89

two hours, we came to the big Miami about two miles above Dayton, which I advised crossing with
all expedition, but Girty declared he would not sleep in wet clothes that night, and no argument
With perfect composure he lay down to take a nap. After
could persuade him from his resolution.
listening awhile and hearing no other noise than the wolves, and occasionally the cry of an owl, I
concluded the Indians had given over the chase, after discovering the death of their dog. I lay down,
and being weary with the violent exertions I had undergone, soon became utterly unconscious of
Indians, panthers, bears, and every thing else.

How long I slept I knew not, but was suddenly awakened by a violent kick in the side, and a cry
of" awake!"-
"—"no weasel!" in the Indian tongue. I sprang to my feet, upon opening my eyes,
and observing two Indians standing over me; but my gun was gone, and also my other weapons had
been taken away. At this moment I heard two rifle cracks in quick succession, a small distance in
the woods, and the fellows who surrounded me yelled like devils. My heart sank within me, and I
became as helpless as a child. The thought of my friend, who had repeatedly risked his life to save
mine-who had been my constant companion in perils for so many years, and who had accomplish-
ed more to avenge the murder of my family than I had myself—that friend was now torn from me,
and cut off in the full bloom of manhood; my heart sank within me, and despite my exertions to
prevent it, the tears were forced from my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. The Indians did not
bind me, but held me by the arms, which was unnecessary, as I should not have attempted to escape,
for my friend Girty was killed. I could have exclaimed with the poet-

Where thou goest, there will I go.

The

Hearing a cry at a greater distance, they led me towards the direction from whence we came. dim red streaks of light at the east proclaimed the approach of day, and the black clouds brushed off, and by the time we reached the spot where we killed the panther, the sun was gilding the tree tops with his rays. It was a beautiful day to those who were not tortured with the anticipation of suffering worse than inquisitorial tortures. The big Indian whom Girty had shot, was lying upon his side and elbow, with his features distorted into an hundred writhing expressions indicating intense pain from the wound occasioned by Girty's bullet, which had passed entirely through the shoulder, breaking the bone, and mangling the flesh of the arm dreadfully. As soon as he saw me, I thought I could discern his eyes glisten with a mixture of joy and pain, as a smile played over his sternly-set features. He held out his hand, which I grasped and shook cordially; this I thought prognosticated no love. He motioned me to take a seat, which I obeyed, thinking it best not to arouse this savage's anger by The greatest storms are preceded by a calm," thought I, as I gazed refusing what he commanded. upon the glaring eyes of the Indians who stood about me with their arms folded, aud motionless. I looked about me-the panther lay upon the ground where the Indian had dropped him when shot, and the bear still dangled from the sapling; nothing had been disturbed, for the warriors had been too busily engaged catching me. By the side of the big warrior sat a diminutive lean man intently engaged eyeing some dry bones and muttering some unintelligible words, which I afterwards learned were intended as a charm to prevent the wound from mortifying, and which—my informant assured me with an ominous scowl-would be well in six suns (days.) I could not help observing with what philosophical patience the wounded man bore the intense pain which his wound must have occasioned; he talked to the warriors around him in the same urbane voice in which he had spoken to me, and gracefully nodded to those who addressed him, which I perceived was invariably with some degree of deference. This man was the celebrated chief Michihinaqua or Little Turtle, who in aftertimes became the greatest chief and warrior of the west, and whose Fabian wisdom during a battle was of more avail against General Harrison than all the chiefs put together. This man, at the time of which I speak, although of such a gigantic mould, was but about twenty years of age; his forehead was high, and unusually expansive, indicating to an observer at once the giant intellect, which rendered him afterwards so famous. His features were of an uncommonly intellectual cast, and the expression of his eagle eye can never be erased from my memory-it was an eye, the expression of which we do not observe commonly among mankind, but which when we do observe it, at once commands deferential respect, for we know that it mirrors a mind of no uncommon order.

Whether the conjurer's skill was of any avail in its curative effects I know not, but the chief's wound appeared to grow easy, and he now addressed inquiries to those around him, but seldom spoke except in monosyllables. Towards noon the partial paralysis which immediately succeeds a gunshot wound passed off, and the natural vigor and healthiness of his system appeared to influence the wound, which already gave symptoms of healing, and he, for the first time, addressed a conversation to one of his warriors, who suddenly arose, and led me before the chief, who interrogated me by means of a warrior, who spoke almost unintelligible English. In an Indian's estimation of character, bravery is the greatest virtue a man can possess, and towards one possessing this quality ther show respect. This much of the Indian character I was aware of, and determined to act accordingly "Who is that other warrior-a brother?" said the chief.

