the blade through his heart. He said the Indian gave a short quiver, and a convulsive motion, and laid still in death's eternal sleep. He then scalped him, and set off for home. He arrived at the Mingo Bottom only one day after his unsuccessful companions.

One more of Lewis Whetzel's tragedies, and we are done. He set off alone (as was frequently his custom) on an Indian hunt. It was late in the fall of the year, when the Indians were generally scattered in small parties on their hunting-grounds. He proceeded somewhere on the waters of the Muskingum River, and found a camp where four Indians had fixed their quarters for a winter hunt. The Indians, unsuspicious of any enemies prowling about them so late in the season, were completely off their guard, keeping neither watch nor sentinels. Whetzel at first hesitated about the propriety of attacking such overwhelming numbers. After some reflection, he concluded to trust to his usual good fortune, and began to meditate upon his plan of attack. He concluded their first sleep would be the fittest time for him to commence the work of death. About midnight, he thought their senses would be the most profoundly wrapped in sleep. He determined to walk to the camp, with his rifle in one hand, and his tomahawk in the other. If any of them should happen to be awake, he could shoot one, and then run off in the darkness of the night, and make his escape; should they be all asleep, he would make the onset with his trusty scalping-knife and tomahawk. Now, reader, imagine that you see him gliding through the darkness, with the silent, noiseless motion of an unearthly demon, seeking mischief, and the keen glance of the fabled Argus, and then you can imagine to your mind Whetzel's silent and stealthy approach upon his sleeping enemies. On he went to the camp, the fire burning dimly, but affording sufficient light to distinguish the forms of his sleeping victims. With calm intrepidity he stood a moment, reflecting on the best plan to make the desperate assault. He set his rifle against a tree, determined to use only his knife and tomahawk; as these would not miss their aim, if properly handled with a well strung arm. What a thrilling, horrible sight! See him leaning forward, with cool self-possession and eager vengeance, as if he had been the minister of death; he stands a moment, then wielding his tomahawk, with the first blow leaves one of them in death's eternal sleep. As quick as lightning, and with tremendous yells, he applies the tomaliawk to the second Indian's head, and sent his soul to the land of spirits. As the third was rising, confounded and confused with the unexpected attack, at two blows he fell lifeless to the ground. The fourth darted off, naked as he was, to the woods. Whetzel pursued him some distance, but finally he made his escape.

HEROISM OF THE PIONEER WOMEN.

THE early annals of the western country abound in anecdotes illustrating fortitude under suffering, and heroism in circumstances of peril among the wives and mothers of the early pioneers. Their nerves became strengthened by the trials which they were obliged to undergo, and their minds inured to danger by their constant peril from a savage enemy. Many were the instances in which, when their cabins were attacked by the savages, they displayed a wonderful courage and presence of mind. Had the places of the four thousand Mexicans who, at the battle of Sacramento, were defeated by the Missouri Regiment, of eight hundred and fifty-six men, under Doniphan, been occupied by a tithe of their number of such females, that victory would not have been effected with so small a loss to the conquerors as one killed, one mortally and seven slightly wounded; nor would many of the other battles of that war, which covered our arms "with glory," have been so easily won had the enemy been animated by the spirit and courage of the strong armed and strong nerved pioneer women of the West. Among the many incidents illustrative of this subject we subjoin the following:

Some time in the year 1785 or '6, Mrs. Woods, a young married female who lived near the Crab Orchard settlement in Kentucky, happening early one morning, on the absence of her husband, to be in a field near her cabin, discovered a party of Indians making toward it. She ran, and reached it before all but one, who was so far ahead of the others that before she could close and fasten the door he entered. Instantly he was seized by a lame negro man of the family, and in the scuffle the negro fell underneath, upon which Mrs. Woods seized an ax which was under the bed and dispatched the Indian. The other Indians, who, in the meantime, were endeavoring to break open the door with their tomahawks, were soon driven off by a party of men coming to their rescue.

