Semi-Weekly Journal, Volume 3, Number 236, Indianapolis, Marion County, 10 July 1841 — Page 1

BY DOUGLASS & NOEL.

INDIANAPOLIS, SATURDAY, JULY 10, 1841. VOL. 3. NO. 236.

published three times a week during the BEssioisUni clearly on the ear that we can scarce persuade

ourselves the monster is not close at our side at another, the falling- of a decayed branch will p-oduce such a loud and fearful sound, that we deem it the

fatal plunge which mustdoomus to destruction. Now

OF THE LEGISLATURE TWICE A WEEK THE REMAINDER OF THE YEAR. Terms. Foca Dollars a year, payable in advance, and considered due at the date of the tubscription. If not paid in ad

vance, however, Five Dollars will no the price. Advertisements will he inserted at the following rates: Ten -line or lens, for untr Lhretintertionrtuvi hom.ar , nml twenty-five cents for each continuance. Or, will he continued on ontract one year, for '15, and willbe altered occasionally ifde. reid. On loneer advertisements, a rcnsonablcdeductioii will be made. JjSINGLE COPIES 6J Cents.

From the Ladies' Companion for June . THE RESCUE. . BY MRS. EM E LING S. SMITH. .

The incident about to be related, is one of many

similar ones, which occurred during the early settle

ment of America. Those who sought a home in the

savage wilds which then covered the land, wedded themselves to a life of peril and hardship. The dan

gers which continually threatened them, called forth

all the heroic qualities of their nature, and there lives

were marked bv many a lofty deed ot daring ana tie

votion. Such deeds should not sink into oblivion, for

N they belonged to the history of our country, and as such should be recorded and remembered.

We would present a picture to the imagination of

the reader. There is a broad and beautiful stream, with its deep, still waters, flowing on between banks covered by luxuriant foliage; and its bright surface dotted here and there with fairy little isles, where graceful shrubs and fragrant flowers bud and blossom undisturbed in wild and lonely loveliness. Bright plumed birds, of many varieties, are winging their way over the quiet water, and the surrounding scene echoes with their tuneful minstrelsy. On the borders of the river, at the edge of a forest that stretches far away over hill and dale, stands the rude but picturesque dwelling of a bockwoodsman; with the blue smoke curling up from its lowly roof, and its humble walls glancing out from the green foliage that sur

rounds tnem. mere are some indications ui taste and refinement near the woodma"n's house, which give a cheerful appearance to that otherwise wild and lovely scene, A graceful vine curtains the lowly window, and many bright flowers, natives of a distant soil, shed their graceful perfume around. Near the door

hangs a cage, containing a, rare and beautiful bird, whose song of gladness breaks sweetly upon the still- - ness of that solitary place. On a low seat at the entrance of the dwelling, is seen a young woman, caressing an infant. She has lost the blooming loveliness of early youth her cheek is pale, and her brow wears that thoughtful expression which is imprinted by the touch of care; yet she is still beautiful in form and feature, and none may look upon her without admiration. As she

bends over the child in her arms, her eye fills with that unutterable tenderness and love which are only seen in the eye of a mother, and which make the face of a beautiful woman angelic. Now and then she turns from the child, to send an anxious glance towards the forest, as if she watched for the approach of some one from that direction. She is momentarily expecting her husband. He left his home at morn; the hour appointed for his return has passed away, the shadows of the trees are lengthened in the rays of the setting sun, and yet he comes not. The fond wife begins to tremble for his safety a fearful foreboding of some approaching calamity haunts her imagination. , She had reason to fear; for that portion of country was, at this time, the theatre of many a tragic scene. Sometimes the woodman, in penetrating too far into the pathless recesses of the forest, lost his way, and wandered for days in the dreary wilderness, suffering many miseries, and perishing at last by the pangs of hunger. Sometimes a hungry beast of prey would cross the path of the wanderer, and doom him to a dreadful death. Sometimes the wily red men, who yet lurked about those lonely wilds, entrapped the white hunter, and, from a spirit of revenge, or the thirst tor blood, sacrificed his victim with the most wanton and barbarous crue'.ty. As the anxious wife thought of these things, her fears and forebodings became almost insupportable. Hushing the infant to sleep, she carried it into the dwelling, and deposited it in its cradle bed. She then

