Chapter XIV: Prologue (9)

But the redmen made no more trouble for Kentucky. The treaty of peace deprived them of their British backing, and the United States was left to deal with them after its own way. The memory of the brave fight that was put up by the handful of frontiersmen lingered with them, and, with no hope of help from England, they gave the Kentuckians a grand letting alone.

Such, in brief, is the story of the last battle of the war of the Revolution. Beginning away up in Massachusetts, the great struggle ended at Blue Lick, Kentucky, a region that was an unknown wilderness when the struggle began.

Indian Legends

COUNTIES OF GEORGIA BEARING INDIAN NAMES.

Seven of the counties in Georgia have been named to perpetuate the memory of the first American, the Indian. Of peculiar interest is the derivation and meaning of the names of these counties.

_Catoosa_: Gatusi in Cherokee language and means "mountain."

_Chattahoochee_: (Creek: _Chatu_ "rock" _hutchas_ "mark," "design": "pictured rocks"). A former Lower Creek town on the upper waters of Chattahoochee River to which it gave its name; seemingly in the present Harris County, Georgia. So called from some pictured rocks at that point.

_Chatooga_: (Also Chatuga, a corruption of the Cherokee Tsatugi, possibly meaning "he drank by sips," or "he has crossed the stream and come out on the other side," but more likely of foreign origin).

_Cherokee_: The tribal name is a corruption of _Tsalagi_ or _Tsaragi_, the name by which they commonly called themselves, and which may be derived from the Choctaw _Chilukki_, "cave people," in allusion to the numerous caves in their mountain country.

_Coweta_: (Kawita). The name of the leading tribe among the Lower Creeks, whose home was at one time on the Ocmulgee, and later on the western side of Chattahoochee below the falls. According to one old Creek tradition the name means "those who follow us," and was given them by the Kasihta Indians, another Creek tribe who traditionally marched in advance when the Creeks invaded Alabama and Georgia.

_Muscogee_: (_Muscogee_, properly _Maskoki_) meaning unknown. Its derivation has been attributed to an Algonquian term signifying "swamp" or "open marshy land." Muscogee is the name by which the dominant tribe of the Creek confedracy knows itself and is known to other tribes.

_Oconee_: Was the name of a tribe which anciently lived on Oconee River, but subsequently moved first to the east bank of the Chattahoochee and later to Florida where it found a nucleus of the people later known as Seminoles. Oconee, their chief town, was situated, according to Hawkins, about four miles below Milledgeville. Weekachumpa, their chief, known to the English as Long King, and one of his warriors were among the Indians assembled to welcome Oglethorpe when he arrived in Georgia in 1732.--Compiled by MRS. J. S. LOWREY.

STORY OF EARLY INDIAN DAYS.

A pretty story of early times in America is that of the restoration of a little girl to her parents by the Indians. It is quoted from Currey's "Story of Old Fort Dearborn," by the New York Post. The child, who was nine years old at the time of her capture in western Pennsylvania, was well treated, came to regard the chief and his mother with love and reverence, learned their language and customs, and almost forgot her own. At the end of four years, this chief was invited by a colonel who was very popular with the red men to bring the girl to a council fire at Ft. Niagara. He accepted the invitation upon condition that there should be no effort to reclaim the child. When the boat in which the chief and his captive had crossed the Niagara River touched the bank, the girl sprang into the arms of her waiting mother. The chief was deeply moved. "She shall go," he said. "The mother must have her child again. I will go back alone." In the words of her daughter-in-law, who wrote of this period many years afterward:

"With one silent gesture of farewell he turned and stepped on board the boat. No arguments or entreaties could induce him to remain at the council; but having gained the other side of the Niagara, he mounted his horse, and with his young men was soon lost in the depths of the sheltered forests."

The girl became the wife of John Kinzie, "Chicago's pioneer."

CHIEF VANN HOUSE.

At the foot of one of the highest peaks of Cohuttah Mountains in North Georgia, there stood, one late autumn day, an Indian girl, the daughter of a Cherokee Chief, and her half-breed lover.

As they talked she told him how the young men of her tribe hated him and how they taunted her about her pale faced lover, and told her he would be cruel and false to her. The old chiefs had told her of the great white chief, DeSoto, who had built the fort on this very mountain where they stood, when he rested in his journey from the Indian village, Chiaha (the place where the city of Rome, Ga., now stands). They told her how cruelly his followers had treated her people, tearing down their wigwams, desecrating their graves, in their search for Tau-lan-neca (yellow money) and they warned her that he belonged to that same cruel race.

He answered her, his heart swelling with love for his father's people, that they were not false and cruel but kind and good. He told her of his recent trip to Washington where he had gone as interpreter for their great Chief, Ridge, who loved the white people. He said they had seen the great white father and he had talked kindly to them and had advised them to sell their lands to the white people who would pay them well for it and would give them lands just as beautiful in the far west, which would be theirs as long as "grass grew and water ran."

He told her that if her people should be guided by Chief Ridge, and go to this far away land, he, too, would go with them and try to make her happy among her own people. If they did not go he would stay among them and build her a house like the white people lived in, a house good and strong that would last as long as their love, which would be forever. (It seems a prophecy for it is still standing).

He kept his promise to her and the house he dreamed of was built. What a marvelous thing it was to those savage people to watch the building of this house, with its carved mantels that reach to the ceiling, and the wonderful spiral stairway that excites the admiration of the skilled workmen of today and the hinges of the doors of beaten brass.

