Thrilling Adventures By Land And Sea — Tussle with a Wildcat; Incident in Frontier Life; Female Intrepidity; Encounter with Robbers; Shipwreck of the Monticello

A TUSSLE WITH A WILDCAT.

In 1781, Lexington, Ky.

, was only a cluster of cabins, one of which, near the spot where the courthouse now stands, was used as a schoolhouse.

One morning, in May, McKinley, the teacher, was sitting alone at his desk, busily engaged in writing, when, hearing a slight noise at the door, he turned and beheld an enormous wildcat, with her fore feet upon the step, her tail curled over her back, her bristles erect, and her eyes glaring rapidly about the room, as if in search of a mouse.

McKinley's position at first completely concealed him, but a slight and involuntary motion of his chair attracted the cat's attention, and their eyes met, McKinley, having heard much of the powers of "the human face divine," in quelling the audacity of wild animals, attempted to disconcert the intruder by a frown.

But puss was not to be bullied.

Her eyes flashed fire, her tail waved angrily, and she began to gnash her teeth.

She was evidently bent on mischief.

Seeing his danger, McKinley hastily rose, and attempted to snatch a cylindrical rule from a table which stood within reach, but the cat was too quick for him.

Darting furiously upon him, she fastened upon his side with her teeth, and began to rend and tear with her claws.

McKinley's clothes were soon in tatters, and his flesh dreadfully mangled by the enraged animal, whose strength and ferocity filled him with astonishment.

He in vain attempted to disengage her from his side.

Her long, sharp teeth were fastened between his ribs, and his efforts served but to enrage her the more.

Seeing his blood flow very copiously from the numerous wounds in his side, he became seriously alarmed, and, not knowing what else to do, he threw himself upon the edge of the table, and pressed her against the sharp corner with the whole weight of his body.

The cat now began to utter the most wild and discordant cries, and McKinley, at the same time, lifting up his voice in concert, the two together sent forth notes so doleful as to alarm the whole town.

Women, who are generally the first to hear and spread news, were now the first to come to McKinley's assistance.

But so strange and unearthly was the harmony within the schoolhouse, that they hesitated long before venturing to enter.

At length, the boldest of them rushed in, and, seeing poor McKinley bending ever the corner of the table, she at first supposed that he was laboring under a severe fit of the colic; but quickly perceiving the cat, which was now in the agonies of death, she screamed out, "Why, good heavens, Mr. McKinley, what is the matter?"

"I have caught a cat, madam!"

he gravely replied, turning round, while the sweat streamed from his face under the mingled operations of fright, fatigue, and pain.

Most of the neighbors had now arrived.

They attempted to disengage the dead cat; but so firmly were her tusks locked between his ribs, that this was a work of no small difficulty.

McKinley suffered severely for a time from the effects of his wounds, but at length fully recovered, and lived to a good old age.

He was heard to say, that of all the pupils that ever came to his school, the wildcat was the most intractable; that he would at any time rather fight two Indians than one wildcat.

AN INCIDENT IN FRONTIER LIFE

A daughter of Boone's, and a Miss Galloway, were amusing themselves in the immediate neighborhood of the fort, when a party of Indians rushed from a canebrake, and, intercepting their return, took them prisoners.

The screams of the terrified girls quickly alarmed the family.

Boone hastily collected a party of eight men, and pursued the enemy.

So much time, however, had been lost, that the Indians had got several miles the start of them.

The pursuit was urged through the night with great keenness by woodsmen capable of following a trail at all times.

On the following day they came up with the fugitives, and fell upon them so suddenly and so furiously as to allow them no leisure for tomahawking their prisoners.

The girls were rescued, without having sustained any other injury than excessive fright and fatigue.

The Indians lost two men, while Boone's party was uninjured.

[Illustration: THE PURSUIT] FEMALE INTREPIDITY.

In 1782, Wheeling was besieged by a large number of British and Indians.

So sudden and unexpected was the attack, that no time was afforded for preparation.

