728

Our Western Border.

The persevering toys then marched up the shore of the river nearly six miles, and at a place near the Six Mile island constructed a raft, with no tool to facilitate their labors but a knife. Even this frail and rough contrivance was not large enough to carry them all, and the elder Linn, who was an expert swimmer, plunged into the water and pushed the clumsy craft before him, while his companions paddled with all their might with poles. Thus they were wafted slowly and laboriously down and across the stream, until they were discovered from the town, and parties sent to their relief. About the same time the Indians who had been pursuing them reached the shore they had left, fired at them, and expressed their rage and disappointment by loud yells. Young Linn was nearly frozen by his immersion in the water, which, at that season, in the month of November, was very cold; but by the prompt and skillful remedies applied under the direction of his kind guardian, Colonel Pope, who had been driven by the Indians from his residence in the woods, and was now living in Louisville, he was recovered.

JONATHAN ALDER CAPTURED   HIS STRANGE RETURN.

In March, 1782, Jonathan Alder, a lad of nine years, while out near his father's home in West Virginia, with his brother David, hunting for a mare and her colt, was taken prisoner by a small party of Indians. His brother ran, but was pursued, and a spear pierced through his body. When finally taken, one caught him about the body while another pulled out the spear. Jonathan moved to him and asked him if he was much hurt, when the little fellow said he was, which were his last words. At that moment he turned pale and began to sink, and Jonathan was hurried on, but saw, soon after, one of the wretches coming up with his little brother's scalp in his bloody hand.

A Mrs. Martin, with a young child aged five, neighbors of the Alders, were taken at the same time, but finding the child burdensome, the savages soon killed and scalped it also. The last member of her family was thus destroyed, and the poor mother screamed out in an agony of grief. Upon this, one of the cruel savages caught her by the hair and, drawing the edge of his knife across her forehead, cried "scalp ! scalp!" with the hope of stilling her cries. But, indifferent to life, she continued her screams, and then they procured some switches and whipped her until she was silent. The next morning Jonathan, not having risen, through over-fatigue,