This palefaced lover little dreamed of what the future held in store, that he (David Vann) should become a chief of his Nation and go again to Washington with Chief Ridge and bring back to their tribe the purchase money for their lands, how dissensions had arisen among them in regard to the division of the money, how he buried the money near his home and how the wife that loved him begged him not to tell her where he buried it for fear the Indians would come and torture her and make her tell where it was buried.

Little did he dream that he and Chief Ridge would be basely murdered by the Indians.

This house has never been known by any other name but the Chief Vann house. It is impossible to find out the exact time it was built, as there were no white people living here at that time. White, in his Georgia Statistics, says that when the Moravian Mission was started in Spring Place that Chief Vann gave them the land for their buildings near his house and sent his children to their school. That was in 1802, so the house had been built before that date.

Judge George Glenn in a published article has told of Chief Vann's later life, his marriage to an Indian princess, his visits to Washington, his receiving and burying the gold, and his murder by the Indians, all of which is authentic.

The material for the house was said to have been carried on the backs of Indian ponies from Savannah, Ga., but other accounts say that Chief Vann taught the Indians to make and burn the brick there.

Thus ends the romance, mingled truth, and tradition, but the house in fairly good repair is still standing in Spring Place, Ga., today. This little town was the only place of any size at that time. In the jail at this place John Howard Payne was imprisoned, accused of being a spy. The jail is still standing.--MRS. WARREN DAVIS, Historian, John Milledge Chapter, D. A. R., Dalton, Ga.

INDIAN TALE.

"Grandfather, tell me about the Indians," said little Annie Daniel, as she climbed upon the arm of a large rocking chair in which Mr. Abel Daniel was sitting, dreaming of the past with its many varied experiences. The person thus addressed had even now reached his fourscore years and ten, yet his mind was keenly alert, his carriage erect and his immaculate dress revealed the "Gentlemen of the old school." Washington County, Georgia, was proud to claim so distinguished a son, so valiant a hero and such a cultured gentleman. Capt. Daniel had survived three noted wars; the "War of 1812," the Indian and the Mexican, in all of which he had been a true soldier and had won honor for his home and native state. His gallant service in the wars with the British and the Mexicans interested the grown people. How he helped General Gaines and his men capture the little village in Clay County on the banks of the Chattahoochee, which is now called Fort Gaines and drive the Indians back into Florida, always delighted the young boys and his lullabies sung in the Indian language pleased little Annie, but tonight she begged for a real Indian story.

"Well, dear, I shall tell you of one which relates to my own life and is really a great part of it," said grandfather. "After helping to expel the Indians from our borders, I decided to go live with them for a time in order to learn their crafts and become better acquainted with a people whom I believed to be honest and loyal."

"Having crossed the border and tied my handkerchief to a leafy branch and waived it aloft as a flag of truce, they quickly responded and gave me a most cordial welcome. During the seven years of my stay with them, I was known as the 'White Man' and treated as some superior being. The best of all they possessed was at my command and they counted nothing too dear that would add to my pleasure. I was made a sharer in all their hunting and fishing sports, having been presented with one of their very best ponies.

"All went well until one day I discovered that the Chief was plotting a marriage between me and his beautiful daughter. As a marriage dowry he would present us with several barrels of specie, thus showing in what esteem he held me. I could never think of marrying this Indian maiden so I at once began to plan my escape. The next day I rode my pony as far as possible, taking my gun along as a pretense of hunting, but returned the following day with my game. After letting my pony rest a day I started out a second time to test her strength still further. This time I stayed two days and two nights and decided my pony was equal to any undertaking. After a second rest we started out the third time and made a safe flight across the line to my own people.

"Before reaching the old homestead a neighbor had informed me of my father's death and my mother's total blindness. The dear old soul was seated on the porch as I rode up; near her was a water bucket over which was hanging a long handled gourd. Just as her feeble hands reached out for the gourd, I handed it to her, saying; 'Here it is, mother.' She recognized my voice as that of her baby boy and fainted away. From that day I never left my aged mother, but tried to make amends for the sorrow my wanderings must have caused, by attending to her every want and making her last days as comfortable, happy and free from care as ever a loving child could.

"My Indian pony was treasured as a relic of the years spent with the Indians and my fortunate escape from the hand of his daughter.

"But my little girl is getting sleepy, so kiss grandfather good night, and he'll tell you more another time."--MRS. ANNIE (DANIEL) CLIFTON, Stone Castle Chapter, D. A. R.

WILLIAM WHITE AND DANIEL BOONE.

In 1750, William White and Daniel Boone settled at what is now known as Bull Bradley Springs in Tennessee. The Indian trail from the Hiwassee town Northward, passed near this home.

One evening, two of the boys, aged ten and twelve, went out into the forest to cut and prepare wood for the night. When darkness came on and the boys did not return, a search was made and their axe was found leaning against a small hickory tree which the boys must have been cutting down when they stopped their work. Signs of Indians were discovered. These were followed next morning and were found to lead into the Indian trail. There seemed to have been a large party of the Indians going Northward. The pursuers failed to overtake the Indians and despite all their efforts were unable to rescue the boys.