?

He is, and is worthy of it," said I, sternly.

"So he is," said the chief. "Was it your brother who has killed so many of my warriors lately?" It was.'

And what did you do it for ?"

"Revenge!" said I, speaking through my teeth, for my hot blood had again began to boil, as I thought of the injury I had sustained, for which the blood of the whole tribe could not atone. "For what injury did you seek revenge?" said the chief, after some moment's musing. For the murder of my wife and child, and burning of my property."

Ah, was it your house which was burnt?"

"It was."

"Then you were in the right for seeking revenge." He then raised up and spoke for some time in a thundering voice to his warriors, who stood mute and immoveable. I could not understand all he said, but part of it I shall never forget. He spoke with energy, and used his arm with a graceful movement, which would have shamed many a studied orator of the present day. His speech had its effects; he shamed them for wanting to take the life of one whose deeds had made them tremble. "No!" said he," if you would have the blood of one who is as brave as the bravest of you, you can have it, but you shall fight him single handed." A young warrior now sprang to his feet, and taking me by the shoulder, turned me around, and pointing with his finger towards the south, said "go," to which the rest assented by nodding their heads. I possessed a knife of beautiful workmanship, which was similar to the modern" bowie knife." This knife which, with my other arms, was now given to me, I took by the blade and offered to the chief, as a token of remembrance; he declined the present. I drew from my vest pocket a small pen-knife, and earnestly pressed it upon him, which he received with reluctance, and then shaking him cordially by the hand, and then the other warriors alternately-many of whom scowled at me with evident hatred, yet shook the proffered hand with a writhing grin-I slowly departed. This incident made a greater impression upon me in favor of the Indians, than all the logic in christendom, and very probably had it not been for the incident which follows, I should have never again attempted the life of an Indian.

By the situation of the sun when I left the Indians, it was about three o'clock. I continued my course for the Miami river, with the intention of steering straight for Cincinnati, to bear the sorrowful tidings of Girty's death, who I did not doubt, had been killed at the time I was taken prisoner. It was about one hour after this, as I was plodding my way through the hazel bushes, that I heard a cracking some distance ahead of me. I started at beholding four Indians, one of whom fired at me, but missed his aim. I immediately raised my gun and shot him dead. The others rushed upon me with their tomahawks uplifted, when a shot just behind made me start, thinking others were attackang me in the rear; but my joy knew no bounds at beholding Tom Girty spring from the bushes, and clubbing his gun, we rushed upon them, and fought with desperation. Two of the Indians opposed Girty, while one attacked me with a fury which I could not at first resist, but finally his strength began to fail beneath such severe exertion, when I drew my bowie knife, and began to use it to some purpose. The Indian threw his tomahawk, which fortunately struck the blade of my knife, and broke it to pieces; I watched his motions, and observing that he intended stooping, I threw my hatchet low, and nearly severed his wrist. The fellow was mad with passion, and soon gave me an opportunity to knock him down, but not till I had received a severe gash in the side from his knife. I now had time to see what my companion was about.

One Indian lay dead near him with his head mangled with the butt of his gun, and the same small nan who had conjured the chief's wound, was yelling most sonorously, and brandishing his tomahawk at Girty, who was walking around him, watching for an opportunity " to tie him," as he said. The Indian appeared unwilling to risk a throw, but kept his eye on Girty, who now seized his gun and clubbing it began to wield it with giant energy. The Indian still brandished his instrument and ran rapidly backwards, undecided whether to throw, when he fell over a log flat upon his back. Girty leaped upon his breast with both feet, and deprived him for some moments, of breath. We tied his hands behind with a handkerchief. It is beyond the power of words to express the emotions which swelled my breast at this time. All had ended well! and a fatalist might here find an argument for his hypothetical doctrine, for the hand of providence appeared to interfere twice, when I expected the summons of the grim monster; still I cared but little whether I lived or not, for I had lost in Thomas Girty all which appeared to me worth living for; but at this moment-when I beheld death staring me in the face-to behold my friend resuscitated as from the dead, and then to gain a signal victory over the men (who deserved nothing better for their baseness in disobeying the orders of their chief, and striving to take the life of one whom they had set at liberty)—these rapid transitions from despondency to joy, almost made a woman of me, and I caught my friend around the neck and kissed him-so elated was I at beholding him again. This is no romance, reader, but stern reality; there are times when we must weep, and when we must be joyful; when our minds, like an Æolian harp are grave or acute, as the winds of prosperity or of adversity brush over them, and these are often as variable, and as subject to as sudden mutations, as the external tempests.