The fort, at the period of the assault was commanded by Colonel Silas Zane.

The senior officer, Colonel Ebenezer Zane, was in a blockhouse some fifty or a hundred yards outside of the wall.

The enemy made several desperate assaults to break into the fort, but at every onset they were driven back.

The ammunition for the defence of the fort was deposited in the blockhouse, and there had not been time to remove it before the Indians approached.

On the afternoon of the second day of the siege, the powder of the fort was nearly exhausted, and no alternative remained, but for some one to pass through the enemy's fire to the blockhouse, in order to obtain a supply.

When Silas Zane made the proposition to the men, asking if any one would undertake the hazardous enterprise, all at first were silent.

After looking at one another for some time, a young man stepped forward, and said he would undertake the errand.

Immediately, half a dozen offered their services in the dangerous enterprise.

While they were disputing as to who should go, Elizabeth, sister of the Zanes, came forward and declared, that she would go for the powder.

Her brother thought she would flinch from the enterprise, but he was mistaken.

She had the intrepidity to dare, and the fortitude to accomplish the undertaking.

Her brother then tried to dissuade her from her heroic purpose, by saying that a man would be more fleet, and consequently would run less risk of losing his life.

She replied, that they had not a man to spare from the defence of the fort, and that if she should fall, she would scarcely be missed.

Then divesting herself of such articles of clothing as would impede the celerity of her flight, she prepared to start.

The gate was opened, and Elizabeth bounded out at the top of her speed, and ran until she arrived at the door of the blockhouse.

Her brother, Colonel Zane, hastened to open the door to his intrepid sister.

The Indians did not fire a gun, but exclaimed, as if in astonishment, "_Squaw!

squaw!

squaw_!"

When she had told her errand, her brother took a tablecloth, fastened it around her waist, and poured into it a keg of powder.

She then sallied back to the fort, in high spirits.

The moment she was outside of the blockhouse, the whole of the enemy's line fired at her, but the shower of balls fell without doing her any injury.

She reached the fort in safety, and the garrison was, in consequence, enabled successfully to repel their savage foe.

Such an instance of female daring is worthy of all commemoration.

FEARFUL ENCOUNTER WITH ROBBERS.

The Madrid papers recite the particulars of a terrific scene which took place on the 14th of August, 1851, at the house of Don Diego Garcia, an old nobleman, who resided in the vicinity of that capital: The night was dark and tempestuous.

The rain poured down in torrents, and induced the night-watch, who had been reinforced since the recent augmentations of crime in the environs of the capital, to keep close to their quarters.

The roads were completely deserted, and at long intervals only the shadow of a human figure flitted past the huge portals of Don Diego's mansion, in anxious haste toward its habitation.

Juan Munoz, the Don's old valet, had been sent to this city, by his master, and was now making the best of his way home.

His errand to the capital had been to procure some medicine which his master had been ordered to take, he being at the time violently afflicted by the gout.

Juan, as we have said, was picking his way, as best he could, through the deluged streets and roads, when, just as he came in sight of the mansion, he heard the voices of a number of men behind him, and supposing them to be a party of his fellow-servants who had been sent in search of him, since he had been much later than he expected to be, he drew back into an open recess to await their approach.

He discovered that he was deceived in his expectations; the men were strangers to him, or, at least, he did not know their voices, but, while passing him, he plainly heard the name of his master pronounced by one of their number, and, stepping forward, he asked if they wished to see Don Diego that night.

The men seemed perfectly stupefied by his sudden apparition, but they soon recovered from their surprise, and, after ascertaining that he was alone, he was politely asked to go before them and show the way.

Scarcely had he proceeded a dozen yards; when a violent blow on the head laid him prostrate; a knife was then twice thrust into his breast, and the lifeless body was hurled into the middle of the road.

It was close upon midnight, when the wife of Don Diego, while tending her sick husband, was startled by a noise from the adjoining room.

She immediately rang the bell, and was answered by the major domo, the only servant who had not retired to rest, being determined to await the return of Juan.

