Thrilling Adventures By Land And Sea — A Jungle Recollection; Attack of Boonesborough; Thrilling Incidents of Battle; Family Attacked by Indians

A JUNGLE RECOLLECTION.

The hot season of 1849 was peculiarly oppressive, and the irksome garrison duty, at Cherootabad, in the south of India, had for many months been unusually severe.

The colonel of my regiment, the brigadier, and the general, having successively acceded to my application for three weeks' leave, and that welcome fact having been duly notified in orders, it was not long before I found myself on the Coimbatore road, snugly packed, guns and all, in a country bullock cart, lying at full length on a mattress, with a thick layer of straw spread under it.

All my preparations had been made beforehand; relays of bullocks were posted for me at convenient intervals, and I arrived at Goodaloor, a distance of a hundred and ten miles, in rather more than forty eight hours.

Goodaloor is a quiet little village, about eleven miles from Coimbatore;--but don't suppose I was going to spend my precious three weeks there.

All loaded, and pony saddled, let us start: the two white cows and their calves; the mattress and blanket rolled up and carried on a Cooly's head Shikaree, horsekeeper, and a village man, with the three guns, while I, myself, bring up the rear.

Over a few ploughed fields, and past that large banian tree, the jungle begins.

In a small clump of low jungle, on the sloping bank of a broad, sandy watercourse, the casual passer-by would not have perceived a snug and tolerably strong little hut--the white ends of the small branches that were laid over it, and the mixture of foliage, alone revealing the fact to the observant eye of a practiced woodman.

No praise could be too strong to bestow on the faithful Shikaree; had I chosen the spot myself, after a weeks' survey of the country, it could not have been more happily selected.

To the deeply-rooted stump of a young tree on the opposite bank, one of the white cows had been made fast by a double cord passed twice around her horns.

Nothing remains to be done: the little door is fastened behind me, the prickly acacia boughs are piled up against it on the outside, and my people are anxious to be off.

The poor cow, too, listens with dismay to the retreating footsteps of the party, and has already made some furious plunges to free herself, and rejoin the rest of the kine, who have been driven off, nothing loth, toward home.

Watch her: how intently she stares along the path by which the people have deserted her.

Were it not for the occasional stamp of her fore leg, or the impatient side-toss of the head, to keep off the swarming flies, she might be carved out of marble.

And now a fearful and anxious gaze up the bed of the nullah, and into the thick fringe of Mimoso, one ear pricked and the other back alternately, show that _instinct_ has already whispered the warning of impending danger.

Another plunge to get loose, and a searching gaze up the path; see her sides heave.

Now comes what we want--that deep low!

It echoes again among the hills: another and another.

Poor wretch!

you are hastening your doom; far or near, the tiger hears you--under the rock or thicket, where he has lain since morning, sheltered from the scorching sun, his ears flutter as if they were tickled every time he hears that music; his huge, green eyes, heretofore half closed, are now wide open, and, alas!

poor cow, gaze truly enough in thy direction; but he has not stirred yet, and nobody can say in what direction giant death will yet stalk forth.

The moon is up--all nature still; the cow, again on her legs, is restless, and evidently frightened.

Oh!

reader, even if you have the soul of a Shikaree, I despair of being able to convey in words a tithe of the sensations of that solitary vigil: a night like that is to be enjoyed but seldom--a red-letter day in one's existence.

Where is the man who has never experienced the poetic influence of a moonlight scene!

Fancy, then, such a one as here described; a crescent of low hills--craggy, steep, and thickly wooded--around you, on three sides, and above them, again, at twenty miles' distance, the clear blue outline of the Neilgherry hills; in your front, the silver sand bed of the dry watercourse divides the thick and somber jungle with a stream of light, till you lose it in the deep shadows at the foot of the hills--all quiet, all still, all bathed in the light of the moon, yourself the only man for miles to come, a solitary watcher--your only companion the poor cow, who, full of fears, and suspicious at every leaf-fall, reminds you that a terrible struggle is about to take place within a few feet of your bed, and that there will be noise and confusion, when you must be cool and collected.