After our mutual joy had somewhat subsided, we deliberated upon the fate of our captive, who sat upon a log in a surly mood, and apparently caring little about his approaching fate. I was urgent for shooting the man whose perfidy had nearly cost me my life, but Girty took the side of humanity,

and declared that brave men should not be guilty of murdering a prisoner in cold blood. At length we hung his life "on the cast of a die;" we agreed to shoot at a target at the distance of fifty yards; if Girty won, the prisoner lived and vice versa. We cut a small round target of a bullet patch, and cleaned out our guns, to decide the fate of a human being. The Indian now appeared to be aware of what we intended doing, and with an earnestness-which was plainly shown, despite his efforts to conceal it he watched our shots. I took the first shot and my ball struck the outer edge of the target—it was an excellent shot. The Indian's countenance plainly indicated the feelings which worked within; he gazed upon the ball hole with a stare in which despair might be plainly depicted; that look could not be exactly described; few persons could have then looked upon that man and not been moved with compassion; but my heart had been rendered callous by repeated injuries received of the Indians, and the sight of one drove me almost mad; there was not a pang of compassion in my breast, for the agonized feelings which I knew tortured that man; on the contrary I strived as much as pos sible to procrastinate Girty's time to shoot, merely to prolong the Indian's feelings. A painter could have delineated eagerness and hope with happy effect, by observing his countenance during the time Girty was sighting at the mark; he leaned forward with his hands upon his knees, and with lips partly unclosed and strained eyes; and the veins of his face appeared ready to burst with the intensity of his feelings. Girty sighted a long time, which proved he was striving all he could to save the poor man's life. The rifle cracked, and the bullet tore out the centre of the target. Girty yelled till the echo resounded among the trees, and the Indian sprang upon his feet, while a broad smile spread over his face. Girty untied his hands, and he slowly retired, but after going some yards, he returned and extended his hand in gratitude to Girty, who shook it affectionately; he then extended it to me, but I threw it from me with disdain-I was in no humor for congratulating him upon his escape from death.

"Indian no forget 'em," said the Indian to Girty.

"Your false heart contains no gratitude," I thundered out," and ere to-morrow's sun rises, you and your companions will have, perhaps, attempted the life of him who saved yours." He shook his head and striking his breast with energy, drew his form to its greatest height, as he exclaimed again "no forget 'em." Girty bade him depart, which he did in somewhat faster time than before.

It is during our young days when we are in the vigor of life, and when no "compunctious visitings of conscience" trouble us, that we are less subject to the operations of the moral faculties. Our minds are then buoyant and elastic, and are incapable of retaining impressions for any length of time; but when we arrive to the "sear and yellow leaf"-when we have passed over the boisterous spring and summer when our lives are a continual series of tempests and calms,-and settled into the mild and thoughtful autumn, 'tis then we think and not before. Youth is no time to think, and old persons err when they expect to see autumn before the stormy spring has passed-if these scenes were now to be acted over again I might be prompted to act with more compassion to my fellow men, for I am now an old man. J. M. S.

Dayton, May 21st, 1839.

THE FRIENDS OF OUR

CHILDHOOD.

BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH, M. D., PHILA.

THOUGH the friends of our childhood are with us no more,
Yet the thought of their virtues remains in our heart;
Enshrined like a holy thing deep in its core,

Fixed firmly, and of our existence a part.

And cursed be the man that would chase it away,
And seek in some other illusion to live;

Oh! where could he sports find, no matter how gay,

That joy, like the thought of past friendship, can give.

Hence, hence with your mirth, and come banquet with me
On the memory of ties that are long rent and gone;
On the joys, being fled, we no longer may see;
On the visions of happiness far away flown.

Think sadly, yet kindly, on feelings of yore,

The ties, though now broken, which bound us in youth;
When we thought, it is sad we may think so no more,
The world was a heaven of honor and truth.

