Newspaper Page Text
.uj'iiiiSEii.EiHTOii.; % aalffM f ommli-leMcii to politics, Ecligimi anil Mumiiluu. 'terms,a™.
VOLUME I.
THE
INDEPENDENT TRESS.
Publish'd every Tuesday morning.
TEEMS.
i W 0 DOLLARS per aumim ; —m advance to all not
raiding in the County.
Rates of Advertising. — Legal advertisements
inserted on the following terms:
letters of Citation, $2 50
Xothv la Dobtors'and Cnilitors, 3 00
V’lplieation for leave to sell laud or negroes, l 00
Sale of Personal Property,, by Executors,
Administrators or Ouafdhtils, It 50
%!<* of Lands or Jsegroes. by same, 5 00
wplieation for Letters of Dismission, 4 50
Yearly Advertisements— Professional and
• cards, measuring twelve lines or less, will be
i. sorted at Twelve Dollars.
• ulier Advertisements will be charged $1 00 for
• > ry twilve lines or less, for first insertion, and 50
-f. r every weekly continuance'.
Advertisements, tier having the number of inser
; - marked upon the n, will be published till turbid
.aid charged accordingly.
Vnihinfss CL arils.
J. A. TURNER,
ATTORNEY AT LAW, Eatonton, Ga.
RICHARD T. DAVIS,
ATTORNEY AT LAW, Eatonton, Ga. Otliee over
\ till MiittT S btOl'fc .
, • s. DUSENRERRY, Tailor, Eatonton, Ga
. ' o 5:.,.p up stairs adjoining the Printing Office.
U i- warrant to please all who may wish a late raid
: .s humble- style of dress.
April, IS, 1854. lit.
\\T A. DAVIS, Wholesale, and Retail Grocer:
* \ , hells heavy goods and produce on Gounnis
a. East comer ‘Jefferson St., Eatonton, Ga.
April is, ls.Vl. ts.
COURT CALENDAR FOR 1854.
REVISED BY THE SOUTHERN RECORDER.
SUPERIOR COURTS.
JANUARY.
_ 1 Monday. Chatham
1 tli Monday. Richmond
FEBRUARY.
! t Monday, Clark
. rd Monday, Campbell
Walton
-it!, Monday, Baldwin
Jackson
Monroe
Marion
Meriwether
Slimier
Taliaferro
MARCH
: Monday. Coweta !
ihattooca
Madison
Morgan,
, Parading
.donday, Lutts
i lass
' Irawtbrd
id her t
Greeno
Gwinnett
Harris
Polk
2 .1 Monday, Cobb
Favette
Hall
'Putnam
Tvvigg3
Talbot
Columbia
Hart
.-1 Thursday, Bulloch
Monday ■‘iter. Effingham
•ith Monday, Gordon
Macon
Newton
Washington
Wilkes
Clay
APRIL
1.-t Monday, CherfJHWJe
Randolph
Murray
r Pike
I Warren
Wilkinson
Camden
Taylor
Thursday alter, Rabun
Friday after, Wayne
2d Monday, Forsvth
Whitfield
Dooly
Glynn
Habersham
Hancock
Montgomery
Laurens
Thursday alter, Mclntosh
and Tattnall
I 3d Monday, Lumpkin
Worth *
Franklin
Stewart
Early
Henry
Jones
Liberty
< tglethrono
Pulaski
Emanuel
Thursday after, Bryan
4th Monday, Union
Decatur
Dekalb
Houston
Jasper
Lincoln
Scriven
Telfair
Catoosa
Thursday after, lr-.vin
‘ MAY
1 st Monday,
Kinehafoonee
Fannin
J lean!
% Walker
Upson
2d Monday, Bibb
Gilmer
Cha'aTooehee
Baker
Chatham
Dade
3d Monday. Spalding
Pickens
Burke
Calhoun
Troup
4 ih Monday Thomas
Dougherty
E oyd
Monday ; ,-itier Lowndes,
Mondav- af Lowndes.
Clinch
Thursday after Clinch,
Ware.
Monday after Ware,
Appling.
Wednesday after,
Chariton.
Friday after,
Coffee.
JUNE.
in Monday, Jefferson
2d Monday,
me
Carroll J
to Ist and- J
a airs.
| The Siletit Hunter.
! /
A Deeply Interesting Narrative.
T /
The narrative ansuing is strictly his
torical and trutlmil. We are indebted
to tlie pen of the hunter naturalist,
: Webber, for it. /
Shortly befora the American War of
| Independence, there arrived in New
England an Orphan called Bill Smith.