Your little kennel would not be strong enough to resist a determined charge, and you are alone, if three good guns are not true friends.

Oh!

that I could express sounds on paper as music is written in notes.

No, reader, you must do as I have done--you must be placed in a similar situation, to hear and enjoy the terrible roar of a hungry tiger--not from afar off, and listened for, but close at hand, and unexpected.

It was like an electric shock;--a moment ago I was dozing off, and the cow, long since laid down, appeared asleep; that one roar had not died away among the hills when she had scrambled on her legs, and stood with elevated head, stiffened limbs, tail raised, and breath suspended, staring, full of terror, in the direction of the sound.

As for the biped, with less noise, and even more alacrity, he had grasped his "Sam Nock," whose polished barrels just rested on the lower ledge of the little peep-hole; perhaps his eyes were as round as saucers, and heart beating fast and strong.

Now for the struggle;--pray heaven that I am cool and calm, and do not fire in a hurry, for one shot will either lose or secure my well-earned prize.

There he is again!

evidently in that rugged, stony watercourse, which runs parallel, and about two hundred yards behind the hut.

But what is that?

Yes, lightning: two flashes in quick succession, and a cold stream of air is rustling through the half-withered leaves of my ambush.

Taking a look to the rear, through an accidental opening among the leaves, it was plain that a storm, or, as it would be called at sea, a squall, was brewing.

An arch of black cloud was approaching from the westward, and, the rain descending, gave it the appearance of a huge black comb, the teeth reaching to the earth.

The moon, half obscured, showed a white mist as far as the rain had reached.

Then was heard in the puffs of air, the hissing of the distant but approaching downpour: more lightning--then some large heavy drops plashed on the roof, and it was raining cats and dogs.

How the scene was changed!

Half an hour ago, solemn, and still, and wild, as nature rested, unpolluted, undefaced, unmarked by man--sleeping in the light of the moon, all was tranquillity; the civilized man lost his idiosyncrasy in its contemplation--forgot nation, pursuits, creed--he felt that he was Nature's child, and adored the God of Nature.

But the beautiful was now exchanged for the sublime, when that scene appeared lit up suddenly and awfully by lightning, which now momentarily exchanged a sheet of intensely dazzling blue light, with a darkness horrible to endure--a light which showed the many streams of water, which now appeared like ribbons over the smooth slabs of rod that lay on the slope of the hills, and gave a microscopic accuracy of outline to every object, exchanged as suddenly for a darkness, which for the moment might be supposed the darkness of extinction--of utter annihilation--while the crash of thunder over head rolled over the echoes of the hills, "I am the Lord thy God."

The storm was at length over, the nullah run dry again.

Damp and sleepy, with arms folded and eyes sometimes open, but often shut, I kept an indifferent watch, when the cow, struggling on her legs, and a groan, brought me to my senses.

There they were.

It was no dream.

A large tiger, holding her just behind the ears, shaking her like a fighting dog.

By the doubtful light of the watery moon, did I calmly and noiselessly run out the muzzle of my rifle.

I saw him, without quitting his grip of the cow's neck, leap over her back more than once.

She sank to the earth, and he lifted her up again.

At the first opportunity, I pulled trigger.

The left hand missed, I tried the right--it went off--bang!

Whether a hanging fire is an excuse or not, the tiger relinquished his hold and was off with a bound.

The cow staggered and struggled, and, in few seconds, fell, and, with a heavy groan, ceased to move.

The tiger had killed the cow within a few feet of me, and escaped scathless.

Night after night did I watch for his return.

I had almost despaired of seeing him again, when, one night, about eleven o'clock, my ears caught the echo among the rocks, and then the distant roar--nearer--nearer--nearer; and--oh, joy!

--answered.

Tiger and tigress!

--above all hope!

