of Lake Erie, and joined him at that point. Discouraged by the want of success, and having lost all confidence in General Proctor, Tecumseh seriously meditated a withdrawal from the contest, but was induced to remain.

When Perry's battle was fought, it was witnessed by the Indians from the distant shore. On the day succeeding the engagement, General Proctor said to Tecumseh, "My fleet has whipped the Americans, but the vessels being much injured, have gone into Put-in Bay to refit, and will be here in a few days." This deception, however, upon the Indians was not of long duration. The sagacious eye of Tecumseh soon perceived indications of a retreat from Malden, and he promptly inquired into the matter. General Proctor informed him that he was only going to send their valuable property up the Thames, where it would meet a reinforcement, and be safe. Tecumseh, however, was not to be deceived by this shallow device, and remonstrated most urgently against a retreat. He finally demanded, in the name of all the Indians under his command, to be heard by the general, and, on the 18th of September, delivered to him, as the representative of their great father, the king, the following speech:

Father, listen to your children! you have them now all before you. The war before this, our British father gave the hatchet to his red children, when our old chiefs were alive. They are now dead. In that war our father was thrown on his back by the Americans; and our father took them by the hand without our knowledge; and we are afraid that our father will do so again at this time. Summer before last, when I came forward with my red brethren and was ready to take up the hatchet in favor of our British father, we were told not to be in a hurry, that he had not yet determined to fight the Americans. Listen! when war was declared, our father stood up and gave us the tomahawk, and told us that he was then ready to strike the Americans; that he wanted our assistance, and that he would certainly get our lands back, which the Americans had taken from us. Listen! you told us at that time, to bring forward our families to this place, and we did so; and you promised to take care of them, and they should want for nothing, while the men would go and fight the enemy; that we need not trouble ourselves about the enemy's garrisons; that we knew nothing about them, and that our father would attend to that part of the business. You also told your red children that you would take good care of your garrison here, which made our hearts glad. Listen! when we were last at the Rapids, it is true, we gave you little assistance. It is hard to fight people who live like ground hogs. Father, listen! our feet has gone out; we know they have fought; we have heard the great guns; but we know nothing of what has happened to our father (Commodore Barclay), with one arm.

Our ships have gone one way, and we are much astonished to see our father tying up everything and preparing to run away

the other, without letting his red children know what his intentions are. You always told us to remain here and take care of our lands; it made our hearts glad to hear that was your wish. Our great father, the king, is the head, and you represent him. You always told us you would never draw your foot off British ground; but now, father, we see that you are drawing back, and we are sorry to see our father doing so without seeing the enemy. We must compare our father's conduct to a fat dog, that carries his tail on its back, but when affrighted, drops it between its legs and runs off. Father, listen! the Americans have not yet defeated us by land; neither are we sure that they have done so by water; we, therefore, wish to remain here and fight our enemy should they make their appearance. If they defeat us, we will then retreat with our father. At the battle of the Rapids, last war, the Americans certainly defeated us; and when we returned to our father's fort at that place, the gates were shut against us. We were afraid that it would now be the case; but instead of that, we now see our British father preparing to march out of his garrison. Father, you have got the arms and ammunition which our great father sent his red children. If you have an idea of going away, give them to us, and you may go, and welcome, for us. Our lives are in the hands of the Great Spirit. We are determined to defend our lands, and if it be his will, we wish to leave our bones upon them.

Tecumseh entered the battle of the Thames with a strong conviction that he should not survive it. Further flight he deemed disgraceful, while the hope of victory in the impending action was feeble and distant. He, however, heroically resolved to achieve the latter or die in the effort. With this determination he took his stand among his followers, raised the war-cry, and boldly met the enemy. From the commencement of the attack on the Indian line, his voice was distinctly heard by his followers, animating them to deeds worthy of the race to which they belonged. When that well known voice was heard no longer above the din of arms the battle ceased. The British troops having already surrendered and the gallant leader of the Indians having fallen, they gave up the contest and fled. A short distance from where Tecumseh fell, the body of his friend and brother-in-law, Wasegoboah, was found. They had often fought side by side, and now, in front of their men, bravely battling the enemy, they side by side closed their mortal

career.

Thus fell the Indian warrior Tecumseh, in the forty-fourth year of his age. He was of the Shawanee tribe, five feet ten inches high, and with more than the usual stoutness, possessed all the agility and perseverance of the Indian character. His carriage was dignified, his eye penetrating, his countenance, which even in death betrayed the indications of a lofty spirit, rather of a sterner cast. Had he not possessed a certain austerity of manners, he could never have controlled the wayward passions of those who

followed him to battle. He was of a silent habit, but when his eloquence became roused into action by the reiterated encroachments of the Americans, his strong intellect could supply him with a flow of oratory that enabled him, as he governed in the field, so to prescribe in the council.

KENTUCKY SPORTS.

WE have individuals in Kentucky that, even there, are considered wonderful adepts in the management of the rifle. Having resided some years in Kentucky, and having more than once been witness of rifle sport, I shall present the results of my observation, leaving the reader to judge how far rifle shooting is understood in that State.

Several individuals who conceive themselves adepts in the management of the rifle are often seen to meet for the purpose of displaying their skill; and betting a trifling sum, put up a target, in the center of which a common sized nail is hammered for about two-thirds its length. The marksman makes choice of what they consider a proper distance, and which may be forty paces. Each man cleans the interior of his tube, which is called wiping it, places a ball in the palm of his hand, pouring as much powder from his horn as will cover it. This quantity is supposed to be sufficient for any distance short of a hundred yards. A shot which comes very close to the nail is considered that of an indifferent marksman; the bending of the nail is of course somewhat better; but nothing less than hitting it right on the head is satisfactory. One out of the three shots generally hits the nail, and should the shooters amount to half-a-dozen, two nails are frequently needed before each can have a shot. Those who drive the nail have a further trial among themselves, and the two best shots out of these generally settle the affair, when all the sportsmen adjourn to some house and spend an hour or two in friendly intercourse, appointing before they part a day for another trial. This is technically termed "driving the nail."