Years afterward an officer in Wisconsin had published, for the benefit of any relatives of the parties concerned, that two white men, past middle age, had been found with one of the Northwest tribes. These men had forgotten all knowledge of the English language. They remembered that they had been captured by Indians while engaged in cutting wood and that their captors had brought them many miles, but in what direction they were uncertain.

This description, though meager, made all certain that these men were no others than the lost sons of William White. They had become so thoroughly "Indianized" that they refused to leave the tribe and come back to their people.

On the day of the boys' capture, William White was getting out a rock for a hearth. These rocks were cut from a single stone, and were called "Hath-stones." When no trace of his boys could be found, Mr. White went on with his hearth making, laying the "hath-stone" in its place, and on it he carved the date of their capture. The stone is still to be seen in a hearth in the home now located where White's house stood. The date and names are plainly visible. Some of White's descendants still reside in the historical home.--ROBERTA G. TURNER, Xavier Chapter, D. A. R., Rome, Ga.

A LEGEND OF LOVER'S LEAP, COLUMBUS, GEORGIA.

One mile above the city of Columbus, Georgia, the Chattahoochee's turbid waters dash, fret and foam in angry surges over and among a group of giant bowlders forming what was called by the Red Men of the forest, "Tumbling Falls."

From the eastern bank of the river rises a rugged, perpendicular cliff to a lofty height, which is covered almost to its verge by majestic trees, vines and shrubs of a semi-tropical growth. This is crowned by a colossal bowlder of dark granite, and from its summit is one of the most magnificent and picturesque views of river scenery that nature has produced.

This is "Lover's Leap," famous in song and story; where the "Young Eagle" of the Cowetas clasped to his brave heart the bright "Morning Star" of the Cussetas and leaped into the deep, restless waters below.

The Alabama hills, forming a long, undulating chain, and covered with verdant beauty, arise across the river, which, below the precipice, flows gently onward until it reaches the city limits, where the waters again dash with insane fury over clustering bowlders and form the Coweta Falls, which are there arrested and utilized by the palefaced stranger to turn thousands of looms and spindles for his own use and profit.

A short distance below the Leap is the "Silver Wampum," a lovely stream of pellucid water, which rises beneath a clump of sweet-scented bays and magnolias, and flows and quivers in sunlight and moonlight, like a silver girdle, along its green and flowerdecked banks, until it reaches a rocky bed, where it falls by a succession of cascades, which form an exquisite fringe to the "Wampum" before dropping into the Chattahoochee.

There the beautiful "Morning Star" would often sit indulging in love dreams, as she beaded the gay moccasins, bags and wampums, while the "Young Eagle" followed the chase. There he would bring her the first fruits and flowers of the season.

From some warmer climate unknown to his rivals he would often procure boughs of the fragrant calycanthus, queenly magnolias and sweet-smelling jasmines, and secretly adorn this sylvan retreat in anticipation of her coming, long before the native buds began to expand their beauty. Frequently she would be startled in her blissful reveries by the rolled petal of a magnolia falling like a great snow-flake at her feet.

This she recognized as a private dispatch from "The Young Eagle," Cohamoteker (blow gun) to apprise her of his approach and hastily arising she would eagerly await his coming.

At a later date, when duty required her attentions at the wigwam, she would frequently find rare products of the chase suspended without. This was always prepared with unusual care, and relished by her father, the chief, who was too old to indulge often in his favorite pastime, and was somewhat dependent upon his braves for many luxuries of that kind.

Consequently, he did not question the source from which they came, but when particularly pleased with his repast he would say:

"Yaho Hadjo (Crazy Wolf) is good. In his wigwam will be found the richest venison and rarest birds of the air. He is a worthy mate for the Morning Star!"

When a child she had been betrothed to Young Eagle, the noble son of the Coweta chief. Their love had grown with their growth and strengthened with their strength, until it had reached an intensity where death appeared preferable to a life apart.

A rivalry had suddenly sprung up between the two tribes, who had so long smoked the calumet of peace together. The pledged word of the veterans was broken, and a feud more deadly than that of the Montagues and Capulets then existed between the brave Cowetas and Cussetas, who were of equal prowess.

The aged chief of the latter could no longer follow the warpath with the alacrity of his youth, but by the council fire all did reverence to his eloquence, and were ready to rally at his battle-cry.

His lion-hearted sons, the pride of a war-like sire, had gone in the vigor of their early manhood to the Spirit Land and the chieftain stood alone, like a giant oak of the forest, stately and grand in age and decay, with the once vigorous branches all leafless and dead save one, which still flourished in pristine beauty.

His daughter, with her starry eyes and step as fleet and graceful as a wild fawn, was the idol of his heart. In childhood he had called her "Minechee" (smart, active.) As she grew in stature and beauty, twining herself more closely around his heart, he called her "The Morning Star," for she would arise with the birds, and often waken him from slumber with songs and merry laughter while preparing for his comfort.

By the latter name she was known among the tribe.

"The Morning Star is up and shames the laggard to the chase! He should have been over the hills and far away."

The young warriors likened her to some ideal being, who basked in the smile of the Great Spirit, and worshiped her with truly loyal hearts. If we could raise the curtain of time, and read the thoughts that agitated the dusky bosoms of those fearless young braves, it would be evident that the affection and attention lavished on their old chief was partially due to their admiration for the bright and beautiful Morning Star.