Some friends off his parents took an in
terest in him,/and apprenticed him—
though only eight years of age—to an
old farmer in fsorth Carolina. The In
dentures stipulated that he was to have,
. besides sufTieiant food and clothing,'rea
f sonable opportunities for education ; but
Sanders, the yeoman, though this all fol
ly, and all Bill learned, was in spite of
his prejudice!-. There was a little daugh
ter of the oil farmer’s however —Mattie,
a blue eyed/child with golden ringlets
and dimpleil lace —who took a fancy to
instruct the/young alien that had come
under her Mather’s roof. He learned to
read arid t(l write, and soon became so
proficient In both, that lie began in turn
to teach hit tutor.
: -ith Monday, Richmond
Muscogee
AUGUST.
1 ‘2d Monday, Clark
lit! Mondav, Campbell
Walton
•Ith Monday,
Monroe
Taliaferro
Marion
Baldwin
Jackson
Meriwether i
Sumter.
SEPTEMBER
Ist Monday, Paulding
Coweta
Madison
• Chattooga
Morgan
2d Monday, Polk
Cass
Crawford
Butts
Elbert
Greene • \
Gwinnett
Harris
3d Monday, Cobb
Twiggs
Favette
Hall
Putnam
Talbot
Columbia
Hart
4th Monday, Gordon
Newton
Macoti
Washington
Wilkes
Clay-
Last Thursday, Rabun
OCIt)BER.
Jit M^ilU 1 * Cherokee
This jlleasant exchange of mutual
kindness treat on till the children grew
up: Mattie was a blooming girl, uncon
sciously Jbetrothed in the spring time of
her life tfo the orphan youth who had
been perpetually by her side. The far
mer discovered this, and immediately
began tm punish Smith by a series of pet
ty and I abominable persecutions. He
made liim sleep in a barn, on a pile of
hay, with only one tattered blanket to
cover mini, ana cut him off from all the
consolations of little Mattie’s love. He
was rifch, and hated any one who ap
peared to aim at being the heir to his
%tujFie. He jealously watched his
ylmefhter, and tortured poor Bill by
e/ery kind of cruelty, till his behaviour
l‘came notorious, and some humane
j usori.s resolved to summon him before
i court of justice for barbarity and nea
; let of duty.
FClte-
Murray \ I
Randolph 1
Warren
Wilkinson
Taylor
Tuesday alter. Pike
2d Monday, Forsyth
Whitfield
Dooly
Hancock
Montgomery
Laurens
Thrsuday alter, Tattnall
3d Monday, Lumpkin
Worth
Franklin
Early
Henry
Stetvart
Emanuel i
J ones
Oglethropo j
Pulaski
4th Monday, Union
Decatur
De-Kalb
Houston
Jasper
Lincoln
Scriven
Telfair
Catoosa
j Thursday after. Irwin
Bulloch f
| Monday after, Effingham
NOVEMBER
Ist Monday,
Kinehafoonee
Fannin
Heard
Walker
Upson I
Ist Tuesday, Bulloch i j
2d Monday, Bibb I
Gilmer
Baker j
Jefferson j
Dade
Oh Monday, Spalding f
Dickens j
Burke
Camden
Calhoun !
Troup j
Friday after, Wayne j
4th Monday, Glynn j
Thomas j
Daughter/
Floyd j
Thursday after, '
Mclntosh j
Monday after, Lo wades
and Liberty
Thursday after, Bryan
Monday after Lowndes,
Clinch.
Thursday after Clinch,
Ware.
Monday alter Wjarc,
Applinp j
Thursday alter ! I
Ciuidtfjm !
Friday after, Gogol
"DECEMBER. j
2d Monday, Lre
Canjoll
4th Monday, j Mqeoogee
FOR TIIE IXnmkVDE.T PRESS.
Resolutions or flic .Massachusetts
Colored . line'leans.
llrnlb dat Missis Hanot Stowe,
Is uot do Angel dat you know
Wo colored darkies tiik she be,
Bclbre she go across do sea; *
Because, you see, she promise dat
We niggers should be berry tat,
In common schools and eddication,
But she decoib us like d,e nation.
Resotb she’s got to be too Stingy
To help wo darkies, ’cade we’s dingy,
And habou't got do skin dat’s white,
Dough some oh us be berry bright.
For all deso lings wo berry sorry,
Because de money we must bony,
To build our schools for elevation,
And thus improve ourisitewation.