--coming to recompense me for hundreds of night watchings--to balance a long account of weary nights in the silent jungle, in platforms on trees, in huts of leaf and bramble, and in damp pits on the water's edge--all bootless; coming--coming--nearer and nearer.

Music nor words, dear reader, can stand me in any stead to convey the sound to you; the first note like the trumpet of a peacock, and the rest the deepest toned thunder.

Stones and gravel rattled just behind the hut on the path by which we came, and went, and a heavy step passed and descended the slope into the nullah.

I heard the sand crunching under his weight before I dared to look.

A little peep.

Oh, heavens!

looming in the moonlight, there he stood, long, sleek as satin, and lashing his tail--he stood stationary, smelling the slaughtered cow.

No longer the cautious, creeping tiger, I felt how awful a brute he was to offend.

I

remembered how he had worried a strong cow in half a minute, and that, with his weight alone, my poor rickety little citadel would fall to pieces.

As if the excitement of the moment was insufficient, the monster, gazing down the dry watercourse, caught sight of his companion, who, advancing up the bed of the nullah, stood irresolutely about twenty yards off.

The bully, who was evidently the male, after smelling at the head, came round the carcass, making a sort of complaisant purring--"humming a kind of animal song," and to it he went tooth and nail.

As he stood with his two fore feet on the haunch, while he tugged and tore out a beef-steak, I once more grasped old "Sam Nock," and ran the muzzle out of the little port.

The white linen band marked a line behind his shoulders, and rather low, but, from the continued motion of his body, it was some moments before eye and finger agreed to pull trigger--bang!

A shower of sand rattled on the dry leaves, and a roar of rage and pain satisfied me, even before the white smoke, which hung in the still air, had cleared away, to show the huge monster writhing and plunging where he had fallen.

Either directed by the fire, or by some slight noise made in the agitation of the moment, he saw me, and, with a hideous yell, scrambled up: the roaring thunder of his voice filled the valley, and the echoes among the hills answered it, with the hootings of tribes of monkeys, who, scared out of sleep, sought the highest branches, at the sound of the well-known voice of the tyrant of the jungle.

I immediately perceived, to my great joy, that his hind quarters were paralyzed and useless, and that all danger was out of the question.

He sank down again on his elbows, and as he rested his now powerless limbs, I saw the blood welling out of a wound in the loins, as it shone in the moonlight, and trickled off his sleek-painted hide, like globules of quicksilver.

As I looked into his countenance, I saw all the devil alive there.

The will remained--the power only had gone.

It was a sight never to be forgotten.

With head raised to the full stretch of his neck, he glared at me with an expression of such malignity, that it almost made one quail.

I thought of the native superstition of singeing off the whiskers of the newly killed tiger to lay his spirit, and no longer wondered at it.

With ears back, and mouth bleeding, he growled and roared in fitful uncertainty, as if he were trying, but unable, to measure the extent of the force that had laid him low.

Motionless myself, provocation ceased, and without further attempt to get on his legs, he continued to gaze on me; when I slowly lowered my head to the sight, and again pulled trigger.

This time, true to the mark, the ball entered just above the breastbone, and the smoke cleared off with his death-groan.

There he lay, foot to foot with his victim of last night, motionless--dead.

My first impulse was to tear down the door behind, and get a thorough view of his proportions; but remembering that his companion, the tigress, had vanished only a short time ago close to the scene of action, I thought it as well to remain where I was; so, enlarging the windows with my hands, I took a long look, and then jovially attacked the coffee without reference to noise, and fell back on the mattress to sleep, or to think the night's work over.

"At last, I have got him: his skin will be pegged out to-morrow, drying before the tent door."

When my people came in the morning, they found me seated on the dead tiger.

Coolies were sent for to carry the beast, and I gave the pony his reins all the way back to the tent.

FRASER'S MAGAZINE

[Illustration: ATTACK ON BOONESBOROUGH.

] ATTACK OF BOONSBOROUGH.