Among her many suitors was Yaho Hadjo, who had cunningly ingratiated himself into her father's favor, and had long vainly sought the hand and heart of the bright-eyed maiden. In his fierce wrath, he had secretly vowed vengeance against a more successful rival. Under the garb of friendship and loyalty to his chief, he had secured a firm footing in his wigwam, and thus constituted himself a spy on the actions of the unsuspecting daughter.

She had waited long and patiently, hoping that time would soften the feud and remove every impediment to her union with the peerless Young Eagle, while he had endeavored to conciliate his tribe by every possible means that a brave warrior could to restore peace to the nation.

Alas! jealousy, that hydra-headed monster, had completely enslaved the heart of Yaho Hadjo, and at its bidding he continued to secretly add fresh fuel to each expiring flame until it had reached enormous proportions, and open hostilities seemed inevitable.

The lovers no longer dared to meet by day, but beside the Silver Wampum, when the Great Spirit marshalled his starry hosts through the blue vaulted sky, they met to renew vows of eternal love.

The stealthy footsteps of Yaho Hadjo had followed the Morning Star to the trysting place, and his watchful eye had witnessed the tender meeting with the Young Eagle.

The plans of the jealous rival were immediately formed with characteristic craftiness. He then cautiously retraced his steps and sought the presence of his chief.

Into his ear the wily creature whispered a malignant falsehood of broken faith, treachery and a contemplated raid by the Cowetas upon the Cussetas.

The old warrior's anger was instantly aroused. With all the venom of his nature rankling in his savage heart, he arose to give the war-whoop to his sleeping braves.

But Yaho Hadjo urged extreme caution, saying the Young Eagle was the ruling spirit and instigator of the intended diabolical assault, and was perhaps now prowling around like a hungry fox with a hope of capturing the Morning Star. A better and surer plan would be to offer privately a handsome reward for the person or scalp of the Young Eagle.

By that means the villainous savage thought to have his unsuspecting rival cruelly assassinated and his body secretly disposed of without arousing any suspicion of the dark deed among the Cowetas.

He doubted not the success of his cowardly undertaking; and then, without opposition, he would secure the beautiful maiden for his squaw.

He dared not insinuate to the chief that his daughter would have been a willing captive, for he had confidence in her integrity, and knew she would never forsake him to link her fate with his enemy. She had made a promise to this effect, and the Morning Star never dealt falsely.

At the conclusion of Yaho Hadjo's heartless suggestion, the old man bowed his head in troubled thought for a brief period, and then rising to his full stature, he said:

"Yes, yes; it is best! Go say to my young warriors that he who brings the chief the person or scalp from the dead head of the daring Young Eagle of the base Cowetas, shall wear on his brave heart the Morning Star of the Cussetas."

Yaho Hadjo hastened to arouse a few sleeping braves from their couches and they hurried forth rapidly but noiselessly to the Silver Wampum.

The unsuspecting lovers were totally oblivious of surrounding danger, and loth to separate, they lingered for a last farewell and final embrace, when stealthy footsteps were heard approaching.

They gave a startled glance around and beheld Yaho Hadjo and his followers with uplifted tomahawks rushing madly upon them.

Minchee threw her arms wildly around her lover.

For a brief second the assailants halted, not daring to strike the daughter of their chief.

The Young Eagle clasped her firmly to his bosom and bounded away with the speed of an antelope, he knew not wither.

Onward, over rocks and dells he flew with his precious burden, her arms thrown protectingly around and above him. Upon the narrow defile to the fearful precipice he bore her and then suddenly halted. He thought to release her there, believing she could return safely to her father, but she grappled to him as though her slight arms were hooks of steel.

The hot breath of the hated rival was felt upon his cheek, and his tomahawk flashed like a meteor above him.

The Young Eagle gave the would-be assassin one proud, defiant glance, and folding the Morning Star in a closer embrace, he leaped into the foaming torrent below.

Yaho Hadjo's uplifted weapon fell forward with a sudden impetus which forced him headlong down the lofty pinnacle, among the sharp, rugged bowlders, where his body was afterwards found a mangled, lifeless corpse.

The remaining warriors were transfixed with horror and dismay as they gazed wildly into the furious river.

To attempt a rescue would have been folly and madness, as no breathing creature could have survived the fall.

Slowly and sadly they then retraced their steps and silently entered the presence of the childless patriarch.

Alarmed by the expression of their grief-stricken faces he exclaimed:

"Where is Yaho Hadjo? Why does the Morning Star linger in the forest?"

The boldest of them dropped his head and answered slowly and hoarsely:

"The Great Spirit has taken her from us to brighten his own beautiful land. She will come no more to gladden our hearts. The Morning Star will never beam on the hunter's pathway again!"

The chief listened in silence, but evidently did not comprehend. An explanation was sternly demanded.

At length the sad story was told with all of its tender and heart-rending details.

He realized at last his total bereavement, and acknowledged it was the result of Yaho Hadjo's jealousy and falsehood. Fierce and vindictive was the malediction pronounced upon the cowardly murderer.

A dead calm followed; then rising and clasping his hands high above his head, he stood for a moment like a splendid bronze statue of despair, and in singularly pathetic tones exclaimed:

"Minechee! Minechee! Bright Morning Star! Sole treasure of my aged heart! Gone, gone, forever, and I am desolate!"

He gave one long, low, piercing wail and tottering as a tree beneath the final stroke of the woodman's axe, he fell prostrate to the earth.