hastened forth again, and wandered along the path that led to the forest, anxiously looking forward the while for her husband. She walked onward for some time, fondly hoping to see the object of her search, but her hopes were vain, and sending one more searching glance around, and seeing nothing but the gloomy shadow:! of the trees, she turned with a heavy heart to retrace her steps. As she was proceeding homeward, a sudden fear for her child, whom she had left alone crossed her mind, and caused her to hasten forward. Drawing nearer to the dwelling, this fear became so intense, that it amounted almost to a conviction of some terrible calamity. Flying rather than walking, she reached the house, and sprang to the cradle it was empty, and the child nowhere to be seen! With frantic eagerness she rushed to the back door of the dwelling, which she had left closed, and which she now found was open. She was just in time to see a party of Indians making rapidly to the woods. Her heart whispered the fearful assurance ,Lm4 (knnlinva oiiTflir ,ta frpflcitra T-Tnro to o a tvirinrt

lljab LIHEjr uuig uwuj . biuuu.u. iiviu , . to. o i. n j o situation for a timid and helpless woman her husband far off perhaps in peril her child her first born and only one, torn away by the rude hand of a savage dread night approaching, and no earthly arm to aid! Without pausing for reflection, the mother flew along the path which the Indians had taken. Now and then she caught a glimpse of their forms as they J : .1 1 fl.n,..!. V, . . t : i i

moveu rapiuiy uiiuugu mc uccj, uui ns ine iwiugiu deepened, and surrounding objects became more indistinct, even that slight comfort was denied her, and i . i i 1 . U . . . : . i . t

sne.iraceu iiur mumy (jjuiwoj wuijuui Knowing

whether or not it would bring her nearer the object of her pursuit. Yet she paused not a moment in indecision, but hastened onward through the increasing darkness,unconscious of the uncertainty of her search, and the wildness of her expedition. She had but one thought one hope; and that was to be near her child to save it, if it could be saved, or perish with it, if perish it must. Strong in this determination, she pushed forward, thoughtless of fatigue, and fearless of peril. As the night advanced, the wind rose and sighed among the trees with a mournful and heartchilling sound. The stars that had hitherto shed a faint light through the branches, were now veiled in black clouds, that seemed to preage a storm; and ever and anon the shrill croaking of a night bird, or the prolonged howl of some beast of prey, was borne tn the ear of the unhaDnv wanderer, making- fearful

- - 1 1 a ' thoughts, and warning her of the dangers by which sire was surrounded. Those who have never roamed in a forest at midnight, can scarcely realize how much that is terrifying is connected with such a journey. At one time the howl of the hungry wolf will burst so suddenly

tne winu will como with a fitful and a moaning cadenceso Jikc the human voice, that we, for an instant believe it the wail of an agonized being and again it will sweep by with a rushing sound like a troop of

enraged monsters, bent on a mission ot death. Some

times an unseen, low drooping branch will softly

touch the shoulder, congealing the w-arm currjnt of

life with the idea that a spectral has suddenly arrest

ed our progress; and again a black and blasted tree,

with one or two sere branches protruding from its side will, for an instant, still the pulsation of the heart, as we behold in it a frightful phantom, stretching forth it,s arms to grasp our sinking forms. All this, and more, must one feel and fear in a lonely midnight pilgrimage through the forest and all this the mother endured assho pursued her almost hopeless enterprize. She had traveled far, very far for the darkness of the night, and the intricacies of the wood, had scarcely lessened the speed with which

she commenced her walk, and she had been many hours on her way. Weariness was beginning to

overcome her hope was departing from her heart,

and despair chilling her whole energies, when she discovered afar off through the trees, a light. It was