AYe does not link Aunt Harriot’s heart
As good as T.was, dough she be smart —
She berry good to write log-cabins,
But den she hold oil to de grabbins,
And gib we colored darkies none—
She fust take care ejb Number One;
Miss Harriet lub liarself for true,
But debit she carol for Number Two.
, I Before this was done, however, the
-IJfphan boy had formed a plan of rim
ing away. He made up his little bun
fle, and one night creeping into Mattie’s
Dorn at the window, bade her a gentle
jood-bye. He embraced her and kiss
«i her, and told her lie would come
ack a great man, and make her his
:ife ; and she said, " I’ll wait for you.”
Io ran all night along the highway, and
amenext morning to the settlement of
ialeigh. There he lived for sometime.
Io prowled about the kitchen of the
gentry by day, subsisting on the scraps
ihieh some kind-hearted slaves bestow
'd on him, and when it was dark crawl
'd into some shed to sleep.
It happened that Judge Campbell—a
very humane man, was then presiding
in the circuit court. He found Bill
Smith one morning among his horses
j and cattle, half dead with hunger and
cold. lie took him into his house, fed
him, learned his story, and began to con
sider how this inhuman monster ought
be punished. Great, therefore, was his
delight, when on looking over the list
of causes to be tried before him in that
circuit, the very first was “ Common
wealth vs Samuel Sanders, for abducting,
murdering, or otherwise unlawfully
making away with an indentured male
child, known as William Smith.”
The trial came on. Judge Campbell
compelled the strictest scrutiny into the
facts. Sanders’s counsel was startled,
cowed, almost hopeless. The winding
up was near. All felt the verdict
must be “guilty.”
Suddenly there was a commotion in
Court. Carriage wheels were heard rap
idly nearing the place. The Sheriff
came in, and with Ipm was the boy, still
attenuated from suffering, but, uteatly
clothed, and with the bloom of life re
viving on his cheek. Old Sanders was
carried from the dock in convulsions —
his shrieks being heard till the prison
doors were closed upon him. lie was
acquitted, but compelled to give securi
ty for the maintenance and education of
Bill Smith till the age of eighteen.
That was the first public scene in Bill
Smith's career. AThe next was when, us
aneioqueut lawyer, he pleaded his lirst
cause at the bar. lie delivered many after
jt, and gradually rose to great honors,
wealth and prosperity, Mattie b-f-mu'
EATONTON, TUESDAY, MAY 16, 1854.
his wife, and their home was blessed
with sons and daughters, till, when the
Declaration of Independence was* made,
men knew no happier family than that
of William Smith. He was generous
and he was charitable, but nevriheless
one of the most opulent men in the pro
vince, for hi? was prudent and economi
cal.
When, however, the war of liberty
broke out, his treasures flowed like wa
ter so support Washington in his tre
mendous campaigns. Mattie did not
repine when she saw their riches melt
ing away in the fever of that glorious
cause. “Let the gold go,” said she;
and the gold did go, and when America
was* free it was all gone, and "William
Smith found himself a beggftr! But he
was not sorrowful; for over the Allega
ny mountains was the country of Ken
tucky—beautiful soil and timber, and
water and game abounding. There
they might settle, and thither many
were going who had lost their posses
sions in that terrible but sacred war.
In the spring of 1784, fifty emigrants
assembled at Powell’s, on the frontiers of
the colony. They were to journey in
company of the mountaineers, for mu
tual defence, for the swarthy tribes of
Indians still hovered over the regions,
revenging on the white man that long
Iliad of calamities which had fallen on
their race.
The caravan went forward. It pas
sed thro’ a wild territory, among moun
tains and defiles, with the shaggy forests
still throwing their primeval shadows
over the slopes. At a distance there
was known to be a .settlement where
provisions might be obtained. Smith
with a small party went in advance to
bring back supplies for the rest. He
was six days awav. The remainder had
promised to wait his return in a seques
tered little valley. To that lie came with
his companions. There were traces of
the camp, and marks of conflict-, but no
living being stirred there—no voice
could be heard, no welcome of the dear
ones lie had left. A. confused and bro
ken trail showed that the emigrants were
in full retreat for the Clinch river, to re
gain the more populous district they had
quitted. Smith hurried after them.
“Where is my wife —where are ray
children ?” he asked of the first straggler
he came up to. “You will find, them
where you left them. Ask the Siiaw
nees, they can tell you the rest."
“You have neglected your trust —
they are. murdered,” said. Smith, in a
stern and deliberete, yet trembling voice.