His companions exerted themselves in behalf of the stricken chieftain and partially succeeded in restoring him to consciousness, but he refused to be comforted and declined all nourishment.

After a prolonged interval of silence, he arose, quitted their presence and slowly descended the hill to a ravine in the bluffs and seated himself.

He signified a desire to be alone. He wished to humble himself before the Great Spirit, that he might take pity on him. Finding he could not be persuaded to leave the place, his braves stretched a mat above his bowed head and placing food and water within reach they left him alone in his sorrow.

A few days after they found him occupying the same position, but cold and lifeless.--MRS. MARY COOK.

INDIAN MOUND, EARLY COUNTY, GEORGIA.

On the outskirts of Blakely, County Seat of Early County, and commanding a view of a beautiful stretch of landscape, rises the famous old Indian Mound, supposed to have been made by the Creek Indians, who hunted and fished and roved so happily through the tall pines and magnolias, the great oaks and low marshes. While tradition associates this particular mound with the Creeks and Cherokees, it has been argued by scientists that it must have been built by a race of people who preceded the Indians and were partly civilized; however, that may be, the visitor to Early has missed a rare bit of romance and historic thought, who fails to see the Indian Mound, reminiscent as it is of the sacredness of a brave race, now almost extinct.

The Mound is fully seventy-five feet high and is almost five hundred feet in circumference. It is covered with large trees of oak and the same dense foliage of bamboo, pine and cedar as that which grows so profusely over the surrounding country as far as the eye can reach. The picturesque and fertile valleys below have now become a favorite place for pleasure seekers each spring, for picnic grounds and camping, and the Indian Mound cannot fail to impress the most heedless as it rises mysteriously and majestic. Parties in search of buried treasures have penetrated the Mound to a depth of fifty feet, but nothing has ever been found except human bones. Then later scientists have sunk a shaft in the very center of this Mound to a great depth and have reached a mass of bones five feet in thickness. Nothing to throw light upon the builders of this huge old relic has ever been unearthed but bones, and the people of the County, with interested visitors, have nearly all associated the site with the Indians who inhabited so thickly this part of Georgia before Early County was created.

Early County was created by Legislature, October 1818, and included then the Counties of Baker, Calhoun, Decatur, Miller, Mitchell and Dougherty. It was named in honor of George Peter Early, Chief Executive of Georgia in 1813. Governor Early, previous to the purchase of these lands from the Indians, had rendered great service to the white settlers here in protecting them from the Indians, in both their treaties with the Indians and in protection to their lives. In gratitude for this service Early County was named.

While it has never been positively decided whether the Mound Builders or the Indians are the original makers of Indian Mound, it stands a grim memorial of a dead and gone race, worthy of a visit, with its great trees yellow with age, and weeds and moss overgrown, the only epitaphs to the mystery within its depths.--MRS. WALTER THOMAS, Regent, Governor Peter Early Chapter, D. A. R.

STORIETTE OF STATES DERIVED FROM INDIAN NAMES.

So many States are derived from Indian names, so I write this storiette, using all that have Indian origin.

Illinois--Tribe of Red Men.
Alabama--Here we rest.
Arizona--Small Springs.
Arkansas--Bend in the Smoky Water.
Connecticut--Long River.
Idaho--Gun of the Mountain.
Indiana--Indian's Land.
Iowa--Beautiful Land.
Kansas--Smoky Water.
Kentucky--At the head of the river.
Massachusetts--Place of Blue Hills.
Michigan--Fish Wier.
Mississippi--Great Father of Water.
Missouri--Muddy (River).
Nebraska--Water Valley.

North and South Dakota, allies:

Ohio--Beautiful River.
Oklahoma--Home of the Red Men.
Tennessee--River with a Great Bend.
Texas--Friends.
Utah--Ute.
Wisconsin--Gathering of the waters.
Wyoming--Great Plains.

Once upon a time a tribe of Red Men (Illinois) set out to find a Plan of the Blue Hills (Massachusetts.) Their canoes were safely launched in the Long River (Connecticut). At the Bend in the Smoky Water (Arkansas) they were surprised to see a canoe coming their way and that it was guided by a maid Minnehaha, the beautiful daughter of Uakomis of the Ute (Utah) Tribe of Indians. "Young maid" said the gallant Chief Hiawatha, "Is this where the Indians Land?" (Indiana). "Yes," replied the maid, "This Water Valley (Nebraska) is the home of the Red Men" (Oklahoma). Then spoke the Chief, who had at once been attracted to the Maid: "This is indeed a Beautiful Land (Iowa) and I dare say you are the Gem of the Mountain" (Idaho). The maid smiled and said: "I hope we will be friends" (Texas.) "Let us row to the Head of the River" (Kentucky). As they drifted near the bank they decided to tarry by the Beautiful River (Ohio). "Here we rest" (Alabama), said Hiawatha and whispered words of love. As they returned to the other members of their tribe, who had pitched their tents on the mountain side by some Small Springs (Arizona) each man looked up as the two approached and read the happiness that was theirs, by their smiling faces. "We will return" said Hiawatha, "to Nakomis and his Allies, of the Great Plains near the River" (Missouri), "the Great Father of Waters (Mississippi), and there on the Banks of the Sky-Tinted Water (Minnesota) we will pitch our Wigwam near the Fish Wier (Michigan) and there watch the gathering of the Waters (Wisconsin) and live in peace and happiness until we journey to our Happy Hunting Ground."--MRS. WILL CHIDSEY, Rome, Ga., Xavier Chapter, D. A. R.