As he entered, the door leading to the ante-chamber was also quickly opened, and on the threshold appeared five masked men, who were evidently unprepared to find more than one inmate in the sick chamber.

Quick as thought the major-domo attempted to reach the bell-rope, that by a violent alarm he might awake the sleepers and obtain their aid, but quicker even than he was the leader of the masked band, who seized a pistol from his belt, and, with unerring aim, discharged it at the devoted servant.

There was a faint cry: the old servant stretched out his hands for support, and then, with a heavy groan, fell to the floor, where death closed his eyes.

This unexpected catastrophe seemed to spur on the robbers to instant work.

While one man was posted at each door, the three others insisted upon being informed by Don Diego where he kept his money and valuables;

but the sick old man had sank into so complete a lethargy by the dreadful event which had passed under his eye, that he was unable to answer them.

As rapidity of movement was, however, rendered peremptory to insure the safety of the band, the chief addressed the Donna for the same purpose, in answer to which, she evinced but little reluctance, and bade them to follow her.

The robbers at once declared their readiness, and, after passing along the corridor, entered the dining saloon, where the Donna pointed out a large box, which, she said, contained the plate.

Here another difficulty arose.

The box, which in reality contained the plate, was securely locked, and the key nowhere to be found.

Anxious to get at the rich booty, the leader, with an angry imprecation, put the muzzle of his heavy horse-pistol to the lock; a sharp report followed, and the lid thus unceremoniously opened offered no further obstacle to the rapacity of the invaders.

Donna Ignazia took advantage of the joyful excitement of the band, and left the room to descend into the lower story of the mansion, where her hurried summons at the chamber doors of the servants were readily responded to by them, as they had already been awoke by the double report in their master's apartments.

The tempest, which had raged so fearfully, had meanwhile ceased; the torrents of rain were followed by a clear night; the fury of the elements appeared as though, in momentary rest, they would gather strength for a fresh outbreak--nature's wrath had given place to the wrath of man.

The inanimate body of Juan Munoz had been discovered by a patrolling body of soldiery, who carried it to the guard-house.

The stabs were found to be of minor consequence, and the blow on the head, although it had caused a very severe wound, had occasioned only a temporary loss of consciousness.

It must be borne in mind, that two hours had nearly elapsed between the assault upon Munoz and the entrance into the house by the robbers, which time had probably been spent by them in various efforts to gain access.

Strong restoratives, judiciously applied, soon brought back animation, and, shortly afterward, Munoz could give a confused narrative of what had befallen him.

The officer on duty at once saw through the scheme, and gave orders to proceed to the mansion of Don Diego, which they reached at the precise moment when Donna Ignazia, with an armed body of her own servants, was leading them to the dining saloon.

The summons of the officer at the front door was followed by a dead silence on the part of the robbers: but when they heard the measured tramp of the soldiery on the stair-case, they sought for means of instant flight.

This, however, had been provided for; a portion of the military had surrounded the house, while the others, reinforced by the servants, approached.

The only chance then left to the brigands was to cut their way through, or sell their lives as dearly as possible.

In an instant the huge oaken doors of the saloon were closed and barred, the lights were extinguished, the windows opened, and everything made ready for the last desperate chance.

Fortune favored them; for the soldiery, not anticipating a leap of their enemies from the high windows, withdrew their sentinels from there in order to make them guard the side and rear outlets of the mansion.

Two of the bold ruffians had already made their descent by means of tablecloths, tied together, when the alarm was given.

The soldiers rushed to the spot--a third robber was clinging to the frail chance for life, and was rapidly descending, but a well-directed shot bereft him of strength, and, after a few frantic efforts to retain his hold, he fell heavily to the ground.

His two comrades made a firm stand: but vain was their boldness against the numbers of assailants, and in a few moments they fell, grievously wounded, into the hands of the victors.

Two more only remained of this desperate band, and the fact of their being shielded by strong bolts massive walls, rendered them no insignificant enemies.