but a feeble glimmer, yet oh! how it irradiated the

path of the wanderer. The instant she beheld it, hope sprang back to her heart, and strength invigora

ted her frame. That faint and far-oil' ray seemed the light of returning happiness, and she watched it as

eagerly as the mariner watches the star which guides

him over ocean s stormy waves. She now hastened

onward with redoubled energy, and though her step sometimes faltered, and her heart sunk within her, as

the light disappeared behind some intervening object,

she still kept her eye steadily in the direction of the beacon, and soon gained a position where it shone

brightly before her, and she could approach without

losing sight of it again. As she drew near she gazed upon the scene which that light revealed, with min

gled feelings of astonishment, hope and fear.

ihere was a large fire built of the dried branches

ot trees; and around it lay the dusky forms of five or

six Indians, reposing upon the ground. Their appear

ance was savage and fearful in the extreme; each

with his painted features lighted by the fitful glare of

the fire, and his tomahawk and scalping kuife gleam

ing at his side. Near them were implements of

hunting, around the fire lay scattered bones and fragments of a recent rude and hasty repast. The whole

scene was calculated to strike terror into the heart of

the delicate being who gazed upon it. But she scarcely saw the rude savages or their implements of death, for her whole soul was absorbed

in contemplating a portion of the scene which we have not yet described, and which rivited her attention wish a thrilliag and magic power. Bound to a tree, was the form of her husband; and at his feet on the cold ground, lay her child. The father's face was pale, & stained with blood; the infant's was covered by its dress and its form was motionless as if chilled by the cold hand of death. How felt the fond wife, and mother when that sight of horror met her eye! Repressing by a mighty effort the shriek of agony that rose to her lips, and conquering, by the strength of a heroic soul, the almost irresistible desire she felt to

rush forward, and clasp those dear ones to her aching heart, she stood gazing upon the scene with feelings which cannot be described. She saw with a throb of

sudden joy, that her husband lived, and her heart

grew cold again as she watched the motionless form

of her child. She longed to fly to its side, and ascer

tain the truth, for the suspense that preyed upon her

mind was terrible, but again her resolute mind re

strained her, and she began to deliberate upon the

situation of her husband, and devise means for re

leasing him.

The vivid light cast bv the fire on all things near

it, enabled the wife to note the scene distinctly. She saw with a thankful hear!., the savages all slept, and

that she could reach the side of her husband without

passing near enough to awake them; but she also saw

that he was bound by strong cords which she could noMiope in her wearied state to unfasten, and she looked about for something to sever them. There was nothing, save the knife which the Indians wear at

their side. Looking more intently, she saw one of

these had slipped from its place, and lay on the ground

by its owner, so near, that his nand almost touched

the hilt. A pang of intense fear shot through her

frame, when she thought of approaching so close to the terific form of the savage, but another look upon the pale face of thn prisoner, re-assured her, and she determined to reycue him, or perish in the attempt. She could not approach the Indians without revealing herself to the eyes of her husband, and she feared, in that case, an exclamation of surprise would follow her appearance, and arouse the foe from their slumber. After pondering a moment upon the best mode of proceeding, she determined to steal softly to the back of the tree, place her hand upon the lip of the captive, whisper a few words of explanation, and implore him not by the slightest murmer, to frustrate her plans. With a throbbing heart, she commenced her perilous undertaking. Noiselessly she made her way to the tree and accomplished her purpose. There was no time to delay, yet one instant the mother turned to look upon her child, yearning to clasp it to her bosom, but not daring to lift the cloth which concealed its features, and assure herself whether or not it lived. A little while before, she would have given worlds to be able to do this, but now she felt that to behold it wrapped in the slumber of death, would un

nerve her arm, and render her unfit for the further prosecution of her trying task. With a firmness that would have done honor to a stoic, she conquered the promptings of natural love, and hastened away. With a step as noiseless as the falling dew, she glided towards the slumbering savages: as she drew