SEQUOIA, INVENTOR OF THE CHEROKEE ALPHABET.

The invention of the Cherokee alphabet by Sequoia, or George Guess, in 1815, was the most remarkable achievement in the history of the Indian tribes of America.

Sequoia was in appearance and habits, a full Cherokee, though he was the grandson of a white man. He was born in Tennessee about 1765, and he lived at one time near Chiaha, now Rome, Georgia, but for some years before the Cherokees were moved to the West, he lived at Alpine, in Chattooga County, on what was later known as the Samuel Force plantation.

This American Cadmus was an illiterate Cherokee Indian. He could neither write or speak English, and in his invention of the alphabet he had to depend entirely on his own native resources.

He was led to think on the subject of writing the Cherokee language, by a conversation which took place one evening at Santa. Some young men were remarking on the superior talents of the white people. They saw that the whites could "put a talk" on paper and send it to any distance, and it would be understood by those who received it. This seemed strange to the Indians, but Sequoia declared he could do it himself; and picking up a flat stone, he scratched on it with a pin, and after a few minutes read to his friends a sentence which he had written, by making a mark for each word. This produced only a laugh among his companions. But the inventive powers of Sequoia's mind were now aroused to action, and nothing short of being able to write the Cherokee language would satisfy him. In examining the language he found that it is composed of the various combinations of about ninety mono-sylables and for each of these sylables he formed a character. Some of the characters were taken from an English spelling book, some are English letters turned upside down, some are his own invention; each character in the Cherokee alphabet stands for a monosylable.

From the structure of the Cherokee dialect, the syllabic alphabet is also in the nature of a grammar, so that those who know the language by ear, and master the alphabet, can at once read and write. Owing to the extreme simplicity of this system, it can be acquired in a few days.

After more than two year's work his system was completed. Explaining to his friends his new invention, he said, "we can now have speaking papers as well as white men."

But he found great difficulty in persuading his people to learn it; nor could he succeed, until he went to Arkansas and taught a few persons there, one of whom wrote a letter to a friend in Chiaha and sent it by Sequoia, who read it to the people. This excited much curiosity. Here was "talk in the Cherokee language," come from Arkansas sealed in a paper. This convinced many, and the newly discovered art was seized with avidity by the people of the tribe, and, from the extreme simplicity of the plan, the use of it soon became general. Any one, on fixing in his memory the names and forms of the letters, immediately possessed the art of reading and writing. This could be acquired in one day.

The Cherokees, (who, as a people, had always been illiterate) were, in the course of a few months, able to read and write in their own language. They accomplished this without going to school.

The Cherokee Council adopted this alphabet in 1821, and in a short time the bible and other books were printed in the language, and a newspaper, _The Cherokee Phoenix_, devoted entirely to the interests of the Indians, was published, in 1826, at New Echota, the capitol of the Cherokee Nation, situated about five miles west of Calhoun, in Gordon County, Georgia.

This paper was edited by Chief Elias Bondinot, one of the signers of the New Echota Treaty.

Sequoia spent much of his time with his kindred who had already gone to the West, and a few years after the final removal of the Cherokees from Georgia, he was instrumental in establishing several newspapers in their new home.

This Indian remains today the only man, in the long history of the aborigines, who has done anything for the real and lasting benefit of the race. His Cherokee alphabet is in general use by every Indian tribe in America.

Scientists have honored him by naming the largest tree that grows in California the Sequoia Gigantia. This name was given to the big red wood tree by Dr. Eulicher, the famous Hungarian botanist, who was born 1804 and died 1849. The tree is native to California and is the largest known, often measuring thirty to thirty-six feet in diameter, height from two hundred to four hundred feet, bark is often fifteen inches thick.

In 1908, a specimen of the Sequoia Gigantia came in a letter from California. The tiny sprig was five inches high and one-eighth of an inch in diameter, and was planted on Myrtle Hill cemetery in Rome, Georgia. It is now (1913) about thirty inches high and one inch in diameter.

The Sequoia Gigantia is an evergreen monument to the American Cadmus, a one-time resident of Rome, Georgia.

In his honor, Oklahoma has named a County Sequoyah.--BEATRICE O'REAR TREADAWAY, Xavier Chapter, D. A. R.

THE BOY AND HIS ARROW.

The Barbadoes or Windward Islands have long been the territory of Great Britain and her colonies were planted there as early as on the main land of America.

Early in the eighteenth century dissatisfaction arose concerning taxes and other injustices, and some of these colonists removed to the continent, chiefly to Virginia and the Carolinas. Among these was Edmond Reid, with his family, landing at Norfolk, Virginia. He brought with him quite a number of slaves. These slaves were remarkable in many ways. They must have been part Carib; they had thin lips, straight noses and arched feet. They were erect and alert. Some of these slaves in the fourth generation came to my mother and were above the ordinary African and were so dark they evidently had no Caucasian blood.

John Reid, son of Edmond Reid, married Elizabeth Steppe, and served in the Revolution. James, the son of John and Elizabeth, was born during the Revolution, February 21st, 1778. Archery was a great sport in those days, handed down no doubt from our British ancestry and kept alive by the bows and arrows of the Indians, some of whom were still among the neighbors in the colonies. At twelve years of age James Reid was shooting arrows, and as an experiment shot one up straight toward the sky. Quickly it went up, but more quickly, with accelerated speed it returned and pierced the eye of the little archer. Painfully the arrow (in this case a pin point) was taken from the eye. Youth and a fine constitution combined to heal the wound without disfigurement of the eye, and so he seemed to have two perfect eyes, while one was sightless.