Early one morning, in August of 1782, Samuel Daviess, a settler at Gilmer's Lick, Kentucky, having stepped a few paces from his cabin, was suddenly surprised by an Indian appearing between him and the door with an uplifted tomahawk, almost within striking distance; and, in a moment after, he perceived that four other Indians had just entered his dwelling. Being entirely unarmed, he made for an adjacent cornfield, closely pursued by the first Indian. He, however, eluded the savage, and ran with the utmost speed to the nearest station, five miles distant, and raised a party to pursue the enemy, whom it was ascertained, on visiting the cabin, had taken off the whole family captive. They followed in their trail, and, by nine o'clock in the forenoon, had rescued the whole family, without the loss of a single life. Mrs. Daviess then related the following account of the manner in which the Indians had acted.

A few minutes after her husband had opened the door and

stepped out of the house, four Indians rushed in, while the fifth, as she afterward found out, was in pursuit of her husband. Herself and children were in bed when the Indians entered the house. One of the Indians immediately made signs, by which she understood him to inquire how far it was to the next house. With an unusual presence of mind, knowing how important it would be to make the distance as far as possible, she raised both her hands, first counting the fingers of one, then of the other-making a distance of eight miles. The Indian then signed to her that she must rise; she immediately got up, and as soon as she could dress herself, commenced showing the Indians one article of clothing after another, which pleased them very much; and in that way, delayed them at the house nearly two hours. In the meantime, the Indian who had been in pursuit of her husband returned with his hands. stained with poke-berries, which he held up, and with some violent gestures, and waving of his tomahawk, attempted to induce the belief, that the stain on his hands was the blood of her husband, and that he had killed him. She was enabled at once to discover the deception, and instead of producing any alarm on her part, she was satisfied that her husband had escaped uninjured. After the savages had plundered the house of everything that they could conveniently carry off with them, they started, taking Mrs. Daviess and her children, seven in number, as prisoners along with them. Some of the children were too young to travel as fast as the Indians wished, and discovering, as she believed, their intention to kill such of them as could not conveniently travel, she made the two oldest boys carry them on their backs.

The annexed anecdote further illustrates her heroic character. Mrs. Daviess was a woman of cool, deliberate courage, and accustomed to handle the gun so that she could shoot well, as many of the women were in the habit of doing in those days. She had contemplated, as a last resort, that if not rescued in the course of the day, when night came and the Indians had fallen asleep, she would rescue herself and children by killing as many of the Indians as she could-thinking that, in a night attack, as many of them as remained would most probably run off. Such an attempt would now seem a species of madness; but to those who were acquainted with Mrs. Daviess, little doubt was entertained that, if the attempt had been made, it would have proved successful.

Kentucky, in its early days, like most new countries, was occasionally troubled with men of abandoned character, who lived by stealing the property of others, and after committing their depredations, retired to their hiding-places, thereby eluding the operation of the law. One of these marauders, a man of desperate character, who had committed extensive thefts from Mr. Daviess, as well as from his neighbors, was pursued by Daviess and a party whose property he had taken, in order to bring him to justice. While the party were in pursuit, the suspected individual, not knowing

any one was pursuing him, came to the house of Daviess, armed with his gun and tomahawk-no person being at home but Mrs. Daviess and her children. After he had stepped into the house, Mrs. Daviess asked him if he would drink something, and having set a bottle of whisky on the table, requested him to help himself. The fellow not suspecting any danger, set his gun up by the door, and while drinking, Mrs. Daviess picked up his gun, and placing herself in the door, had the gun cocked and leveled upon him by the time he turned round, and in a peremptory manner ordered him to take a seat or she would shoot him. Struck with terror and alarm, he asked what he had done. She told him he had stolen her husband's property, and that she intended to take care of him herself. In that condition she held him a prisoner until the party of men returned and took him into their possession.

