"That was no wolf s cry," said Girty, and he stood up, and listened attentively. "Then it was an owl's," said I, and proceeded to screw another piece of flesh on my ramrod, but Girty stood still, and finally the sound came again, apparently much nearer, and could not be mistaken from the hu man voice with that broken yell, occasioned by rapidly slapping the hand on the mouth as the sound issued forth. This peculiar cry we had both heard, when it could not be otherwise than indelibly impressed upon our memories. We knew it to be the cry of Indians, who, we knew from their customs, saw the light of our fire at a distance, the night being very dark-and were, as is customary with them, hallooing previous to entering the camp, not doubting but we were a part of their own party. Girty immediately answered the cry, and we then took our stand at a convenient shooting distance from the fire, and awaited their arrival intending to vanquish them if possible. Girty gave the directions," If they number more than four or five, don't shoot, but silently decamp, but if they do not, shoot, but aim true, and we are certain of success-remember the rest will be so intimidated they will not fight enough to overcome a woman.'

With these directions, we silently awaited the Indians, whom we soon heard advancing with all the hilarity of hungry men just entering into camp, where they expected to have a hearty meal. The party consisted of twelve, who were all armed with rifles, etc. I kept my place undecided what to do. One fellow of a gigantic stature, who appeared as if he could rival a Hercules, and by whom the rest appeared as children, walked up to the panther, and catching him by the neck, grunted a deep guttural "ough," and held the huge animal up before him, as if it had been a kitten, while some of the other warriors crowded around, and expressed their several feelings by the one word “ough,” while others gazed around laughing, probably thinking their companions were playing them a trick by hiding from them. During this time I was devising a plan to get out of this dilemma, and had finally come to the conclusion to leave as rapidly as I could, and trust to the darkness of the night for escape, when a stunning crack from Girty's rifle made me start, and the Indian whose great size had so much attracted my attention, with a shrill yell dropped the panther, and fell forwards in the fire, by his violent exertions in striving to extricate himself from which, he scattered the burning wood about, and completely extinguished the blaze. This was fortunate for us, as it was now so dark they could not see which course we took. Girty, as soon as he shot, passed me, and whispering "follow me, and load as you run," (for my gun had not been loaded since I shot the panther,) continued his course through the thick brush, and I followed as rapidly as I could, although the limbs tore the skin from my face and hands at every step. The Indians soon recovered from the dismay that this shot had for a time thrown them into, and their yells could now be heard, as they scattered in pursuit of us, but the greater number followed directly in our trail, which surprised us, as the night was so dark that objects could not be seen one foot before us, as our scratched faces could testify. We continued running as fast as the bushes would permit, still the voices of the Indians continued on our trail. At length we came to some running water which we waded into, and continued up the stream for some distance in order to escape the bushes which grew luxuriantly on the bank, and regaining a level part of land, (which is now a beautiful farm,) we again proceeded rapidly. As soon as the Indians reached the brook which we waded into, they were at a stand, and apparently at the very spot where we waded into the water. This gave us strong reasons to believe that we were trailed by means of a dog, which we had baffled by taking the running water, and we resolved to employ that stratagem as often as necessary. Instead of taking advantage of this delay of the Indians, we sat on a log to rest, and talked over this day's adventure. The Indians voices had died away, and, as we thought, they had returned again to the camp. Whilst we were laughing at their movements, which were very dilatory considering they had a dog, the very dog we were speaking of came splashing through the brook at our side, and his deep bay for the first time burst upon our ears, and again the Indians' voices started us upon our feet, not more than fifty yards from us. We both sprang for the race, and again ran up the brook, followed closely by the dog, which was a fellow of the large mastiff breed. We kept close together, and proved ourselves the fastest runners in the dark, for we soon left the dog some distance behind; we again waded up the brook some hundred yards and then ventured on the land. Here we stopped to rest, and Girty declared he would go no farther till he killed the dog, which he said would insure our ruin as soon as daylight appeared. "The daylight will enable us to shoot the dog," said I, as I urged him to proceed, but he refused peremptorily, alleging that he wanted to kill the dog "just for the fun of cutting his throat!" _This I thought poor fun, but determined to wait and assist my companion. The dog never barked till he saw us, but we were aware of his proximity by his loud and hurried breathing. As soon as he came to the brook, by the side of which we sat, Girty drew his knife, and stood to interrupt his passage up the bank. The dog hurried up it, and with eyes which glittered like burning coals, sprang at Girty's throat, and missing his aim, caught him by the coat collar. The violence with which he struck against Girty, combined with his weight, knocked him upon his knees, but the struggle lasted but a moment, Girty caught the dog in his gripe, which was not unlike the force of a vice, and with a few thrusts of his knife, threw him upon the ground dead. The Indians had heard the voice of their dog, and again cried out in their peculiar manner, which was probably intended to stimulate him to greater exertions. We did not tarry long where we were, but again commenced our journey, at a rapid rate, but it being so dark we were entirely ignorant of the direction we were taking. After running about

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 could persuade him from his resolution. With perfect composure he lay down to take a nap. After 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 accomplished 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 refusing what he commanded. "The greatest storms are preceded by a calm," thought I, as I gazed 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 as sured 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 Harison 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.

1

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 they 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.

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

"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 attacking 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 man 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.

THE SALT LAKE OF INDERS KOI,

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.