THE SALT LAKE OF INDERSKOI,

AND ITS ENVIRONS,

IN THE KIRGHIS STEPPE, IN ASIA.

COMPILED FROM THE GERMAN OF DR. TAUSCHER.

THE following accounts of this remarkable lake, which lies between the 48° and 49° north latitude, are extracted from a journey in the south of Russia, performed by Dr. Tauscher, in the years 1807 to 1811. Hitherto, we were indebted to the celebrated naturalist Pallas, for the only accounts we had of this salt-lake, which has many peculiar natural productions. He visited it on his first great tour through Asiatic Russia, in the years 1763 to 1769. As no naturalist has since explored that interesting country, and the accounts given by Pallas are short and incomplete; and as Dr. Tauscher's journey in these inhospitable tracts was accompanied with circumstances calculated to excite general interest, a short sketch of it will certainly be welcome here.

The author prefixes to his description of the Inderlake, and the account of his tour along the banks of it, some general outlines of a picture of the steppes of southern Russia, as he had an opportunity of observing them in the immense tract extending between the Don, the Wolga, and the Ural, and to the northern coast of the Caspian sea.

The southern steppes bear a very peculiar physiognomy, different from the natural scenery of European countries. The eye is lost in immense plains, but seldom broken by an inconsiderable eminence, which are without trees or forests, poor in rivers and water, destitute of permanent habitations, villages or towns and perpetually traversed by nomade tribes, who live in patriarchal simplicity, and remove from place to place with their dwellings and flocks, as circumstances require. These desolate plains resemble in a great measure the trackless ocean, which the navigator must cross by the guidance of the compass.

Early in the spring, and soon after the melting of the snow, the surface of the steppe is covered with a charming and peculiar vegetation. Astragalus, tulips, hyacinths, and other fine flowering plants, make it appear like a gay garden. But the soft verdant carpet, which at this season adorns the meadows of the north and middle of Europe, is entirely unknown in these plains. Only a few scattered plants partially cover the ground, and larger or smaller intervals of bare soil aways remain visible between them. The scorching heat of the summer months, which in June and July often rises at noon to 30° and 35° Reaum, almost entirely destroys the children of Flora. All the plants wither, and the soil creaks under the foot of the traveller. At this season of the year, the dry grass of the desert is frequently on fire, either by chance or design, the flame of which reddens the horizon by night, and by day the thick clouds of smoke obscure the sun. These fires, fanned by the wind, often spread with incredible rapidity, and only the interposition of a river, or a very broad road, can stop the progress of such a torrent of flame, which, especially in the night, affords a splendid and awful sight. The heat would be still more intolerable, but for a cooling east wind, which regularly prevails from ten or eleven o'clock in the forenoon, to three o'clock in the afternoon, and moderates the sultriness of the atmosphere, in the deserts situated on the Wolga and the Ural, between 45° and 50° north latitude. But if this wind should happen to blow over parts of the desert which are on fire, it becomes impregnated with almost intolerable heat, and, like the Arabian Samoom, relaxes and paralyses all the animal powers. Storms are not frequent in these parts, and when they occur, they are always inconsiderable. The thunder clouds, which, in other countries, being confined between the mountains, produce the severest tempests, have here so wide a range, that they cannot become dangerous. At no season of the year does a drop of dew spangle the parched soil of the steppe, and rain is very rare. The dry nitrous clay, of which the greatest part of the soil of the steppe consists, is rendered by the heat as hard as a rock, and clefts, a yard deep, open in its surface. In those tracts which are covered with quicksand, it becomes dreadfully hot, through the action of the sun's rays. It is singular enough, that this burning sand, in which it might be supposed that no plant could possibly thrive, is distinguished from the clayey soil, by a more active and luxuriant vegetation.

At the close of autumn, the steppe produces a peculiar Flora of remarkable saline plants, of which no country in the world has a greater variety than the parched soil of southern Russia.

The cold in winter, according to accurate observations made in the Moravian colony at Sarepta on the Wolga, that is, between 48° and 49° north latitude, has been known to be 32° and 33° Reaum. Here, as at Moscow and St. Petersburg, quicksilver has been seen to freeze in the open air. There are probably few parts of Europe which experience greater vicissitudes of heat and cold.

