Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

treated. This mercy to captives was an honorable distinction in the character of the Wyandots, and was well understood by our first settlers, who, in case of captivity, thought it a fortunate circumstance to fall into their hands.

The Johnsons.—In the fall of the year 1793, two boys of the name of John and Henry Johnson, the first thirteen and the latter eleven years old, whose parents lived in Carpenter's station, a little distance above the mouth of Short creek, on the east side of the Ohio River, were sent out in the evening to hunt the cows. At the foot of a hill, at the back of the bottom, they sat down under a hickory tree to crack some nuts. They soon saw two men coming towards them, one of whom had a bridle in his hand. Being dressed like white men, they mistook them for their father and an uncle, in search of horses. When they discovered their mistake, and attempted to run off, the Indians, pointing their guns at them, told them to stop or they would kill them. They halted, and were taken prisoners.

The Indians, being in pursuit of horses, conducted the boys by a circuitous route over the Short creek hills in search of them, until late in the evening, when they halted at a spring in a hollow place, about three miles from the fort. Here they kindled a small fire, cooked and ate some victuals, and prepared to repose for the night. Henry, the youngest of the boys, during the ramble had affected the greatest satisfaction at having been taken prisoner. He said his father was a hard master, who kept him always at hard work, and allowed him no play; but that for his part he wished to live in the woods and be a hunter. This deportment soon brought him into intimacy with one of the Indians, who could speak very good English. The Indians frequently asked the boys if they knew of any good horses running in the woods. Some time before they halted, one of the Indians gave the largest of the boys a little bag, which he supposed contained money, and made him carry it.

When night came on the fire was covered up, the boys pinioned, and made to lie down together. The Indians then placed their hoppis straps over them, and lay down, one on each side of them, on the ends of the straps. Pretty late in the night the Indians fell asleep; and one of them becoming cold, caught hold of John in his arms, and turned him over on the outside. In this situation, the boy, who had kept awake, found means to get his hands loose. He then whispered to his brother, inade him get up, and untied his arms. This done, Henry thought of nothing but running off as fast as possible; but when about to start, John caught hold of him, saying, "We must kill these Indians before we go." After some hesitation, Henry agreed to make the attempt. John then took one of the rifles of the Indians, and placed it on a log, with the muzzle close to the head of one of them. He then cocked the gun, and placed his little brother at the breech, with his finger on the trigger, with instructions to pull it as soon as he should strike the other Indian.

He then took one of the Indian's tomahawks, and standing astride of the other Indian, struck him with it. The blow, however, fell on the back of the neck and to one side, so as not to be fatal. The Indian then attempted to spring up; but the little fellow repeated his blows with such force and rapidity on the skull, that, as he expressed it, "the Indian lay still and began to quiver." At the moment of the first stroke given by the elder brother with the tomahawk, the younger one pulled the trigger, and shot away a considerable portion of the Indian's lower jaw. This Indian, a moment after receiving the shot, began to flounce about and yell in the most frightful manner. boys then made the best of their way to the fort, and reached it a little before daybreak. On getting near the fort they found the people all up and in great agitation on their account. On hearing a woman exclaim, "Poor little fellows, they are killed or taken prisoners!" the oldest one answered, "No, mother, we are here yet."

The

Having brought nothing away with them from the Indian camp, their relation of what had taken place between them and the Indians was not fully credited. A small party was soon made up to go and ascertain the truth or falsehood of their report. This party the boys conducted to the spot by the shortest route. On arriving at the place, they found the Indian whom the oldest brother had tomahawked, lying dead in the camp: the other had crawled away, and taken his gun and shot-pouch with him. After scalping the Indian, the party returned to the fort; and the same day a larger party went out to look after the wounded Indian, who had crawled some distance from the camp and concealed himself in the top of a fallen tree, where, notwithstanding the severity of his wound, with a Spartan bravery he determined to sell his life as dearly as possible. Hav. ing fixed his gun for the purpose, on the approach of the men to a proper distance, he took aim at one of them, and pulled the trigger, but his gun missed fire. On hearing the snap of the lock, one of the men exclaimed, “I should not like to be killed by a

dead Indian!" The party concluding that the Indian would die at any rate, thought best to retreat, and return and look for him after some time. On returning, however, he could not be found, having crawled away and concealed himself in some other place. His skeleton and gun were found some time afterwards.