On the tenth of March, 1778, Daniel Boone, having been taken prisoner by the Indians, was conducted to Detroit, when Governor Hamilton himself offered one hundred pounds sterling, for his ransom; but so great was the affection of the Indians for their prisoner, that it was positively refused.

Boone's anxiety on account of his wife and children was incessant, and the more intolerable as he dared not excite the suspicions of his captors by any indication of a wish to return home.

The Indians were now preparing for a violent attack upon the settlements in Kentucky.

Early in June, four hundred and fifty of the choicest warriors were ready to march against Boonesborough, painted and armed in a fearful manner.

Alarmed at these preparations, he determined to make his escape.

He hunted and shot with the Indians as usual, until the morning of the sixteenth of June, when, taking an early start, he left Chillicothe and directed his steps to Boonesborough.

The distance exceeded one hundred and sixty miles, but he performed it in four days, during which he eat only one meal.

He appeared before the garrison like one risen from the dead.

He found the fortress in a bad state, and lost no time in rendering it more capable of defence.

He repaired the flanks, gates, and posterns, formed double bastions, and completed the whole in ten days.

On the eighth of August, the enemy appeared.

The attack upon the fort was instantly commenced; and the siege lasted nine days, during which, an almost incessant firing was kept up.

On the twentieth of August, the enemy retired with a loss of thirty-seven killed and a great many wounded.

This affair was highly creditable to the spirit and skill of the pioneers.

THRILLING INCIDENTS OF BATTLE.

There is a man now living in East Dixfield, Oxford county, me, who actually caught in his mouth a ball discharged from a musket.

He was at the battle of Bridgewater, in the war of 1812, and, while biting off the end of a cartridge, for the purpose of loading his gun, was struck by a ball, which entered on the left side of his face, knocking out eight of his teeth, cut off the end of his tongue, and passed into his throat.

He raised it, went to the hospital, staid out the remainder of his enlistment, and returned home with the bullet in his pocket.

The New Orleans Picayune, one of whose editors was an eye-witness of the most of the leading battles in Mexico, copies the foregoing paragraph, and appends to it the following relation: We can relate an incident even more strange than this.

At the siege of Monterey, in 1846, and, while General Worth's troops were advancing to storm the small fort, known as La Soldada, a man, named Waters, an excellent soldier, belonging to Ben McCulloch's Rangers, caught a large grape-shot directly in his mouth.

It was fully the size of a hen's egg, was rough, uneven in shape, and, in its course, completely carried out the four upper teeth of the ranger, and part of the jaw, cut off the four lower teeth, as with a chisel, split his tongue in twain, carried away his palate, went through the back of his head, and, striking a tendon, glanced down, and lodged under the skin on the shoulder-blade, where it was extracted by a surgeon, and safely placed in the pocket of Waters for future reference.

No man thought the wounded ranger could live, he could swallow neither food nor water.

We saw him two nights afterward, in a room in the Bishop's Palace, which had been converted into a hospital, sitting bolt upright among the wounded and the dying--for the nature of his terrible hurt was such that he could not lie down without suffocating.

His face was swollen to more than twice its ordinary size--he was speechless of course--his wants were only made known by means of a broken slate and pencil, and he was slowly applying a wet sponge to his mouth, endeavoring to extract moisture, which might quench the fever and intolerable thirst under which he was suffering.

By his side lay young Thomas, of Maryland, a member of the same company, who was mortally wounded the morning after, and who was now dying.

Wounded men, struck that afternoon in Worth's advance upon the Grand Plaza, were constantly being brought in, the surgeons were amputating and dressing the hurts of the crippled soldiers by a pale and sickly candle-light, and the groans of those in grievous pain added a new horror to the scene, which was at best frightful.

We recollect, perfectly well, a poor fellow struck in both legs by a grape-shot, while advancing up one of the streets.

He was begging lustily, after one of his limbs had been amputated, that the other might be spared him, on which to hobble through the world.