Hills and mountains are very uncommon in the desert itself. There are, however, in the steppe, between the Ural and the Wolga, some eminences of very considerable height. These are the Mount Bogdo, and the rock salt mountains Tschaptschatschi and Arsagar. The first, with the salt lake of the same name at its foot, is extremely remarkable, because it incontestibly rose formerly as a distinct island, above the ancient level of the sea. Its base, which is of granite, bears evident traces of this fact. Tschaptschatschi and Arsagar, which are situated more to the south, are not less worthy of notice. They consist of large solid masses of the valuable rock salt, which is not inferior to that found at Wieliczka in Poland, and at Ilezk in Orenburg; though, on account of the remote distance, and the difficulty of conveyance, hardly any use is made of it. It likewise differs from the salt last mentioned, in forming a mountain of considerable height; whereas the other is found in strata under ground, and must be obtained by the operation of mining.

As the author's object, the salt lake Inder, was beyond the Ural line, and consequently out of the Russian boundaries, on the other side of the river, he chose the nearest post to make preparations for undertaking, with safety, an excursion to the Kirghis steppe on the other side. This was the fore-post of Inderskoe, seven hundred versts below Orenburg, from which the salt lake is sixty versts distant, in a direct line towards the east. Dr. Tauscher arrived there in the beginning of May, 1810, having been liberally furnished with the necessary orders and assistance for this expedition, at Orenburg, by the governor-general, prince Wolchonskoi.

He had only two travelling companions, namely, Mr. Hermann, a clergyman from Kasan, a young man full of zeal for the study of natural history, who was of great assistance, especially in his botanical researches; and a servant, Jacob Judizky, who was a skilful huntsman, and in the sequel procured for his master many rare and beautiful birds.

The fore-post of Inderskoe, or Gorskoe Kre-post, is situated immediately on the bank of the river Ural, and is one of the most inconsiderable places of the lower Ural line. It consists of only forty or fifty dwellings, inhabited by about as many Cossack families, commanded by an officer of inferior rank, without any fortification, and merely surrounded with narrow ditches and a wicker fence.

The environs consist of a barren, dry clay desert, on the soil of which there are neither stones nor trees. It is only in the low grounds near the river, which are covered during the inundation, that willows and poplars are met with, and also some peculiar species of trees which thrive in this climate. Neither hay nor corn are grown in this arid country. Some spots, here and there, are cultivated as gardens. They have melons, water-melons, and other vegetable productions, especially in such places as are covered by the water during the periodical inundation of the river. The mud which it leaves behind, like the Nile, produces in the sequel a rapid and luxuriant vegetation.

A violent attack of fever, of which the author had already felt some symptoms, as he passed through Orenburg, increased so much as to render it impossible for him immediately to visit the lake on the other side, which was sixty versts distant. A favorable opportunity, however, occurred to send his companion Hermann.

The inhabitants of the neighboring posts receive permission several times in the year to get salt for their use from the lake. They always go in great numbers, well armed, and with every military precaution, to avoid the hostile attacks of the plundering Kirghis, who attempt on these occasions to seize and carry off people and horses. On the second day after the arrival of our travellers, such a caravan set out to procure salt, and Hermann was able to go to the lake with perfect safety under their protection. He returned from the opposite shore on the third day, quite enraptured with the wonderful place he had seen, and the curiosities of the dominion of Flora which he had found.

The fever, however, which regularly returned every other day, enfeebled Dr. Tauscher so much, that he was scarcely able to leave the room, or even his bed, on the intermediate days. Hermann, however, daily made longer or shorter excursions in the neighboring country. It unfortunately happened, that, among the medicines which they had the precaution to bring with them from Moscow, there was no Peruvian bark; and there being neither medicine nor physician at Inderskoe, he was obliged to send for some Peruvian bark to Uralsk, two hundred miles distant, where there was a regimental surgeon, and a laboratory belonging to the government. His health gradually improved after he had taken this medicine, and, on the 20th of May, he found himself sufficiently recovered to venture upon the expedition to the opposite bank.

As a protection from the predatory Kirghis, prince Wolchonskoi had ordered an escort of two hundred men and one cannon. These people were collected from several neighboring posts of the line, and had already been some days at Inderskoe.

The author's plan was to spend three days at the least on the banks of the lake, and, if possible, to go quite round it; in order to form a complete idea of its extent and nature, its remarkable environs and productions.