Travels In The United States Of America; Commencing In The Year 1793, And Ending In 1797. With The Author's Journals Of His Two Voyages Across The Atlantic By William Priest































































































































































 -  This whole town, with a large tract around it, not even excepting the
bones of our progenitors, has been sold - Page 69
Travels In The United States Of America; Commencing In The Year 1793, And Ending In 1797. With The Author's Journals Of His Two Voyages Across The Atlantic By William Priest - Page 69 of 128 - First - Home

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This Whole Town, With A Large Tract Around It, Not Even Excepting The Bones Of Our Progenitors, Has Been Sold To A Stranger.

We were deceived out of it, and that by a man who understood Greek and Hebrew; five kegs of whiskey did the business:

He took us in the hour of dissipation, when the whole universe appeared to us but a little thing; how much less then, this comparatively small tract of country, which was, notwithstanding, our whole dependance for the purposes of hunting and fishing! - - Here,' continued he, sighing, 'was the habitation of _Tawlongo_, one of our most celebrated warriors. He, in his time, could boast of having gained no fewer than one hundred and twenty-seven complete victories over his enemies; yet he was killed at last by an unarmed _Englishman_.

"Here, too, on the opposite side of the way, stood the house of _Pilaware_, the admirable; she had been addressed by thirty-three suitors of her own nation, but refused them all, and went off at last with an _irish pedlar_, for the sake of three yards of silver riband, and a new blanket. Yonder stood the dwelling of _Scuttawabah_, my immediate ancestor; he died for joy of having found a keg of rum, that had been lost by some western trader. May his joys be continued behind the western mountains - Recollection overcomes me - Let us return to the wigwam in the forest.'

"As soon as we had reached this sequestered abode, the Indian once more sat himself down, and leaned his head upon his hand, melancholy enough, to be sure.

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