Our young Republic was just beginning to try her powers when England provoked the war of 1812. James Reid, now in the prime of manhood, enlisted when the British threatened New Orleans. As many others did, he left his wife and two little ones at home under the protection of slaves.

A few days after his return from the war, on a summer day, a pain came to the eye pierced so long ago by the arrow. The local physician was sent for, but his lotions and applications failed to give relief. At that time no surgeon, except those perhaps in France, understood surgery of the eye. So nature took her course, seemingly a cruel, dreadful course. The suffering man could neither sleep nor eat and finally could not stay in the house. He went out under the trees in the grove and when unable to stand rolled around on the grass in great agony. His wife and children and servants followed him with cold water and pillows--a sorrowing and helpless procession. After several days and nights the abscess in his eye bursted and gave instant relief. All the fluids of the eye escaped leaving it sightless and shrunken, and so it remained ever after. I never see a shrunken eye but what I recall the old man, so spirited, so cheery, so kind, our own grandfather who passed away many years ago--MRS. R. H. HARDAWAY, Regent, Sarah Dickinson Chapter, D. A. R.

INDIAN SPRING, GEORGIA.

ROMANTIC DISCOVERY.

In 1792, when the country in this vicinity was clothed in its swaddlings of nature, and the red man and wild beasts alone trod the hills and valleys west of the Ocmulgee, a solitary huntsman was wending his way north, south of the Towaliga, about where the public road to Forsyth is now being turnpiked. The party was a model of his class--large, muscular, completely equipped, a frame strong in its every development, and a general contour which indicated that he knew nothing of fear, and dreaded not the dangers of the wilderness in which he was traveling. A deep melancholy on his face, the flashing of his dark eyes, and an occasional sight, evidenced he carried an "iron in his soul," and was actuated by a purpose that knew no turning. This was Gabriel Dunlap--a Georgian. His object in thus absenting himself from society will be seen hereafter.

Dunlap was a careful and wary hunter, and in this hitherto untrodden field was specially on the alert. He knew that dangers lurked around, and was cautious at every step. While thus walking and watching, he was startled by the war whoop of the savages, which seemed to burst from every ambush around him. He knew his retreat was cut off, for a hundred savages emerged from the thickets lining the Towaliga. Therefore, but one course was left to be pursued--that of taking a due north direction. Leaving the river and crossing the hills, he ran without any purpose beyond making his escape. And thus he ran for miles--as the yells of his pursuers would subside, hope bracing him up, again depressed by the reiteration of the voices of his enemies. At length, when almost ready to fall from exhaustion and thirst--his vitals scorched as with fire--hope whispered "a little farther." And soon, overjoyed and exhausted, he was able to spring into a canebrake dark as night, where he slept unconscious of anything that occurred around him.

REINFORCEMENTS.

When he awoke, yet half dreaming, Dunlap gazed about him some time before he could "realize the situation." With great effort he arose, staggered forward, but fell against a larger stone, and here, to his delight, he heard the trickling of water. Quickly he sought to slake his burning thirst, and soon found, and enjoyed, what seemed ice water in a canebrake in August. He drank until every desire for water was satisfied, yet none of the unpleasant feelings that often follow such indulgence were experienced. On the contrary, he felt new life and vigor, and set out to place a greater distance between himself and his enemies. His only safe course he knew, was to travel in a northerly direction, and, after imbibing another copious draught from the welcome fountain, he set out, toiling through the cane that covered the bottom. When he was about reaching the northern edge of this dense retreat, a well known signal greeted his ear. To this he responded. His response was replied to by another signal, when he quickly emerged from the brake, ascended the hill; and on approaching a large oak then standing on the site of the present Elder Hotel, was greeted thus:

"Hallo, Gabe! whar did you cum from? Have you been squattin' in the thicket yonder?"

"I'll be smashed," answered Dunlap, "If here aint Jube Cochran. And, Jube, I'm gladder to see you than if I had knocked out a panther's eye with old Betsey here, and without picking her flint, on a two hundred yard line. Cause why--I'm lost and aint nowhar ef you aint some place."

And next the two friends met with a hearty shake of hands and a union of warm hearts, such as conventionalities and civilization have long since driven from the brightest spot in Georgia. The huntsmen refreshed the inner man, recounted their several recent adventures, and then sought a place of rest, which they soon found among the rocks skirting the river.

Here they slept until midnight, when the report of a gun aroused them. Snuffing danger in the breeze, they at once not only became watchful, but sought to discover the whereabouts of their daring neighbor; and finally, in the darkness, almost ran against two human forms, whether paleface or Indian they could not make out, when Cochran hailed:

"Who's thar?"

"Watson," was the reply, and soon there was another happy greeting; when all four of the party (one a small boy named Ben Fitzpatrick) walked to the top of the hill between two creeks, and again rested until day break, reciting the customary yarns of the border.

Douglas Watson was about eighteen years of age, six feet in height, and boasted of possessing a well developed muscular frame. His companion, Fitzpatrick, was an orphan boy, who had the temerity common to adventurous youth to follow Watson in these wilds.