The Indians who were killed were great warriors, and very wealthy. The bag, which was supposed to contain money, it was conjectured was got by one of the party who went out first in the morning. On hearing the report of the boys, he slipped off by himself, and reached the place before the party arrived. For some time afterwards he appeared to have a greater plenty of money than his neighbors.

The Indians themselves did honor to the bravery of these two boys. After their treaty with Gen. Wayne, a friend of the Indians who were killed, made inquiry of a man from Short creek, what had become of the boys who killed the Indians? He was answered that they lived at the same place with their parents. The Indian replied, "You have not done right; you should make kings of those boys."

ORANGE.

ORANGE was formed in 1734, from Spottsylvania, and derived its name from the color of the soil in its upper or mountainous portion. Its original limits comprised the whole of Virginia west of the Blue Ridge. It is now 22 m. long, with a variable width of from 5 to 20

[graphic][merged small]

miles. The Rapid Ann forms its Nw. boundary. The surface is hilly, and the soil generally fertile. Gold is found in the county, and in 1840 the value produced amounted to $84,000. Pop. in 1840, whites 3,575, slaves 5,364, free colored 186; total, 9,125.

Orange C. H., is 80 miles Nw. of Richmond, and 92 miles from Washington City. It contains 5 mercantile stores, 1 Episcopal and 1 Methodist church, and a population of about 350. Barboursville, 12 miles sw., and Gordonsville, 10 miles s. of the C. H., are small places. The latter is the terminating point of the Louisa rail-road, and about 70 miles from Richmond.

Near the little village of Gordonsville, in the depths of the forest, stands an old church. It is an humble unpainted structure of

wood, yet there clings about it a peculiar interest-an interest which all must feel who have read-and who has not?-the pathetic description of the Blind Preacher by the British Spy:

It was one Sunday, (says he,) as I travelled through the county of Orange, that my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous old wooden house in the forest, not far from the roadside. Having frequently seen such objects before, in travelling through these states, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of religious worship.

Devotion alone should have stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation; but I must confess that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness was not the least of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man. His head, which was covered with a white linen cap, his shrivelled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of a palsy; and a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind.

The first emotions which touched my breast were those of mingled pity and veneration. But ah! sacred God! how soon were all my feelings changed! The lips of Plato were never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees, than were the lips of this holy man! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament; and his subject, of course, was the passion of our Saviour. I had heard the subject handled a thousand times. I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that in the wild woods of America I was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic a new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before witnessed.

As he descended from the pulpit to distribute the mystic symbols, there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver.

He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour; his trial before Pilate; his ascent up Calvary; his crucifixion, and his death. I knew the whole history; but never, until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored! It was all new, and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so deliberate that his voice trembled on every syllable, and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. His peculiar phrases had that force of description that the original scene appeared to be, at that moment, acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the Jews: the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet; my soul kindled with a flame of indignation, and my hands were involuntarily and convulsively clenched.

But when he came to touch on the patience, the forgiving meekness of our Saviour; when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven; his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do"-the voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until his utterance being entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The effect is inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.

It was some time before the tumult had subsided so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not conceive how he would be able to let his audience down from the height to which he had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But-no; the descent was as beautiful and sublime as the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic.

The first sentence, with which he broke the awful silence, was a quotation from Rousseau, "Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God!"

