the capture of them the next morning. With such intervals of joyous sociality months passed before the journey westward was accomplished, occasional skirmishes occurring between the intruders and the wily Indians who sometimes crept unperceived into the settlers' camps. Still cheerfully they pressed on, till at length the land was cleared for a permanent residence. On reaching the banks of the Ohio, some, in primeval fashion, constructed arks for a home on its inviting current. These arks or flat boats, thirty or forty feet long and ten or twelve in breadth, were considered so stupendous as to hold men, women, children, cattle, poultry, vegetables, and a host of miscellaneous wares. The roof or deck constituting a farm yard, was covered with hay, ploughs, carts, and agricultural implements--the spinning wheel of the matron morever conspicuous among them.

In these floating habitations, containing their owners' all, the emigrants, fearful of discovery by the Red Skins, denied themselves even fire or light by night, so fearful were they of a surprise from the ferocious and ever watchful foe. Many an encounter, to the discomfiture of the Indian hordes, ensued ; for, to the exercise of the settler's courage on these occasions is probably owing that extraordinary skill in the use of

SNUFFING THE CANDLE.

45.

the rifle exhibited by the Kentuckians in their sports.

A common feat among these is driving the nail. An assembly then mount a target, in the centre of which a nail is hammered for about two-thirds of its length. Forty paces is considered a proper distance for the marksmen. The bending of the nail is indicative of some skill; but nothing short of hitting it on the head is satisfactory: this is called “driving the nail.”

In the flat land, thickly covered with black walnut, oaks and hickories, beyond the rocky margin of the Kentucky river, it is that the squirrels are seen gamboling on every tree. To hit with a rifle shot the bark of the tree immediately beneath the squirrel, and through the concussion to kill the animal, constitutes the cruel diversion of “barking a squirrel.”

There are frequently sporting expeditions for practice in the woods, when fires may be seen blazing through the thick foliage of the trees, to enable a marksman to shoot at the reflected light from the eyes of a deer or wolf at night.

In snuffing the candle, such dexterity is attained as to enable a rifleman, six times out of seven, actually to snuff a light without extinguishing it. When it is considered that a Kentuckian, with the same ease with which he snuffs his candle dispatches his enemy, and that every

man in the state is used to handle the deadly weapon from the time he can shoulder it, it will be evident that the Kentuckians are no contemptible antagonists.

But yet more formidable than to contest with such a foe is to encounter that terrible phenomenon known in the State where it is so frequent as a hurricane. Audubon, surprised by one on his journey from Henderson, appears to have retained as vivid an idea of its awful grandeur as of that of the earthquake. It is preceded also by a thick haze in the atmosphere, from which he would have inferred a recurrence of the same catastrophe, but that his horse exhibited this time no inclination to stop and prepare for it. Having arrived at the verge of a valley, Audubon dismounted to quench his thirst from a brook close at hand, and while leaning on his knees, close to the earth, he heard a strange murmuring sound, far in the distance. Raising his head, he observed towards the southwest, an extraordinary phenomenon, of a yellowtinged oval spot on the horizon. Before he had time to reflect upon it, a sharp breeze agitated the trees, increasing rapidly, till the smaller branches were soon falling to the ground.

In two minutes more the whole forest was in fearful commotion. The creaking noise of the huge trunks pressing against each other from the

violent gusts of wind, seemed the announcement of some terrible convulsion. Torn by the blast, the noblest trees of the forest bowed their lofty heads, the cracking of their branches and the heaving of their massive stems preceding the crash of their entire destruction. Others of enormous size, rent up at once entirely by the roots, fell in one vast heap of ruin to the earth. Some, with colossal branches, like giant arms, outspread for the conflict, offered a momentary resistance, to be suddenly snapped across the centre; while the victorious tempest, carrying in its current a mass of twigs and lighter foliage, whirled around a cloud of dust which obscured the air.

The groaning of the desolated forests mingled with the storm, as hurrying, with shrieking warcry or sullen howl, along its desolating track, its tumult could have been equalled only by the roar of the Niagara cataract. Speedily, as it arose, the fury of the hurricane subsided, though for hours the air was thickened by the abundance of lighter foliage, still swept around by the gale. An odour, as of sulphur, then filled the atmosphere, and the greenish lurid sky looked down upon the huge heap of vegetation, which, , in shapeless masses, marked the course of the hurricane. So rapidly had it advanced, that before Audubon could take measures for his safety,

its violence menaced the very spot on which he stood. With consternation he was compelled to watch its awful progress, and grateful to the Divine Disposer, he beheld at length nature assume her wonted aspect, and found himself uninjured. Having business of an urgent nature, instead of returning to the adjacent town, he boldly followed the pathway of the storm, so tangled as to cause him innumerable difficulties; nevertheless he pursued his way, now aiding his horse to leap the mangled remains of trees, now scrambling himself through the shattered branches by which he was hemmed in. For hundreds of miles the traces of the hurricane were visible; its ravages perceptible even on the mountain summits adjoining the great Pennsylvanian Pine Forest.

Audubon's wanderings, thus prolific of extraordinary events, were not less so of amusing incidents, necessarily connected with the many remarkable characters who met his observation. One of the striking among them was that of the renowned and dauntless leader of the emigrant bands into Kentucky, Daniel, or as he was courteously termed in the state, Colonel Boone. It was Audubon's fortune to remain under the same roof with this extraordinary man, whose appearance and gigantic stature well befitted a hunter of the woods. His chest was broad, and