Poor Thomas, as gallant a spirit as ever lived, finally breathed his last; we brought Waters a fresh cup of water with which to moisten his wounds, and then left the room to catch an hour's sleep; but the recollections of that terrible night will not soon be effaced from my memory.

The above incident occurred on the night of the 23d and morning of the 24th of September, 1846. During the early part of the month of February following, while passing into the old St. Charles, in this city, we were accosted with a strange voice by a fine-looking man, who seemed extremely glad to see us, although he had a most singular and unaccountable mode of expressing himself.

We recollected the eye as one we had been familiar with, but the lower features of the face, although in no way disfigured, for the life of us, we could not make out.

"Why, don't you know me?"

in a mumbling, half-indistinct, and forced manner, said the man, still shaking our hand vigorously.

"I'm Waters."

And Waters it was, in reality, looking as well and as healthy as ever, without showing the least outward sign that he had ever caught a grape-shot in his mouth.

A luxuriant growth of mustaches completely covered his upper lip, and concealed any scar the iron missile might have made; an imperial on his under lip hid any appearance of a wound at that point; and, with the exception of his speech, there was nothing to show that he had ever received the slightest injury about the face.

His tongue, which was terribly shattered, was still partially benumbed, rendering articulation both difficult and tiresome; but he assured us he was every day gaining more and more the use of it, and, in his own words, he was soon to be "just as good as new" It is needless to say that we were glad to see him--to meet one we had never expected to encounter again in such excellent plight.

Any one who could have seen him sitting in that apartment of the Bishop's Palace, his face swollen, and, with a gravity of countenance, which would have been ludicrous, even to the causing of laughter, had it not been for his own precarious situation, and the heart-rending scenes around, would have been equally as much astonished and rejoiced, as we were, on again so unexpectedly beholding him.

A correspondent of the "Inquirer" has sent us the following, which is quite as remarkable as either of the foregoing: Very extraordinary incidents have been published lately, of shot having been caught in the mouths of soldiers, in the course of battle, in the war of 1812, and in the Mexican war; but an incident, perhaps more remarkable, for the coolness of the individual on the occasion, occurred at the battle of Fort Drane, fought, in August, 1837, under the command of the late Col. B.

K.

Pierce.

This was one of the most signal and desperate engagements of that bloody war.

The Seminoles, under their renowned chief, Osceola, had taken a very commanding position in an extensive sugar field, near the stockade, strengthened on the east side by a dense hammock.

Three desperate onsets were made during the battle, and the enemy were finally driven from the field to the protection of the hammock.

During the hottest of the battle, a soldier belonging to the detachment under the command of Lieut.

Pickell, whose position was a little in advance of the two wings, of the name of Jackson, having just fired, received a shot from a tall Indian, not twenty yards distant, which broke through the outer parts of his pantaloons, and lodged in his right-hand pocket.

Feeling the slight sting of the half-spent ball, he thrust his hand in his pocket, drew out the bullet, and dropped it into the barrel of his musket, upon the charge of powder he had just before put in; then, with the unerring aim of a true marksman, leveled his piece, and, as quick as lightning, his adversary was measured upon the ground.

The wound was fatal--the warrior survived the shot but a few minutes.

The above is one of the many incidents that occurred in the recent war with the Florida Indians which, for peril and brave feats, on the part of the American soldiers and officers, has scarcely ever been equaled.

The above incident is stated as it actually occurred.

A FAMILY ATTACKED BY INDIANS.

On the night of the eleventh of April, 1787, the house of a widow in Bourbon county, Kentucky, became the scene of a deplorable adventure.

She occupied what was called a double cabin, in a lonely part of the county.

One room was tenanted by the old lady herself, together with two grown sons, and a widowed daughter with an infant.

The other room was occupied by two unmarried daughters from sixteen to twenty years of age, together with a little girl.

The hour was eleven o'clock at night, and the family had retired to rest.

Some symptoms of an alarming nature had engaged the attention of the young man for an hour, before anything of a decided character took place.

