By This Time Many Of The Settlers From The Surrounding Districts Had Arrived To Share In The Quarry.

Thousands of birds were brought to the ground; in fact, every discharge of the guns and rifles brought down showers to our feet; and the noise seemed to resemble our being engaged in action with a foe; without, however, the dire effects of such a rencontre to ourselves.

After bagging our game, of which we secured nearly two hundred brace, we returned to the boat, leaving the rest of the sport to those who chose to continue it. We had enough, and, for the remainder of the passage, were completely surfeited with pigeon fare, administered by the boat's cook in all sorts of outlandish forms. In our progress onward through the state, we saw many carcases of these birds outside the villages, such numbers having been destroyed, that the inhabitants could not consume them, and they were accordingly thrown out as refuse. These birds were in good condition, and were excellent eating.

As the packet was likely to be detained for some hours at Zoar, a settlement about two miles beyond Bolivar, owing to a dispute between the captain and some officers connected with the canal, I availed myself of the opportunity, on the invitation of a very gentlemanly fellow-passenger from Connecticut, to visit a farm a few miles in the interior, where resided a celebrated character, named Adam Poe, surnamed by the inhabitants, the "Indian-killer," who had acquired the summit of a backwoods-man's fame, by some forty years ago shooting "Black-foot," a formidable Indian marauder, who, for a long period, spread consternation and alarm among the early settlers. As this exploit (whether justified by the circumstances and times or not, I cannot pretend to say) was one that restored security among the settlers, and dispersed a body of Indians, who destroyed every white inhabitant they encountered, and laid waste their farms, it is no wonder that Adam Poe was regarded as a great man. On arriving at the farm-house, which was one of the better description in that region, we were kindly welcomed by the son of the hero I have mentioned, who bore the father's patronymic, and after the usual hospitality, were ushered into an adjoining apartment, and introduced to the object of our visit. He was sitting in an armchair by the side of his wife, who, like himself, was far advanced in years, their united ages numbering 173. The old man, who was so feeble as to be unable to rise when we entered, saluted us with the usual "Glad to see you, strangers," his spouse at the same time advancing towards us to shake hands. He was evidently used to such intrusions; for, after inquiry where we came from and whither bound, he began, in a tremulous voice, which, from his extreme age, was scarcely intelligible, to narrate his early adventures. It was absolutely shocking, as he became more animated by the subject, to hear the coolness with which the veteran related some of his bloody combats; so much so, indeed, that I and my companion at once cut short his narration, being horrified at the turpitude of the aged sinner, who, although gasping for breath, and evidently on the verge of the unseen world, talked of his deeds of violence with an ardour that befitted a better cause.

The old man dwelt at great length on his hair-breadth escapes and deeds of prowess; but the destruction of the implacable "Black-foot," was the absorbing subject. This chief, it appeared, had, with a small party, been hovering round Poe's farm for several nights, and the inmates were in great terror of a midnight attack; the principal aim of the chief, being, it is supposed to despatch a man, whose activity had rendered him particularly obnoxious to his tribe, and whose bravery was acknowledged by the settlers far and near.

After several nights passed in anxiety, every little circumstance, any unusual noise, the baying of a dog, a disturbance in the hog-pens, exciting the greatest apprehension, Poe determined on stealthily watching the enemy under covert of a hillock or embankment on the farm. He accordingly sallied out with his Indian rifle, in the haze of the evening, taking with him a supply of _aqua vitae,_ as he facetiously said, to keep up his "dander." After watching a considerable time, every now and then applying his ear to the ground to listen for approaching footsteps (a plan invariably followed by Indians themselves), he ascertained that an Indian was in the vicinity; again intently listening, he soon satisfied himself that the alarm he had experienced was occasioned by one individual only. Instantly on the _qui-vive,_ he first cocked his rifle, and, just as he descried the Indian's head above the embankment he pulled with unerring aim the fatal trigger, when with an agonizing howl, the Indian toppled backwards down the embankment, and all was silent. Poe now sprang forward, and with his knife severed the "war scalp" from the head of the savage, and after securing his knife and rifle, returned to his home in high glee to announce the horrid achievement. It was, however, deemed unsafe to venture out again that night, for fear of other Indians of Black-foot's band, who it was well known were in the neighbourhood.

In the morning Poe sallied out to the place of reconnoitre with some of the inmates of the farm. Here they found, stretched on the ground, weltering in gore, the vanquished warrior, who was now, for the first time, from a plume he wore, and some other peculiarity in his equipments, identified as the veritable "Sachem," who had for months kept that settlement in a state of alarm. Poe was soon complimented by the settlers around, and from that day forward became a celebrated character.

I was subsequently told on board the canal packet, that the Indian referred to, was not the notorious chief of that name, but a second-rate warrior, who, having headed a band of marauders, ***med the soubriquet. How far this may be the fact, I cannot determine.

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