An Englishman's Travels In America: His Observations Of Life And Manners In The Free And Slave States - 1857 - By J. Benwell.
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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.
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