stung with rage at the idea of being handled so easily, he attacked the gigantic antagonist with a fury that for a time compensated for inferiority of strength. It was now a fair fist fight between them, for in the hurry of the struggle neither had leisure to draw their knives.

Adam’s superior activity and experience as a pugilist gave him great advantage. The Indian struck awkwardly, and finding himself rapidly dropping to leeward, he closed with his antagonist and again, hurled him to the ground. They quickly rolled into the river, and the struggle continued with unabated fury, each attempting to drown the other. The Indian being unused to such violent exertion, and having been much injured by the first shock in his stomach, was unable to exert the same powers which had given him such a decided superiority at first. Adam, seizing him by the scalp lock, put his head under water and held it there, until the faint struggles of the Indian induced him to believe that he was drowned when he relaxed his hold and attempted to draw his knife. The Indian, however, to use Adam’s own expression, “had only been possuming!” He instantly regained his feet, and in his turn put his adversary under.

In the struggle, both were carried out into the current beyond their depth, and each was compelled to relax his hold and swim for his life. There was still one loaded rifle upon the shore, and each swam hard in order to reach it, but the Indian proved the most expert swimmer, and Adam seeing that he should be too late, turned and swam out into the stream, intending to dive and thus frustrate his enemy’s intention. At this instant, Andrew, having heard that his brother was alone in a struggle with two Indians, and in great danger, ran up hastily to the edge of the bank above, in order to assist him. Another White man followed him closely and, seeing Adam in the river, covered with blood, and swimming rapidly from shore, mistook him for an Indian and fired upon him, wounding him dangerously in the shoulder. Adam turned and, seeing his brother, called loudly upon him to “shoot the big Indian upon the shore.” Andrew’s gun, however, was empty, having just been discharged. Fortunately, Big Foot had also seized the gun with which Adam had shot the lesser Indian, so that both were upon an equality.

The contest now was who could load first. Big Foot poured in his powder first, and drawing his ramrod out of its sheath in too great a hurry threw it into the river, and while he ran to recover it, Andrew gained an advantage. Still the Indian was but a second too late, for his gun was at his shoulder, when Andrew’s ball entered his breast. The gun dropped from his hands, and he fell forward upon his face upon the very margin of the river. Andrew, now alarmed for his brother, who was scarcely able to swim, threw down his gun and rushed into the river in order to bring him ashore, but Adam, more intent upon securing the scalp of Big Foot as a trophy than upon his own safety, called loudly on his brother to leave him alone and scalp the big Indian, who was now endeavoring to roll himself into the water, from a romantic desire, peculiar to the Indian warrior, of securing his scalp from the enemy. Andrew, however, refused to obey and insisted upon saving the living, before attending to the dead. Big Foot, in the meantime, had succeeded in reaching the deep water before he expired, and his body was borne off by the waves, without being stripped of the ornament and pride of an Indian warrior.

Not a man of the Indians had escaped. Five of Big Foot’s brothers, the flowers of the Wyandotte nation, had accompanied him in the expedition, and all perished. It is said that the news of this calamity threw the whole tribe into mourning. Their remarkable size, their courage, and their superior intelligence gave them immense influence, which, greatly to their credit, was generally exerted on the side of humanity. Their powerful interposition had saved many prisoners from the stake and had given a milder character to the warfare of the Indians in that part of the country. A chief of the same name was alive in that part of the country so late as 1792, but whether a brother or a son of Big Foot is not known.

Adam Poe recovered of his wounds and lived many years after his memorable conflict, but never forgot the tremendous “hug” that he sustained in the arms of Big Foot.

ADVENTURES OF DANIEL BOONE

I

n 1769, Boone left his family at their home upon the Yadkin river in North Carolina and set out, in company with five others, to explore the country of Kentucky.

On the 7th of June they reached Red River and, from a neighboring eminence, were enabled to survey the vast plain of Kentucky. Here they built a cabin in order to afford them a shelter from the rain which had fallen in immense quantities on their march, and remained in a great measure stationary until December, killing a great quantity of game immediately around them. Immense herds of buffalo ranged through the forest in every direction, feeding upon the leaves of the cane or the rich and spontaneous fields of clover.

On the 22nd of December, Boone and John Stuart, one of his companions, left their encampment and, following one of the numerous paths which the buffalo had made through the cane, they plunged boldly into the interior of the forest. They had as yet seen no Indians, and the country had been reported as totally uninhabited. This was true in a strict sense, for although the southern and northwestern tribes were in the habit of hunting here as upon neutral ground, yet not a single wigwam had been erected, nor did the land bear the slightest mark of having ever been cultivated. The different tribes would fall in with each other, and from the fierce conflicts which generally followed these casual encounters, the country had been known among them by the name of “the dark and bloody ground”! The two adventurers soon learned the additional danger to which they were exposed. While roving carelessly from canebrake to canebrake, and admiring the rank growth of vegetation and the variety of timber which marked the fertility of the soil, they were suddenly alarmed by a party of Indians, who, springing from their place of concealment, rushed upon them with a rapidity which rendered escape impossible.

They were almost immediately seized, disarmed, and made prisoners. Their feelings may be readily imagined. They were in the hands of an enemy who knew no alternative between adoption and torture, and the numbers and fleetness of their captors rendered escape by open means impossible, while their jealous vigilance seemed equally fatal to any secret attempt. Boone, however, was possessed of a temper admirably adapted to the circumstance in which he was placed. Of a cold and saturnine, rather than an ardent disposition, he was never either so much elevated by good fortune or depressed by bad, as to lose for an instant the full possession of all his faculties. He saw that immediate escape was impossible, but he encouraged his companion, and constrained himself, to accompany the Indians in all their excursions, with so calm and contented an air, that their vigilance insensibly began to relax.