At length hasty steps were heard in the yard, and quickly afterward several loud knocks at the door, accompanied by the usual exclamation, "Who keeps house?"

in very good English.

The young man, supposing from the language that some benighted travelers were at the door, hastily arose, and was advancing to withdraw the bar that secured it, when his mother, who had long lived upon the frontier, and had probably detected the Indian tone in the demand for admission, instantly sprang out of bed, and ordered her son not to admit them, declaring that they were Indians.

She instantly awakened her other son, and the young men seizing their guns, which were always charged, prepared to repel the enemy.

The Indians finding it impossible to enter under their assumed characters, began to thunder at the door with great violence, but a single shot from a loop-hole obliged them to shift the attack to some less exposed point, and, unfortunately, they discovered the door of the other cabin, which contained the three daughters.

The rifles of the brothers could not be brought to bear on this point; and, by means of several rails taken from the yard fence, the door was forced from its hinges, and the girls were at the mercy of the savages.

One was instantly secured, but the eldest defended herself desperately with a knife she had been using at the loom, and stabbed one of the Indians to the heart, before she was tomahawked.

In the meantime, the little girl, who had been overlooked by the enemy in their eagerness to secure the others, ran out into the yard, and might have effected her escape, had she taken advantage of the darkness, and fled; but instead of looking to her own safety, the terrified little creature ran round the house, wringing her hands, and crying that her sisters were killed.

[Illustration: THE INDIANS KILLING THE WIDOW'S DAUGHTER.

] Just then the child uttered a loud scream, followed by a few faint moans, and all was silent.

Presently the crackling of flames was heard, accompanied by a triumphant yell from the Indians, announcing that they had set fire to that division of the house, which had been occupied by the daughters, and of which they held undisputed possession.

The fire was quickly communicated to the rest of the building, and it became necessary to abandon it or perish in the flames.

The door was thrown open, and the old lady, supported by her eldest son, attempted to cross the fence at one point, while her daughter carrying her child in her arms, and attended by the younger of the brothers, ran in a different direction.

The blazing roof shed a light over the yard but little inferior to that of day, and the savages were distinctly seen awaiting the approach of their victims.

The old lady was permitted to reach the stile unmolested, but in the act of crossing, received several balls in her breast, and fell dead.

Her son, providentially, remained unhurt, and, by extraordinary agility, effected his escape.

The other party succeeded in reaching the fence unhurt, but in the act of crossing were vigorously assailed by several Indians, who, throwing down their guns, rushed upon them with their tomahawks.

The young man defended his sister gallantly, firing upon the enemy as they approached, and then wielding the butt of his rifle with a fury that drew their whole attention upon himself, and gave his sister an opportunity of effecting her escape.

He quickly fell however under the tomahawks of his enemies, and was found at daylight, scalped and mangled in a shocking manner.

Of the whole family, consisting of eight persons, only three escaped.

Four were killed upon the spot, and one, the second daughter, carried off as a prisoner.

The neighborhood was quickly alarmed, and, by daylight, about thirty men were assembled, under the command of Colonel Edwards.

A light snow had fallen during the latter part of the night, and the Indian trail could be followed at a gallop.

It led directly into the mountainous country bordering on the Licking, and afforded evidences of great hurry and precipitation on the part of the fugitives.

Unfortunately, a hound had been permitted to follow the whites, and as the trail became fresh, and the scent warm, she followed it with eagerness, baying loudly and giving the alarm to the Indians.

The consequences of this imprudence were soon manifest.

The enemy finding the pursuit keen, and perceiving the strength of their prisoner began to fail, instantly sunk their tomahawks in her head, and left her still warm and bleeding upon the snow.

As the whites came up, she regained strength enough to wave her hand in token of recognition, and appeared desirous of giving them some information, with regard to the enemy, but her strength was too far gone.

Her brother sprang from his horse and endeavored to stop the effusion of blood, but in vain.

She gave him her hand, muttered some inarticulate words, and expired.