near her frame trembled so violently, she could scarcely support herself; and when she put forth her hand to take the knife, the beating of her heart was so audible, she feared it would wake the sleepers, and she presed her hand convulsively upon it, to still its tumultuous throbbings. One terrible instant she thought the eyes of the Indian opened, and glared upon her, with a fierce and malignant expression; but this was mere fancy, for he still slept, and the next moment she was gliding away, with the knife firmly grasped in her hand. With a few rapid strokes she liberated her husband, and then bent down and uncovered the child. To her unspeakable joy, she found it in a slumber as sweet and peaceful, as though it had been hushed to rest upon its mother's bosom. With a prayer of gratitude upon her lips, she lifted it from its rude resting place, turned to her companion and motioned the way to their home. With rapid and noiseless steps they hurried away, speeding onward with tremulous yet hopeful hearts. Not a moment did the fond mother spare to caress her infact not a word did she utter to greet her husband.

The spell of a new found uncertain happiness had settled upon her spirit, and she feared to break its thrilling charm. For a timo they traveled thus in silence and darkness; moving as near as they could judge in in the direction of their home, and anxious to bo far

ther s'ill farther away from their enemies. At length wcarinesw-compelled - them to Tcst-awhilcr and, as the dawning day began to shed a trembling light abroarf, they crept into a thicket and sought repose. The beams of the rising sun liVhtcd the wanderers

on their homeward pathway; and whenthat sun was sinking to repose, its parting rays fell calmly over the woodman's humble home, revealing a scene of biiss such as seldom visit j the home of mon. How radiant with grateful joy .was the face of the ond mo-

mer, ns sue clasped her recovered treasure closer to her bosom, how full of admiring love was the eye of

the rescued husband, as it rested upon its fair preserver, and oh! how warm and fervent was the prayer

breathed in that hour for safety,' bearing up to Hea

ven, the deep devotion of thankful and happy hearts.

From the Newark CN. J.) Sentinel.

Gen-. Cass's Eulogy in Paris. The address deliv

ered by the. American Minister in France, at the mee

ting of our countrymen on the death of Gen. Harrison,

winch is published in the Boston Courier, bears the

fullest and strongest testimonv to the virtues and

services of the man, from a long and intimate associ

atim; while at the same time he openly avows the contrariety of their political attachments. Wc make

an exttact or two: ' 'Most of you have come here to manifest your regret at the death of a Chief Magistrate. But I have come, no', only to perform that duty, but to mourn the loss of a private friend. It is more than forty years since I first knew him, and almost thirty since I was admitted to his friendship and confidence. I have served under him in war, and with him in peace; and

never, during that long interval ot our acquaintance, did a single incidence arise, to disturb, for a moment the harmony of our intercourse. lean speak of him from an intimate knowledge of his conduct, his character, and his principles. A knowledge, acquired in the perilous scenes of an active life, where the heart of a man is laid open, and where, with the heavens above us, and the forest around us, concealment would have been as impracticable as it would have

been useless.

He was disinterested, generous, honest, sacrificing

his comfort to that of others, ceaseless in his attentions to duty, passionately desirous of promoting the interest of his country, and formed by nature to acquire an ascendency over those around him. How wonderful are the vicissitudes of life. Little did he think, little could I have thought, when together we were exposed to the perils and sufferings of a frontier war, and when night and day I witnessed his trials and exertions, that I should ever be called upon, in this metropolis of European influence and opinion, to defend his posthumous fame from the attacks of his own countrymen. But so it is, and I shall discharge the duty. While he lived, he was himself fully competent to the task. It did not become any one to push

himself forward as a volunteer, and to claim the priv

ilege of appropriating to himself his cause, But he is beyond the reach of calumny, as he is beyond the power of correcting it. His friends may now act, each upon his own responsibility. His memory is

dear to me, and I eagerly embrace the opportunity of

rescuing it from various charges, which either on

ginated, or were revived and propogated, during the late Presidential canvass. And I am the more free