In the year 1786, about twenty young persons of both sexes were in a field pulling flax, in the vicinity of a fort on Green River, Kentucky, when they were fired on by a party of Indians in ambush. They instantly retreated toward the fort, hotly pursued by the savages. Among them were two married women who had gone out to make them a visit, one of whom had taken with her a young child about eighteen months old. The older o the two mothers, recollecting in her flight that the younger, a small and feeble woman, was burdened with her child, turned back in the face of the enemy, they firing and yelling hideously, took the child from its mother and ran with it to the fort, nearly a quarter of a mile distant. During the chase she was twice shot at with rifles, when the enemy was so near that the powder burned her, and one arrow passed throw her sleeve, but she escaped uninjured.

On the 24th of December, 1791, a small party of Indians attacked the dwelling-house of Mr. John Merrill, in Nelson county, Kentucky. Mr. Merrill, who was first alarmed by the barking of his dog, opened the door to discover the cause, when he received the fire of seven or eight Indians, by which his leg and arm were broken. The Indians then attempted to enter the house, but were prevented by the door being closed by Mrs. Merrill and her daughter. The Indians having succeeded in hewing away a part of the door, one of them attempted to enter, but the heroic mother, in the midst of her screaming children and groaning husband, seized au ax and gave the savage a fatal blow, after which she hauled him through the passage into the house. The others, unconscious of the fate of their companion, and supposing that they had now nearly succeeding in their object, rushed forward, four of whom Mrs. Merrill in like manner dispatched before the others

discovered their mistake.

The remaining Indians after retiring a few moments, returned and renewed their efforts to enter the house. Despairing of succeeding at the door, they attempted to descend the chimney, upon which Mr. Merrill directed his little son to empty the contents of a feather bed upon the fire. The smoke and heat suddenly brought

down two of the enemy. Mr. Merrill, at this critical moment, exerting every faculty, seized a billet of wood and dispatched the two half-smothered Indians. In the meantime his heroic wife was busily engaged in defending the door against the efforts of the only remaining savage, whom she so severely wounded with the ax that he was soon glad to retire.

A prisoner, who escaped from the enemy soon after the transaction, stated that the wounded savage was the only one that escaped of his party, which consisted of eight; that on his return, being asked by the prisoner "what news?" he answered, "bad news for poor Indian; me lose a son, me lose a broder; the squaws have taken the breech clout, and fight worse than the "Long Knives." Even children, in the early settlement of the West, not unfrequently performed acts of heroism when brought in collision with the savages. Among the anecdotes on this point often related is that of the two Johnson boys, who in the fall of 1788, killed two Indians near the site of Steubenville. The younger of these, Henry, is, or was lately residing in Monroe county, Ohio, where we made his acquaintance in the spring of 1846. We found him a fine specimen of the fast vanishing race of Indian hunters-tall and erect, with the bearing of a genuine backwoodsman.

These two little fellows, the one nine and the other twelve years of age, were surprised and taken captive in the woods by two Indians, disguised in the dress of white men. At night, when the Indians were asleep, one took a rifle and the other a tomahawk and simultaneously killed their captors, and then escaped to their

homes.

THE INDIAN SUMMER.

As connected with the history of the Indian wars of the western country, it may not be amiss to give an explanation of the term "Indian Summer."

This expression, like many others, has continued in general use, notwithstanding its original import has been forgotten. A backwoodsman seldom hears this expression without feeling a chill of horror, because it brings to his mind the painful recollection of its original application. Such is the force of the faculty of association in human nature.

The reader must here be reminded that, during the long-continued Indian wars, sustained by the first settlers of the western country, they enjoyed no peace excepting in the winter season, when, owing to the severity of the weather, the Indians were una ble to make their excursions into the settlements. The onset of winter was therefore hailed as a jubilee, by the early inhabitants of the country, who, throughout the spring and the early part of the fall, had been cooped up in their little uncomfortable forts, and subjected to all the distresses of the Indian war.