I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by this short sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive the whole manner of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never before did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant by laying such stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the venerable figure of the preacher; his blindness constantly recalling to your recollection old Homer, Ossian, and Milton, and associating with his performance the melancholy grandeur of their geniuses. You are to imagine that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation, and his voice of affecting, trembling melody; you are to remember the pitch of passion and enthusiasm to which the congregation were raised; and then the few minutes of portentous, death-like silence, which reigned throughout the house; the preacher

removing his white handkerchief from his aged face, (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his tears,) and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds it, begins the sentence, "Socrates died like a philosopher"-then pausing, raising his other hand, pressing them both clasped together with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his "sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice-" but Jesus Christ-like a God!" If he had been indeed and in truth an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have been more divine.

Whatever I had been able to conceive of the sublimity of Massillon, or the force of Bourdaloue, had fallen far short of the power which I felt from the delivery of this simple sentence. The blood, which just before had rushed in a hurricane upon my brain, and, in the violence and agony of my feelings, had held my whole system in suspense, now ran back into my heart with a sensation which I cannot describe-a kind of shuddering delicious horror! The paroxysm of blended pity and indignation to which I had been transported, subsided into the deepest self-abasement, humility, and adoration. I had just been lacerated and dissolved by sympathy for our Saviour as a fellowcreature; but now, with fear and trembling, I adored him as-" a God!"

If this description give you the impression that this incomparable minister had any thing of shallow, theatrical trick in his manner, it does him great injustice. I have never seen, in any other orator, such a union of simplicity and majesty. He has not a gesture, an attitude, or an accent, to which he does not seem forced by the sentiment which he is expressing. His mind is too serious, too earnest, too solicitous, and, at the same time, too dignified, to stoop to artifice. Although as far removed from ostentation as a man can be, yet it is clear from the train, the style, and substance of his thoughts, that he is not only a very polite scholar, but a man of extensive and profound erudition. I was forcibly struck with a short, yet beautiful character which he drew of our learned and amiable countryman, Sir Robert Boyle. He spoke of him as if "his noble mind had, even before death, divested herself of all influence from his frail tabernacle of flesh;" and called him, in his peculiarly emphatic and impressive manner, "a pure intelligence: the link between men and angels."

This man has been before my imagination almost ever since. A thousand times, as I rode along, I dropped the reins of my bridle, stretched forth my hand, and tried to imitate his quotation from Rousseau; a thousand times I abandoned the attempt in despair, and felt persuaded that his peculiar manner and power arose from an energy of soul' which nature could give, but which no human being could justly copy. In short, he seems to be altogether a being of a former age, or of a totally different nature from the rest of men. As I recall, at this moment, several of his awfully striking attitudes, the chilling tide, with which my blood begins to pour along my arteries, reminds me of the emotions produced by the first sight of Gray's introductory picture of his bard:

"On a rock, whose haughty brow,

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of wo,

With haggard eyes the poet stood;

(Loose his beard and hoary hair

Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air :)
And with a poet's hand and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre."

Guess my surprise, when, on my arrival at Richmond, and mentioning the name of this man, I found not one person who had ever before heard of James Waddel!!

The above description of the blind preacher has been admired by thousands, and many have supposed it to be fiction. Although years have elapsed since it was written, it is only within a few months that a laudable curiosity has been gratified, to know the history of one whose eloquence drew forth such high encomiums from the accomplished author of the British Spy. This has been done in the memoir of Mr. Waddel, published recently in the Watchman of the South, by James W. Alexander, D. D., late professor in the college at Princeton, and grandson of the blind preacher. From this memoir the following sketch is principally derived :