to do this because I know the anxiety he felt upon the

subject. ; He would have been unworthy of his high position, had he been indifferent to it; and through a common friend, he communicated to me the wish that I would prepare a narrative of the battle of the Thames. But the request and compliance were after his elevation to the Chief Magistracy; and every generous mind will understand why I could not then give as free scope to my feelings as now. My narrative was confined to the facts, which, indeed, when related as they occurred are sufficient to justify the General from all the aspcrsisns cast upon him, respecting the occurrences of the day. But my feelings and opinions I could not freely disclose. Such a course in our relative situation, would have been unacceptable to him, and unworthy of me. But death has snatched him from his high place, and I do not

fear to be mistaken, now when I propose to give full

course to the dictates of my heart, and to say of him

in the tomb, what I could not say of him in life.

During the campaign of 1813, which terminated in the battle of the Thames. I was attached to the forces

commanded by General Harrison, as a Brigadier-Gen

era! of the army of the United States, having under

my command a brigade of regular troops. My posi

Hon, therefore, brought me into hourly contact with

the General, and all his Orders and plans were unre

servedly communicated to me. 1 was in a situation

to judge the character of his measures, and to appre

date both the difficulties he had to encounter, and the

resources he displayed in overcoming them. So much

for my position at that time. And I deem it proper

to allude to another circumstance, ihe events ot

later years had separated General Harrison and mysolf in political life, thp' they never affected our pri

vate intercourse. We belonged to dillerent parties,

and each pursued his public duties agreeable to his

own convictions, without suffering these circumstan

ccs to interrupt communications which had grown up

in other times.

Exercising the privilege of an American citizen,

and adhering to opinions which had long guided me,

had I been in the United states at the lat Presiden

tial election, I should have voted against my General

and friend, and for his competitor, because I consider

the latter more nearly the representative of most of

the political sentiments I entertain, and have enter tained, since first brought into public life by Mr. Jefferson, almost forty years ago. And General Harris on knew this. But he was too true to his feelings,

and to Hist to his principles, to permit a difference of

political opinion, or that fair course of action, which is the honest consequence of it, to sever or weaken ties, formed under circumstances I have described. I do not believe that a hard thought ever crossed his mind upon this subject. I trust the motive which induces me to allude to this matter, will be appreciated and approved. I have no patience to deal with the charges of cowardice and imbecility, with which the fame of the gallant soldier was attempted to be tarnished during life; and which may affect his memory now he is gone. He was as brave a man as ever went into battle. No one who served with him could mistake this point of his character. I have seen him in many trying circumstances, when I could not be deceived, and his coolness and self-possesion never forsook him for a moment. An instance of his firmness, I may say rashness, presents itself at this moment to my memory. The bridge over one of the deep tributary streams of the river Thames had been destroyed by the enemy,

to impede oit approach, and a largo body of Indians was stationed in the surrounding woods, to prevent us from repairing it. The work was commenced under the immediate direction of General Harrison, who sat calmly on his horse overlooking the operations and

exposed to the bullets of the Indians. Appreciating

tne value ot nis nre, x entreated him to retire, oflering to remain and see the work executed. But he would not listen to me. He did not tell me why; but I knew it as well as if he had told me. I read his thoughts in the surrounding circumstances. His army was new, officers and soldiers suddenly collected from various parts of the country, and u was essential that their General should acquire their confidence. He considered the example of more importance than any risk he may have felt he was encountering. He is gone where my praise or censure is equally

indifferent to him. But never while I live shall I cease to regret him, or to bear testimony to the purity of his principles, to the ardor of his patriotism, to the value of his services, and to the high qualities which commanded the respect of all who were brought into contact with him.

CONGRESS. IN SENATE, 24th June, 1811.