Ladders were placed against the windows, but the true aim of the keen-eyed brigands made four successive shots tell with appalling effect, since each of them laid low one of their assailants.

At last an attack upon the doors was resolved upon, and soon the heavy blows of the ponderous axe resounded from the massive panels.

One door gave way: there was a stunning crash, followed by reports of fire-arms, cries of agony, and the dull sound of falling victims.

Again the numbers were successful, but in this instance the victims knew no mercy, and, when at last the tumult ceased, the mutilated corpses of the two brigands could hardly be recognized from three of their late assailants.

The man who had been shot while descending from the window was found to be quite dead, the ball having entered his heart.

The two survivors were subsequently identified as Ramon Gomez, and Pietro Vaga, better known as "the Hunchback," two of the most notorious highwaymen and burglars, for whose apprehension a large reward had been offered.

SHIPWRECK OF THE MONTICELLO.

J.

V.

Brown, Esq.

, Editor of the Lake Superior Journal, who was on board the Monticello, gives the following graphic account of the disaster: It becomes our painful duty to record the most perilous shipwreck that has ever occurred on Lake Superior, and having been a passenger on board the Monticello at the time, we are enabled to give all the particulars in relation to the loss of the vessel, and the hardships of the passengers and crew.

We went on board the Ontonagon on the afternoon of the 22d September, 1851, on her return from Fond du Lac.

She left the river at half-past five o'clock bound for the Sault, with about one hundred persons, twenty tons of copper from the Minnesota mine, and a few barrels of fish from La Pointe, and in coming out of the harbor one of the wheels struck a floating log very heavily, and it is supposed to have loosened the packing boxes around one of the shafts.

--She lay on the bar a few minutes on her way out, but the sea at that time was light, and we cannot think it possible that she sprang a leak from the effects of the slight pounding on the light sand.

[Illustration: LOSS OF THE MONTICELLO.

] We had been out about half an hour, when the firemen discovered the water rising around the floors of the engine; they communicated the fact to Capt. Wilson, and it was made known to the passengers, but the leak was not thought to be serious, and created but very little alarm.

The pump was put into operation, and on examination the captain and engineer seemed confident that the pump would keep her clear till we could run down to Eagle harbor, a distance of sixty miles; but it was soon discovered, that the water was fast gaining on the pump, and preparations were made immediately for raising water by means of barrels and buckets.

The wind was blowing at first from the westward, but soon changed to the northwest--it was fresh but fair, and aided by sails and all the steam that it was prudent to carry, she came on at a rapid rate, still keeping on her course, in hopes to make the harbor.

The passengers and crew worked steadily at the pumps, but the water continued gradually to gain on them.

The most of the copper and all the other freight was thrown overboard with a hearty good will--the wealth of the mine seeming of but little consequence at such a time.

Every possible means were employed to raise water, and every passenger assisted to the utmost of his strength and ability to keep the sinking vessel afloat.

Two pumps, three barrels, and a half dozen pails were constantly in motion, and still the water gained steadily, but surely, on their efforts.

We had now been out about three hours, the wind and waves constantly increasing, when it was found, there was little hope of reaching Eagle harbor; the water had risen nearly to the fires, and was fast gaining ground, notwithstanding all the exertions of those on board.

After remaining on her course a few minutes longer, the boat was headed toward the land, and new efforts were put forth to encourage all on board to assist at the pumps and barrels.

By this time there was three feet of water or more in the hold, and she moved and rolled heavily through the seas, the wood having to be shifted from one side of the vessel to the other, to keep her in trim.

One fire after the other was rolled into the water, and it became evident to the most hopeful that they would be extinguished entirely, and it was still thought, the wind would take her in under the land even if the steam should fail.

It was not long before the fires were reported out--the engines worked lazily for a short time, the clicking of the valves became faint and less frequent, and finally, like the dying struggle of a strong man, it ceased altogether.

Wearied with incessant exertions at the pumps, many gave out and retired to the cabins, seeming to prefer rest to escape from the watery grave into which they were fast sinking.