And yet you are retreating, you cow
ards !” lie added, and struck the man to
the ground. He .then turned back, rode
alone to the abandoned camp in the val
ley, and there in the evening lie was
found, "looking with tearless eyes, but a
countenance more mournful than weep
ing could make it, on the lost and loved
Mattie and her children.
Smith with his own hands dug their
graves —with his own hands he laid
them side by side ; the first-born on the
mother’s right hand, her youngest on
her bosom, where it had lain and nes
tled so long. And then he stood for a
few moments looking upon this last
couch made for their earthly rest, and
filled the grave, and piled stones to mark
the spot, and bade adieu forever to that,
love in which his heart had made its
home. His comrades were standing
around in silence. They expected that
when he had finished he would follow
them. But ho walked about the camp
and found where the Indians had come
and gone. Then he shouldered his rifle,
and speaking no farewell, disappeared
on the trail of the Shawnees.
From that hour a strange mystery
sprung up among those mountains. —
There was known to dwell on them a
lonely hunter—a white man, who was
seen occasionally by the 1 iidians, or some
solitary trapper, always with a rifle in
hand, but perpetually silent, never speak
ing one word to any. If he was addres
sed. he retreated into the woods. Grad
ually lie was lost sight of altogether, ex
cept to Daniel Boone, that far famed
hunter whose name is familiar over the
whole continent of America. Daniel
Boone was believed to have had fre
quent interviews with him, and to sup
ply him with powder and ball, but he
never spoke of him and only replied to
questions by shaking his head and touch
ing his brow with his finger.
This had gone on for two years, and
men had almost forgotten Bill Smith. —
But at the end of that time a Shawnee
Indian was taken prisoner by the people
of Boone’s iifrt, and he once More re
vived the excitement as to the mystery
of the Silent II uuter. He said that a
terrible spirit had for two years haunted
the war path of the Shawnees —an evil
demon, whose sight was appalling to
their nation. More than thirty of their
best braves had already fallen under
his hand. The fearful Medicine man
was sent, they believed, to punish them
for some portentous sin. So dreadful
had lie become, that the tribe had met,
and had nearly determined to quit for
ever their ancient limiting grounds in
Kentucky. When asked whether they
had ever seen the demon, they said they
had never seen it distinctly, though their
young men had pursued if often and. al
ways came back with one, at least, of .
their number missing. At length no
one dared to follow the terrible appari
tion.
After tills story was rumored abroad,
men Regan again to speak or' Bill Smith.
They spoke of him, however* with an
unaccountable dread, always in ft low
voice. The Shawnees had for
mtrJy one of the most formidSpr god
»hcst organized of the rod nations. * They
u FE+IR, IVSW'OM OR . 1 CURCTIO, U. ”
now became timid, and carried on the
most desultory warfare. They were
beaten by every hostile tribe, for when
ever a battle took place, the Silent H un
ter made his appearance suddenly, fight
ing with their enemies. If they attack
ed a fort, lie was always among the de
fenders ; if they defended a stronghold,
ho was never away, but regularly head
ed the assailants. But lie came and
went without-speaking. He never greet
ed any man, and no man ever said fare
well to him. The border people looked
upon him with respect and fear ; the In
dians shuddered at his name, and the
Shawnoes especially looked on him as a
curse sent from the Great Spirit to ex
terminate their race.
At last they became so terrified at this
phantom of the silent hunter perpetual
ly haunting their paths, that they all col
lected and" lied across the great stream
of Kentucky. But he followed them
.over, and avus ever in their hunting
grounds. So they (led again and passed
over the Green river. He passed it too.
and never crossed it again. Still the
Indians were appalled by hearing ot the
braves slain in the forest and at their
camp fires, by an arm which they now
so fully believed to be the arm of some
avenging spirit that they never dreamed
of a conflict. The silent hunter never
lost their trail. Then they once more
burned their wigwams and went away
forever from that country. And when
the last of the Shawnees had launched
his canoe upon the Ohio, Bill Smith
rose from amid the bushes on the shore,
and fired ou the little bark.
Revenge was his monomania, When
lie buried his wife and children, a rash
and bloody resolution fixed itself on his
mind. It became madness. He never
spoke io man, but silently and remorse
lessly haunted the trail of the Shawnee
to slay every one that came within, the
range of his far-famed rifle. Then, after
that Indian tribe liad gone from its an
cient hunting-grounds, lie retired, mute
and alone to the most inaccessible part
of the Green River Hills. Therein a
shady dell, remote from the habitations
of men, he built, himself a hut, where,
in solitary quiet, he passed the remain
der of his days. He hunted it to sup
ply himself with food, and skins to ex
change lor powder and shot, which an
old man at. an out settlement down on
the Green River, was accustomed to
supply him with. His life was protract
ed to the age of 88.