TUELIC LANDS. Mr. Smith, of Indiana, Chairman of the Committee on the public lands, reported back to the Senate, the bill to distribute the ptoceeds of the public lands among the States, and to grant Jands to certain States, with amendments. Mr. S. accompanied the bill with

the following report, mhich, with the bill as amended,

was ordered to be printed. The Committee on the Public Lands to whom were referred so much oj the President's Message as relates to that subject, "A bill to appropriate for a limited time the proceeds of the sales of the public lands of the United States, and for granting land to certain States," resolutions of several of the Stales, and resolutions of the Senate on the same subject, have had the same under consideration, and report: The committee are fully aware of the difficulty, if

not of the impossibility, of satisfactorily presenting any subject so diversified in its relations, and so important in its different bearings, as that submitted to them, in the compass of an ordinary report. Still was

the subject a new one, was it essential for the infor

mation of the country or the Senate, that a detailed report should be made, the committee would not shrink from an attempt to discharge that duty. But when they reflect that this is not a new subject that it has once passed through all the stages of Congressional action, that reports emanating from Congress have been widely circulated and read by the people in every part of the nation, that public opinion has beenbrougt directly to bear upon it, that legislative action has been had in most of the States, and the legislative wili expressed in the form of resolves which had been presented to Congress, that it has undergone the most full and ample discussions in Congress, in the State Legislatures, in the public press, and before the people in primary assemblies, and that the result has been an unity of sentiment and a concurrence in opinion in favor of the measure of distribution altogether satisfactory to its friends, and sufficiently conclusive of the question. It does seem to the committee that it would be a task, unnecessary at least, if not altogether gratuitous on their part, to go into an argument to meet in anticipation objections that may

oe urged against it, or to show the grounds upon which public opinion is founded in its favor, or to present an argument on the policy of a measure thus called for by the public voice. They, therefore, without the least disposition of avoiding the discharge of any duty that may be required of them on the present occasion, content themselves by submitting opinions and conclusions upon the subjects referred, rather than detailed arguments in support of those opinions.

or in justification of those conclusions, leaving those arguments to be supplied by Senators in debate,

should they suppose them called for by the occasion. The principal question upon which the committee

was called upon to express an opinion was, whether the nett proceeds of the sales of the public lands, should be distributed among the States, in just and equitable

proportions. Ihe answer to this question, in the o pinion of the committee, must be in the affirmative. This measure is believed to be in accordance with the

rights of the States, and most fully sustained by pub-

he opinion. Under our form of government, Congress may, in the absence of constitutional barriers, be considered as the honored agent of the states and people, to mould their will into the form of legal enactments. Concurring in sentiment with public opinion, as regards the constitutionality, as well as the expediency of the proposed measure, the committee cn nnot recommend it too strongly to the favorable consideration of the Senate. Having arrived at the conclusion, that the measure of distribution should be adopted, the attention of the committee was directed to the form of the bill referred to them on that subject; and after a careful examination of its provisions, they are of the opinion that its main features are equitable and proper, but, that in some points, it is susceptible of improvements. They have therefore prososed some amendments, among the principal of which is one which strikes out those parts of the bill which direct the objects to which the grants and funds distributed shall be applied by the States. The committee submit that these provisions are liable to be construed into an assumption on the part of Congress of a guardianship over the States, to which the general government has no claim, and which it is not necessary in this case she should exercise, if she had. The committee are disposed to leave the objects to woich the funds distributed shall be appropriated to be selected by the States directly interested, not doubting but that, in the appropriation, such objects will be selected by them, as the best interest of the States and people, and their experience shall, from time to time, designate. The committee have also stricken from the bill the limitation as to the time the act shall continue in force.

leaving that matter to the action of a subsequent Con

gress, should the measure meet the just expectations of its friends, and secure the approbation of thenation.

when its operation shall have been seen and felt by the

people, it will ot corose remain the law of the land;

on the contrary, should the anticipations and forebodings of its op-jonents be realized, and public opinion

demand its repeal, it will be but the work of a day to pass an act for that purpose; it may not be improper

here to remarK, that sound policy requires that our legislation should, in all cases, assume as settled a

form as possible.

The Committee have also introduced an amendment

that will more effectually place the States hereafter admitted upon a footing with the other new States. These are the principal amendments that struck the

committee as necessary to be made to the form of

the bill, so far as the distribution principle was con

cerned.

The committee were instructed to inquire into the