Some were even forced into the hold, to fill barrels and pails, and new efforts were put forth to induce the suffering crew and passengers to hold out an hour longer, with the assurance that we could reach land in that time.

With this hope, and that influence which strong minds always exert under such circumstances, many took hold again of the pumps with a kind of desperate exertion, and for a time they even gained on the water.

There was another circumstance which encouraged them to work.

The boat being careened on one side by the sails, one of the fires was partially out of water, and a fire was kindled again by means of dry wood, oil, and the most combustible matter the boat afforded.

This not only assisted our progress toward the land, but it stimulated the passengers to new exertions.

The fires were in this way kindled and extinguished several times, and all felt that they owed much to the irregular exertion of the engines for their preservation, especially as the wind for some time died away, so as to scarcely fill the sails.

For two long hours the water-logged vessel drifted in, before soundings could be had.

In this region it was well known, that the coast was rocky, and dangerous for landing, and the night was too dark to enable the pilot to distinguish one place from another.

A heavy sea rolled in upon the shore, and it seemed like madness to attempt a landing under such circumstances.

Accordingly, Captain Wilson decided to come to anchor, and endeavor to keep the vessel afloat till daylight; and as soon as we came into six fathoms water the anchors were let go, and she swung round heavily in the furious waves, that threatened speedily to complete the work of destruction.

Several insane attempts had been thwarted for cutting away the boats, which, had they succeeded, we doubt not, would have proved certain destruction to nine-tenths of all on board; for if the boats had not been swamped at once, they would undoubtedly have been dashed to pieces on the rock-bound shore, leaving others to swim ashore as best they might.

The pumping and bailing were continued with the last energies of a noble crew--two or three hours more would bring the light of another day, and it was understood that an attempt would be made to land as soon as it was daylight.

The time wore tediously away, and the passengers and crew were too much exhausted to keep down the water, and still they labored to do so with what strength they had left.

Some time before daylight the wind changed to the north; and commenced blowing hard directly upon the shore, and the sea increased rapidly, oftentimes washing into the hatchways where the men were at work bailing, and it became evident to all, that the vessel could be kept afloat only for a short time longer.

At five o'clock it was light enough to see that it was a bold rocky shore, against which the waves dashed high and furiously, but it was too late to choose a place for landing, and the captain ordered the anchors raised.

Her bow swung around to the east and in fifteen minutes she struck heavily on the solid rock, about three hundred yards from the shore.

The men kept at work pumping and bailing till she struck, when the waves at once swept in upon her deck and filled the hold.

The largest of the two yawls happened to be on the lee side, and it was soon lowered away, and with a line long enough to reach the land, the first and second mates, Messrs. Lucas and Barney, W. T.

Westbrook, and one of the crew, started for the shore.

The line was made fast to a tree, and they commenced the far more difficult and dangerous task of returning.

The little boat seemed to be engulphed by every breaker that it met on its way, and none but strong and true hands could have saved the boat in this emergency, and no one unaccustomed to the dangers of the sea, can imagine the nerve necessary to manage a boat under such circumstances.

The smaller boat, after much difficulty and delay, was got around under the lee and bailed out, but it swamped the first trip ashore, and was not used afterward.

By constant, and untiring exertions, the passengers and crew were all landed at half-past eight o'clock, and after securing the shattered boats, as best they could, on the steep side of the rocky shore, they gathered around the fires, to look upon the miserable plight of one another.

All were drenched with the water in coming ashore, cold and hungry, worn out by the fatigues of the night and morning, they lopped down around the fires, the sorriest looking gathering that it had ever been our misfortune to witness.

All had been so anxious in seeing the passengers and crew landed safely, that they had not thought about providing for our future wants, and nothing in the shape of provisions or baggage had been brought ashore.

After they had looked around them for a few moments, the boat was again manned and the wreck was again explored for provisions, and a few pounds of hard bread, part of a quarter of fresh beef and some boiled beef were brought in, which was as one remarked, a "poor show" for a lunch for so many sharp appetites.