One day the old man at the set: le
nient was heard to say that 'something
must have happened to the silent hun
ter, for he had not come as usual to fill
his shot bag and powder pouch. Bid
ding no one to follow him, he went out
to the Green River Mountains, and when
he came back, the’ many questioned, he
said nothing of what lie had seen or
where he had been. From that day
however, no man saw the silent hunter.
No one heard of his fate, but it became a
tradition in the country, that liis spirit
was still among the mountains of Green
River.
Not many years ago, however, \Y eb
ber, the naturalist-hunter, started with a
companion in search of game among the
Green River Hills. After wandering
many days among their solitudes, they
came to the dwelling of an old trapper,
living alone with his dogs—an hermit
of the forest, full of its traditions, and fa
miliar with all the- spots they hunted. —
He said that near the place, under an
old black oak, lay the grave of a mighty
hunter. He had been a mysterious in
habitant of these mountains. And his
resting bed was marked by a stone. He
had chosen it himself years before he
died. It was near a spring of which lie
had drunk, and an old man buried him,
though no one since had visited the
grave. Webber offered the t rapper some
money if lie would lead him to the
spot; but he shuddered and refused,
tho’ at length with visible trepidation he
consented to guide him in sight of it.
He walked in front of them for some
time, among trees and cliffs, over streams
and through hollows, till from a bluff
eminence they looked down ou a nar
row, long plain. Over the surface of
this, lay what seemed, a number of flat
rocks, but were in reality stone saero
phagi, or graves, which arc to be found
in thousands, sometimes covering miles
of ground in the southern part of Ken
tucky and portions of Tennessee. The
people who used this curious mode of
sepulture are now extinct. They exist
ed long before the Indian nation —long
before the red skins hunted through
the woods and savannas. Their burial
grounds arc all that remain of them. —
They were apparently pigmies, for the
graves are not, on an average, more than
three feet in length. Some have imagin
ed that these were the graves of their
children, but the children of the Aztec
nation in this ease, must have died by
thousands when they were about three
feet high, and the older people must
have been buried secretly.
In one of these curious sepulchres the
body of Bill Smith was discovered. It
was a sarcophagus sunk into the earth,
almost eighteen inches deep, by the
same in widtlf. Tho explorers examin
ed the graves—they even disturbed the
remains, but they laid them again in
their place of rest, and left once more to
his solitary repose the Silent Hunter of
the Green River Hills.
What a dark and mournful story. —
llow strange and checkered a life. It
was the faith of this man on his”early
love, and the affection of his heart Tor
her children, that made the terrible, si;
font*, remorseless being he afterwards
became. But he was not in his nature.
nYvi. Dump: Me jeMer part of lig
life his'mind was shaken by remembr
ance of that melancholy day, when Mat
tie and her little ones had been buried
by his hands in the “ Yale of Pines.”
[l’ROlt I'IlE GEORGIA UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. J
€een* Sum Male—Mia Great
“Canoe Fight” & 3 c.
Most readers peruse, with very differ
ent emotions, the incidents of Pioneer
history, arid those of a more advanced
state of society. In the former case, the
simple Jacts make up the interest of the
work—bold and palpable, they fail not
to fix the attention arid leave their im
pression on the mind of the reader. In
the latter, however, the incidents record
ed, ai'Cioi' a different order —generally
nothing more than the changes which
have been wrought in Government or
society; and hence, the ability of the
historian, rather than the material which
lie works, entitles the history to consid
eration and respect. This truth is well
illustrated in our own history. We pe
ruse with far greater interest the thrill
ing accounts of our border warfare, than
the dry details of our social or Govern
mental progress. We Mo nor say that
this should be so: but we do affirm, that
just in proportion as historical facts stand
out in the bold and rugged forms of an
early state of society, will they awaken
a thrilling and exciting interest.
Pioneer biography, moreover, presents
this advantage; that in it, we see man
as he,is, without trie mask which a re
fined society places upon him. We see
what he is, apart from legal restraints —
where conscience and will alone, direct
his course —-where actions are true indi
ces of motives; arid not in that double
faced character which a polished eti
quette forces upon him. H ence, our es
timate of character is almost invariably
correct.