Seated by their camp fire Dunlap explained to Watson the invigorating effect the water in the canebrake, at the foot of the hills, had had upon him in his fainting condition the day previous, when the whole party again sought the cooling spring, and, after search, found it. This was Indian Spring, and this was the first party of whites who are known to have drunk of its water. At this gathering Watson admitted to his comrades that about a month previous he had found the spring, but in consequence of its smelling like gunpowder he fled the vicinity.

Watson and Cochran were scouts, sent out by the Government in the Spring of 1792. Fitzpatrick was the shadow of Watson; and Dunlap divulged to his new friends his history and mission while they lingered around the spring.

DUNLAP'S HISTORY.

To be brief: Twelve years previous, during an Indian raid in Bibb County, a little friend--a ward of his father--was stolen and carried away. Then and there, ere the triumphant yells of the foe were silenced, he had registered an oath in Heaven, which was baptized by the falling rain, never again to seek peace until he found it in the rescue of "Bright Eyes"--his lost Nora. Since that hour his home had been between the Towaliga and Ocmulgee, and his whole exertion was to find the lost one and restore her to her friends.

A BATTLE AND RETREAT.

In the morning the party left the Spring, traveling down stream, but in a few moments the shoals were reached. Here was another mystery, which to Watson appeared more wonderful than did the gunpowder spring. They had traveled down stream; of this they were certain; yet they encountered an opposite current, and were amazed. Fitzpatrick, however, soon explored the vicinity and discovered the meeting of the waters near the Spring. Here two creeks, running in almost opposite directions, met fraternally and formed the Big Sandy, which then flowed in an easterly direction until it united with the Ocmulgee.

Crossing at the foot of the shoals, the party started down the stream, hunting and traveling leisurely. Noon found them at a little spring near the present site of Tanner's bridge, where they halted, kindled a fire, and prepared to cook the choice bits of game they had secured. Here they were again doomed to be disappointed; for suddenly their foe burst upon them in overwhelming numbers. The odds were fearful, but rather than surrender--which would have been death--the contest was entered upon.

Many heroes whose names emblazon the pages of history never exhibited the coolness and calculating courage of Ben Fitzpatrick in his first battle. He stood fearlessly by the side of his companions, fighting bravely until Cochran fell senseless, having been struck by the war club of an Indian. As the Indian stooped to scalp his victim, Ben plunged his hunting knife to his heart, and, when the brave uttered his death yell, the boy attempted to remove his wounded comrade. At this moment young Watson handed Ben his gun, gathered up Cochran, and crying out "Now is our time, Ben," ran through the creek into the dark swamp beyond.

They were now safe, for deep darkness had fallen, and their enemies feared to pursue them. Cochran recovered during the night, but diligent search failed to ascertain anything as to the fate of Dunlap; and, warned by the signal smokes of the enemy, the trio started early next morning for the nearest block-house east of the Ocmulgee.

DUNLAP AND NORA.

But Dunlap was not lost. He was shot through the left shoulder when the attack was first made, fainted and fell, and was scalped and left for dead. He lay hours, until nightfall--half waking, half sleeping and dreaming. Suddenly he felt a soft hand bathing his fevered head. He knew this kindness came not from savage hands, nor from the rough goodness of a fellow huntsman, for the sweetness of an angel's breath fanned his face. Pain was forgotten, yet he was afraid to move lest the charm should be broken and the vision vanish. Half unconscious, he whispered, as if by inspiration, "Nora." And the guardian angel hovered about him proved to be the Nora for whom he had been searching. She suppressed an involuntary scream as she recognized the object of her compassion, and, laying her hand on the face of her old friend, in a trembling voice said:

"Oh! my more than brother, have we met at last, after so many long and weary years of separation, each of which has seemed an eternity?"

The recognition was mutual, but the meeting was too happy, too full of sacred joy, to be intruded upon. The wounds of Dunlap were carefully bound up by Nora, after the fashion of her companions from girlhood, and they at once removed as far as possible from the vicinity of the fight. They were not discovered the next morning and then commenced a long and weary journey homeward, which extended through many days. At last they saw the curling smoke arising from their native cabin. Here the long lost were greeted with joy, and at an early day there was a wedding--Dunlap and Nora were united, and at once settled down to the realities of life.

In 1796, fearing other molestations from the savages, who were then hostile to the whites, the Dunlap family sold their lands in Bibb and removed to Liberty County, Georgia, where, at the present time, many of their children's children may be found occupying high social positions.

FATE OF OUR HEROES.

The boy, Ben Fitzpatrick, grew up to manhood in company with his friend, Watson. Subsequently he removed to Montgomery, Ala., where he died a short time since. His career in his adopted State was an honored one, he having served in both branches of the National Congress and as Governor of the State. Governor Fitzpatrick was a cousin of Mrs. Cynthia Varner, of Indian Spring. After the Indians were removed from this section, Douglas Watson settled in Monroe County, where he resided until his decease, which occurred a few years ago. Of the career of Cochran we have been unable to obtain any data.

The foregoing history of the discovery of Indian Spring by the whites is not all fiction. It is an "o'er true tale." "Duggie" Watson, the hero of the foregoing pages--he who feared the smell of gunpowder when he first looked upon the halfhidden spring, and fled--has often repeated the history as we have given it in our hearing.

EARLY SETTLEMENT.