JAMES WADDEL, D. D., was born in the north of Ireland in 1739, and was brought by his parents, in his infancy, to America. They settled in the southeastern part of Pennsylvania, near the state line, on White Clay creek. To the advice of an excellent and pious mother, Mr. Waddel ascribed his first religious convictions. She was a woman of eminent Christian knowledge and piety, and brought with her to this country the methods of ancient Scottish Presbyterianism. When about 13 years of age, he was sent to and educated at the academy of the celebrated Dr. Finley, at Nottingham, Pennsylvania, where he studied the classics, mathematics, logic, and those branches indispen sable for the learned callings. Such was his proficiency, that his distinguished preceptor soon employed him as an assistant. He was afterwards an assistant teacher in another noted Presbyterian school, at Pequea, in Lancaster co., under the elder Smith. After passing a year or more in that seminary, in pursuance of a long-cherished plan-as it is thought, to devote himself to teaching-he set forth on his travels for the south, and finally reached Hanover county, in Virginia. There he made the acquaintance of Col. Henry, the father of Patrick Henry, and the celebrated Samuel Davies. The meeting with Mr. Davies gave a direction to young Waddel's life. We next find him in Louisa, where he assisted the Rev. Mr. Todd in his school, and devoted his leisure to the study of theology. He was licensed as a Probationer, April 2d, 1761, by the (old) Presbytery of Hanover, and in the following year, 1762, accepted a call to the churches of Lancaster and Northumberland. There he found so much hospitality, intelligence, and polish, among those old Virginia gentry, that he would cheerfully have passed his life among them, but for the ill effects of the climate. There was then a brisk trade with Great Britain from the mouths of the rivers, and much genuine piety among the merchants and planters of that region. Mr. Waddel's labors were not slight, as he had three preaching places, viz.: Lancaster C. H., the Forest meeting-house, and the Northumberland meeting-house. About the year 1768, he married Mary Gordon, the daughter of Col. James Gordon, ancestor of Gen. Gordon of Albemarle. The Presbyterian churches of the Northern Neck owed much to the zeal of Col. G., who was an elder in the church, and after his death they visibly declined, and were finally pretty much absorbed in the Baptists. This was in part owing to their estates being open to the ravages of the British vessels, who, carrying off their property, led to the decline of the wealthy Presbyterian families.

About the year 1775, Mr. Waddel removed to the Tinkling Spring church, in Augusta. Although almost broken down by disease, his frame attenuated, and his voice impaired, yet he drew crowds of hearers.

In 1783 he accepted a call, and gave his services to the united congregations of Staunton and Tinkling Spring. He remained in Augusta about seven years, during which his health was entirely renovated. His salary was only £45 per annum, Virginia

money.

From thence, Mr. Waddel made a last earthly removal to an estate which he named Hopewell, near the angle of Louisa, Orange, and Albemarle. While here he preached at the "D. S." church, near Charlottesville, at a log-house in Clarkesville, at the Brick church near Orange C. H., and in the small edifice erected by himself, represented in the preceding view. He also again became a teacher. Among his pupils were Meriwether Clark and Governor Barbour.

Although secluded from the literary world, he found means to become thoroughly versed in theology, as well as general literature. Mr. Waddel resided in Louisa about 20 years. There he ended his days, Sept. 17th, 1805, and, according to his request, waz buried in his garden. His last hours were such as might have been expected, from a life of eminent piety and singular self-control.

In person Dr. Waddel was tall and erect, and when a young man he is said to have been of striking appearance. His complexion was fair, and his eyes of a light blue; his mien unusually dignified, and his manners elegant and graceful. His eloquence has become matter of tradition in Virginia. It electrified whole assemblies, transfused to them the speaker's passion at his will; "a species," says his biographer, "I must be allowed to say, which I have seldom heard but in the south." Under his preaching, audiences were irresistibly and simultaneously moved, like the wind-shaken forest. Especially was his power great in so painting sacred scenes, as to bring the hearer into the very presence of the object. Even his ordinary private intercourse was an uncommon treat to intellectual persons, and occasioned the first men of his time to seek his company. When in scornful argument he was like the sweeping torrent, carrying every thing before it.

It was in 1803, when Mr. Waddel was approaching the end of his life, that Mr. Wirt,

« AnteriorContinuar »