There is no necessity for the biogra
pher of Gen. Sam Dale turning eulo
gist. Let him record, his actions, and
the motives reveal themselves; let him
truly delineate his character, and his
erdo'ju is written. His life does not com
mand that high meed of praise which it
is the historian’s noblest province to be
stow ; and this short sketch is here in
troduced simply to bring U> notice some
of those thrilling’ incidents, and to il
lustrate the spirit of adventure , which
characterized our border life.
In 1784, when Samuel Dale was yet
a boy, liis father moved from Virginia,
and made a settlement near the site of
the present town of Greensboro. Geo. —
But a few days had elapsed, when the
subject of our sketch—a youth of six
teen summers, found himself an orphan;
rami, in virtue of liis seniority, guardian
of seven brothers and- sisters. Dispos
ing of them in the best manner liis lim
ited resources would allow, he joined a
company of volunteers, raised to repel
the invasions of the Creeks; and here
commenced that military career, which
only closed when the difficulties of his
country ceased. \\ edo not propose to
follow it up. Whoever is acquainted
with the history of our Indian Vv ars —
with the bloody battles of Burnt Corn
and Holy Ground—the terrible massa
cre of Fort Mims —the hazardous expe
ditions of Claiborne, arid the Seminole
campaigns of Jackson —knows enough
to appreciate the iron nerve and daring
intrepidity of Gen. Dale. We will only
notice a few of those remarkable adven
tures with which his life is so replete.
His eelerated u Canoe Fights in the
Alabama river, in which lie and two of
his company, brained, with clubbed ri
fles, nine Indian warriors, in fair and
open combat, is a kind of household
word with our old settlers. Every . old
crone ou the river, could relate to you
the incidents of the bloody conflict—
while her aged parting, whose head had
whitened with the growing improvement
of his State, would hobble down to the
bank, and point out where the two canoes
met; and if, perchance, the reader has ev
er made atrip down the river, on that ele
gant boat, which bears oifrheroe’s name,
(Sam Dale,) he has doubtless had desig
nated to him, by the courteous Captain,
the time-honored old Beech., which marks
the spot, as well as the high projecting
bank which had previously sheltered
the namesake of his boat from the lire
of the Indians.
Soon after the bloody t ragedy of Fort
Mims, many ot' the whites, urged by
their defenceless condition, and the in
creasing hostilities of the Indians, took
refuge in Fort Madison. As Gen. Clai
borne was prevented from marching to
their aid, by the hostile movements of
the enemy about St, Stephen’s, Captain
Dale and Cob Carson were left in com
mand of the Fort. As soon as his
wounds, received at Burnt Corn, were
sufficiently healed, Dale determined to
change his line of conduct from defensive,
to offensive. With seventy men, he
proceeded south-westwardly to Brazier’s
landing on the Alabama, Here they
found two canoes, belonging to a negro
named Caesar, who informed them that
-there were Indians above there, on eqch
side of the river. He also tendered them
theft use of the canoes, and proffered to
act as their pilot. Capt, Dale immedi
ately placed the canoes in charge of Jer
emiah Austill and six men, who were
ordered to keep "them parallel with the
p.'U’ly. ou fond. Arriving at the mouth of
fhmdbns Creek, the canoe party discov
ered a boat, tilled \vith Indians, who,
however, immediately paddled to the
shore and fled. The land party, finding j
it impossible to continue their route, on
account of tho thick cane and vines.
upon the other side. While they were
effecting a passage, Dale and several of
his men kindled a fire a short distance
from the river, to prepare their day’s
meal. Thus engaged, t-ney were fired
: upon by a party of Creeks, from an am
buscade. Retreating to the river, so as
to gain the cover of the.projecting bank,
they discovered a large fiat-bottomed ca
noe, containing eleven armed and paint
ed warriors. The party behind them
now retired, leaving choose his
own course towards those in the boat,—
As both of his canoes were on the oppo
site side, Dale ordered the larger one to
be manned. Two of the warriors now
left their boat and swam for shore; but
a ball from the unerring rifle of James
Smith perforated the skull of one, who
immediately sunk; the other gained the
shore and escaped. Eight men had in
the meantime, manned the larger canoe
and were approaching the Indian boat;
but coming near enough to see the num
ber of rifle-muzzles over the edge of the
boat, they hastily paddled back to the
shore.
Dale, exasperated by this ' 'clear bach
out," as he termed it, of his men, shout
ed to them in a scornful tone, “to look
and see three brave men do what eight cow
ards had shrunk from;” and followed by
Austill and Smith, sprang into the smal
ler canoe, which the faithful (kesar had
just brought over. Paddling their ca
noe directly toward their enemies, they
soon commenced the “Canoe Fight" prop
er —so celebrated in Alabama tradition.