After having eaten this mouthful we proposed to start with as many as possible for Eagle river, which was judged to be about thirty-five miles distant, and a party of twenty-two in number set out.

It was noon when we started, with our clothes still wet and heavy, and little or nothing to eat.

We worked our way slowly through the cedar swamp; over logs and under logs, up ravines and down ravines, a crooked, trackless, toilsome way, till the middle of the afternoon, when we met two of our fellow passengers on their way back to the wreck.

They had been on some distance further, but worn out with the hardships of their journey and hunger, they had turned back disheartened, and advised us to do the same.

But we decided to go on, and on we went, through the worst cedar swamps in the world, till the thick woods began to grow dark with the shades of evening, and till a number of the party became completely exhausted with fatigue and hunger.

We then concluded to encamp for the night, although we could not have traveled in all the afternoon over five miles, or about a mile an hour.

Without an axe, a few sticks were collected, and two or three poor fires were kindled.

All the bits of hard bread, and fresh beef, in all a scanty meal for one person's supper, was produced and rationed out to the twenty-two persons.

Every one ate as sparingly as possible, and as we were without tents, we lay down on the cold ground in our wet clothes before the fire, and dozed and shivered with cold till daylight.

As soon as we could see to travel, we proceeded on our toilsome way, and after walking about a mile we came to the trail that leads from Lake Superior to Portage Lake, and saw two or three Indians pushing out through the surf a bark canoe, which they soon jumped into and paddled away before the wind.

We tried to induce them to return, in hopes to procure something from them to satisfy our craving hunger, but they scarcely deigned to look back.

Some of our party had been from this trail to Eagle river, and it was some consolation to meet with a land mark that was known.

We now commenced walking along the beach, which was composed of large pebbles, covered in many places with logs and trees that had washed or tumbled in from off the overhanging banks, making it as tiresome walking as can well be imagined.

Frequently, in order to keep the beach, we were obliged to walk within reach of the dash of the waves, and were drenched with the cold flood.

About two miles east of the Portage trail, we discovered near the edge of the bank, which was some ten feet above the lake, the remains of a human being.

The clothes of a man, in a good state of preservation, half covered the bleaching bones, the sad, sickening, unburied relics of some poor "shipwrecked brother," who had here ended his voyage "o'er life's stormy main."

He had evidently chosen this spot where he could die looking off upon the lake, from whence no succor came, and where he could be easily discovered by the passer by.

A description was taken by one of our party of his clothes and the few articles found on them, and we learned on inquiring at Eagle river, that they were undoubtedly the remains of a Mr. Mathews, who got lost from the Algonquin mine a few weeks previous.

A brother of the deceased repaired to the spot as soon as possible and brought down the remains for burial at Eagle harbor.

The morning had not far advanced when a number of our party began to lag behind, exhausted from the effects of hunger and weakness, and it was evident that some would have to be left behind, while some of the others might possibly reach Eagle river that day and send assistance.

We confidently expected to find some provisions in a warehouse at Gratiot river, twelve miles from Eagle river, and all had hopes to reach there before night.

A few of our party pushed forward as fast as possible, to procure food and fires for those behind, but great was our disappointment not to find a particle of provisions at that place.

We kindled a fire, and rested for a few minutes, till a number of our party came up, the larger number being still far behind.

It now became more important than ever that some one should reach Eagle river, and seven of our number determined to make the trial.

We had now twelve miles further to go, and in our miserable condition we traveled but slowly, but the trail grew better as we proceeded, and we came in sight of Eagle River about four o'clock in the afternoon, and under the circumstances, a more pleasant, inviting village we do not recollect ever to have seen before.

Four or five of our party came through the same evening, and a few others of another party came in the next day with similar hardships.

On the Tuesday following, Capt. McKay with the schooner Algonquin, proceeded to the wreck, and brought off the captain, crew, and remaining passengers, and all that could be saved of valuable property.