Barking of squirrels is delightful sport, and in my opinion, requires a greater degree of accuracy than any other. I first witnessed this manner of procuring squirrels while near the town of Frankfort. The performer was the celebrated Daniel Boone. We walked out together and followed the rocky margins of the Kentucky River, until we reached a piece of flat land, thickly covered with black walnuts, oaks, and hickories. As the general mast was a good one that year, squirrels were seen gamboling on every tree around us. My companion, a stout, hale, athletic man, dressed in a homespun hunting-shirt, bare legged and moccasined, carried a long and heavy rifle, which, as he was loading it, he said had proved efficient in all of his former undertakings, and which he

hoped would not fail on this occasion, as he felt proud to show me his skill. The gun was wiped, the powder measured, the ball patched with six hundred thread linen, and a charge sent home with a hickory rod. We moved not a step from the place, for the squirrels were so thick that it was unnecessary to go after them. Boone pointed to one of these animals, which had observed us and was crouched on a tree about fifty paces distant, and bade me mark well where the ball should hit. He raised his piece gradually until the bead or sight of the barrel was brought to a line with the spot he intended to hit. The whiplike report resounded through the woods and along the hills in repeated echoes. Judge of my surprise, when I perceived that the ball had hit the piece of bark immediately underneath the squirrel and shivered it into splinters; the concussion produced by which had killed the animal and sent it whirling through the air, as if it had been blown up by the explosion of a powder magazine. Boone kept up his firing, and before many hours had elapsed, we had procured as many squirrels as we wished. Since that first interview with the veteran Boone, I have seen many other individuals perform the same feat.

The snuffing of a candle with a ball, I first had an opportunity of seeing near the banks of Green River, not far from a large pigeon roost, to which I had previously made a visit. I had heard many reports of guns during the early part of a dark night, and knowing them to be those of rifles, I went forward toward the spot to ascertain the cause. On reaching the place I was welcomed by a dozen tall, stout men, who told me they were exercising for the purpose of enabling them to shoot under night at the reflected light from the eyes of a deer or wolf by torchlight. A fire was blazing near, the smoke of which rose curling among the thick foliage of the trees. At a distance which rendered it scarcely distinguishable, stood a burning candle, but which in reality was only fifty yards from the spot on which we all stood. One man was within a few yards of it to watch the effect of the shots, as well as to light the candle should it chance to go out, or to replace it should the shot cut it across. Each marksman shot in his turn. Some never hit either the snuff or the candle, and were congratulated with a loud laugh; while others actually snuffed the candle without putting it out, and were recompensed for their dexterity with numerous hurralis. One of them, who was particularly expert, was very fortunate, and snuffed the candle three times out of seven, while all the other shots either put out the candle or cut it immediately under the light.

Of the feats performed by the Kentuckians with the rifle, I might say more than might be expedient on the present occasion. By way of recreation they often cut off a piece of the bark of a tree, make a target of it, using a little powder wetted with water or saliva for the bull's-eye, and shoot into the mark all the balls they have about them, picking them out of the wood again.

THE WESTERN BOATMEN.

JUST previous to the beginning of the present century, after the settlements had become more dense on the Monongahela and on the Ohio, a new class sprung up in the West whose life was unique. This was the class of boatmen. These were a hardy, fearless set of men, who always kept just in advance of civilization and luxury. Many of them at first, had been engaged in the border wars with the Indians, were bred from infancy amid dangers and experienced in all the practices and arts in the life of a woodsman.

The boatmen were courageous, athletic, persevering, and patient of privations. They traversed in their pirogues, barges, or keels, the longest rivers, penetrated the most remote wilderness upon their watery routes, and kept up a trade and intercourse between the most distant points. Accustomed to every species of exposure and privation, they despised ease and luxury. Clothed in the costume of the wilderness, and armed in western style, they were always ready to exchange the labors of the oar for offensive or defensive war. Exposed to the double force of the direct and reflected rays of the sun upon the water, their complexion was swarthy, and often but little fairer than the Indians. Often from an exposure of their bodies without shirts, their complexion from the head to the waist was the same.

Their toils, dangers, and exposures, and moving accidents of their long and perilous voyages, were measurably hidden from the inhabitants who contemplated the boats floating by their dwellings on beautiful spring mornings, when the verdant forest, the mild and delicious temperature of the air, the delightful azure sky, the fine bottom on the one hand, and the rolling bluff on the other, the broad smooth stream rolling calmly down the forest, and floating the boat gently forward, present delightful images to the beholders. At such times there was no visible danger, or call for labor. The boat took care of itself; and little would the beholders imagine, how different a scene might have been presented in half an hour. Meantime one of the hands scraped a violin and others danced. Greetings, or rude defiances, or trials of art, or proffers of love to the girls on shore, or saucy messages were scattered between them and the spectators along the banks. The boat glided on until it disappeared behind a point of wood. At that moment, perhaps, the bugle with which all boats were provided, struck up its notes in the distance, over the water. Those scenes and those notes, echoing from the bluffs of the beautiful Ohio, had a charm for the imagination which, although heard a thousand times, at all hours, and in all positions, presented to even the most unromantic spectator the image of a tempting and charming youthful existence, that almost inspired in his breast the wish that he too were a boatman.

No wonder that the young, who were reared in the then remote regions of the West, on the banks of the great stream, with that