When within twenty paces of the In
dians our heroes arose in their canoe, to
give them an opening broadside; but un
fortunately, the priming of their guns
was wet, and they failed, to lire. Had
nut the same accident befallen the ene
my, the result of the Canoe fight might
have been very different. J tale now or
dered Ciesar to bring his boat along-side
the other, and hold them together. The
warriors confident of their strength, and
eager to grapple with three men whose
guns would not lire, allowed their boat
t o move leisurely along with the current.
As the two neared each other, the Chief
arose, and with an ejaculation of defi
ance to "Big Samf" leveled Ins gun at
‘ Smith’s breast; but before he could draw
trigger, the letter directed a blow at him
which" would have proved fatal, had it
not been adroit] v avoided. Ino canoes
came together with u jar, which threw
Austill slightly off Iris balance, ami ere
he could regain it, a well-directed blow
from a war-club, prostrated him across
the boat. A half dozen powerful arms
were raised to complete the work, v. lien
the heavy rifle of Dale came down upon
the head ot the Chief, with a force which
sunk it deep iuto his skull. Smith had
been not less active, and his trusty bar
rel had fallen with like effect upon the
skull of another warrior, and the two
now felt their death throes, in the bot
tom of the canoe. Austill had, in the
meantime recovered, and added his
strength to the work of destruction. —
The bold Ciesar held the boats together
with an iron grasp, and with one foot
in each, our heroes fought. Two suc
cessive blows from Austin’s rifle de
spatched two of the enemy, one of whom
fell overboard. Thinking to make sure
of his foe by a second stroke, Austill
leaned forward to strike, when he was
again prostrated by an Indian club. —
The cxhu.l ting savage, never forgetful ot
a scalp, raised the war-hoop —seized his
victim by the hair—the scalp-knife al
ready glittering in the air, when another
timely blow from Dale’s clubbed rifle,
divided iris skull. Tradition says, that
so great was the force of the blow, the
skull was split from the crown to the
vertebral column. In the meantime,
Smith, at the other end of the canoe,
grappled with two lusty warriors. Ho
was a, powerful mail; but the chances
now were against him. The iron-clutches
of one of liis assailants are upon Iris
throat, the-tomahawk ot the other above
his head ! lie sees Iris danger: one foot
is iu one canoe, one in the other; with
a desperate effort he gets both feet in
one canoe, and draws one Indian after
him —while the sudden movement sep
arates the end of the boats, and leaves
the other behind, to meet the late of
those who had already come within the
range of Dale’s and Austill’s rifles.—
Smith now had his enemy in his power,
and soon dispatched him. The conflict
now became equal—three to three. The
savages, reduced in number from nine
to three, now fought with the energy of
despair. Light and active, they avoid
ed many of the blows of the whites, and
dealt in return, such well-directed ones,
that they were beginning to tell in their
favor, when Dale calling to Ciesar to
hold the boats firmly together, sprang
upon one of the seats and dealt a blow
which shivered a club which had been
directed to meet it, and leveled another
warrior. The remaining two were left
to have destruction meted to them at
tho hands of the Victorious Dale, who,
while Smith and Austill leaned upon
their bloody and brain-bespattered rifles,
despatched them at two successive blows.
During the whole of this sanguinary con
flict, tliejieroes were encouraged the
continued cheers oft their comrade?, on
either bank.
Os the nine warriors, Smith killed
two, Austill two, and Dal ejive. “Hav
ing laid them all low-,” says Mr. Pickett,
“these undaunted Americans began to
east them into the brignt' waters of the
Alabama—their native stream, now to
be their grave. Eqery time a savage
was raised up from the bottom of the
canoe, and slung into the water, the
*C»enerjl Dale, on account of liis great siv.o and
NUMBER 4.
Americans upon the banks sent up shouts
long and loud, as some slight revenge
for the tragedy of Fort Mims.
* * The Indian canoe
presented alight unusually revolting
several inches deep in savage blood—
thickened with clods of brains, bunches
of hair, &c.”
A few years previous to the Canoe
tight, Gen. Dale was engaged in another
hand-to-hand rencontre, hardly less ex
ed with the incident, we are surprised
that it has not, ere, this, been made the
basis of one of our thrilling border tales.
When the Indian hostilities first began
to assume a. threatening attitude, in con
sequence of the Galph inton treaty, a
white woman was seized by a party of
Indians, and carried into captivity. All
attempts towards recapturing her, seem
ed fruitless ; indeed, so many similar
cases occurred, that they failed to excite
that interest which we would naturally
expect. Dale, however, having gained
some information as to her whereabouts,
determined—and with him determina
tion was but another word for accom
plishment —to rescue her. Setting out
alone, his experience in trailing soon
brought him upon the heels of the sav
ages. Finding himself near them, with
his characteristic coolness, he stopped at
a spring to drink and refresh himself
previous to begining his work. While
stooping to drink, two of the party, who
were nearer than he thought, sprang up
on him. Without attempting to rise,
he drew his hunting knife, and with an
under-stroke, killed one of his assailants;
then rising suddenly, he threw the other
from him, and ere he could regain his
feet, dispatched him. Thus much ac
complished, he took the trail of the oth
ers —followed them many miles—came
upon them asleep —knifed three of them
—cut the thongs of the captive woman,
and was about to commence Ivistriumph
ant march homeward, when another
warrior, whose position behind a log
had screened him from view, sprang up
on him. Weak from the loss of blood,
and in the deadly grasp of the savage.
Dale would now have fallen by the
hands of a foe, whom he had ever con
j quered. had not the liberated woman
| snatched up a tomahawk and split the
i Indian’s skull. The mutual deliverers,
i having exchanged congratulations upon
| their fortunate escape, were soon in the
midst of their rejoicing friends. Gen.
Dale, in after life, often said that he had
given up all hope of life in this instance,
and could hardly believe that the weak,
emaciated female, whose captive thong.',
lie had just cut, could be his deliverer.
The Biographer of Gen. Dale. Jno. 11.
F. Claiborne, of Mississippi, cites the
above incident, and vouches for its trut h.
The tales of Knight-Errantry could
hardly equal it in romance and wild
ness of adventure ; and no Bois-de-Gil
bert, of the. Middle Ages, in “panoply
complete, could boast greater triumphs
of his lance, t han could Gen. Dale of his
hunting knife !
■ After the treaty of peace with the In
dians, Gen. Dale settled in Lauderdale
count, v, in the northern part of Alabama,
where his old log cabin was the seat, of
an extcnsiviumd generous hospitality.
In 1830, he was elected to the State Leg
islature, in which he served with his
characteristic openness and independ
ence of character. An interesting anec
dote of him, is related by Mr. Claiborne,
in his biographical memoir. We give it
in the author’s own language: “Some
time ago, Gen. Dale w.\s held, in Mobile,
as endorser upon a note. The debt was
in the hands of a stranger. Accompani
ed by an officer, he sought the creditor,
and found him in the Saloon of Cullum's
far-famed hotel. “ Sir,” said the Gener
al, “ I have no money to pay this debt.
The principal has property —make him
pay it, or let me go home and work it.
out.” The Shy lock hesitated. “ Very
well, 11 said the veteran, in tones that rang
indignantly through the apartment —
“ Very wdl , sir ! Look, at mg scars! ]
will march l > jail, down Muise street, and
all Mobile shall witness the treatment -g an
old soldier !'' These simple words fed
like electricity upon that high-toned peo
ple. In half an hour a dozen of the
brightest names of the city were upon
the bond ; and before morning the debt
was paid, and a full discharge handed
to the General.
Gen. Dale died in 1841, at his , res
dence, “ with the fortitude of a soldier,
.and the resignation of a, Christian.” W<-
know not better how to close this article,
than bv quoting from the well-written
biography, which we have already used.
“ In many respects, physical and mor
al, 1m resembled his antagonists of the
woods, lie had the square forehead,
the high cheek-bones, the compressed
lips, and, in fact, the ph ysiognomy of an
Indian, relieved, however, by a fine,
benevolent Saxon eye. Jake the red
man, too, his foot fell lightly upon the
ground, and turned neither to the right
nor left. lie was habitually taciturn ;
his face grave; ho spoke slowly and in
low tones, and seldom laughed. I ob
served of him, what 1 have often noted
as peculiar to border men of high attri
butes, lie entertaind the strongest at
tachment for the Indians — extolled, their
courage, their love of country, and many
of their qualities ; and I ha,v< >
often seen the wretched remnant #>f the
Choctaws encamped around his planta
tion, and subsisting upon his crops. In
peace, they felt for him tiro strongest
venerat ion — ho had been the friend both
of Teciuaseh and Weatherford ; and ia
war, the nance of “ Big Sam” fell ortj i