'Captain,' said he, 'you must let me fight that man; he will whip you.' 'It takes a very good man to do that,' replied the captain. 'I don't dispute that,' replied the youth; but I noticed that fellow while you were talking with him, and am satisfied that there is not a man in the company who can handle him but myself. It will take the best kind of a man to do it.' 'You have a high opinion of yourself, young man.' 'That's my business,' said the youth, sharply; but what I may think of myself, is neither here nor there. I don't want to see you whipped, nor to lose the wagon; but depend upon it, if you fight that man, he will use you up in short order; he will beat you to a jelly in a minute. Turn him over to me, and the team shall be ours.' Crawford was struck by the confidence of the young man; but he was not willing to appear to draw back, especially as one of the men had just remarked in his hearing that the teamster was of the right breed of dogs, sure enough.' To which another responded: 'He is barking up the wrong tree this time. There is no back out in the captain, no how. They can't banter him off the track, no way they can fix it.' But the youth insisted, that to have the captain beaten, which would certainly be the case if he persisted in fighting, would be discreditable to the company; and moreover that he was the only man present who could fight the wagoner with a fair chance of success. This confidence, and a something about him that inspired confidence in others, enabled him to carry his point. The captain had probably but little relish for a gentle passage of arms of this description, in which there would be hard knocks without honor, and having done all that policy required, in accepting the challenge, prudently suffered himself to be persuaded by his men to let the young stranger take his place. The combatants were soon stripped, and ready for the fight; seconds were chosen for them, a ring was formed upon the smooth level, and the terms of the battle proclaimed. It was a curious scene. A few minutes before, the whole of that company were reposing from the fatigues of the march; around them were the shadows of the forest, and a silence deep as that of the grave. The fairies, if such gentry there were in a wilderness so far from the haunts of civilized men, were probably frisking around, prepared to practice their jests upon the band, so soon as the drowsy god should have sealed their eyes in slumber. The autumn sun was sinking to the horizon, and the mellow hues of the landscape were rendered still more delicious by the repose, and the agreeable temperature of the air. Suddenly the unruly passions are unloosed; eagerness and excitement pervade the rude assembly; coarse voices, loud shouts, and heavy peals of laughter, awaken the echoes. The lone teamster is no longer a friendless being, whose rights were to be trampled upon by a military despot. He has appealed to a court of honor, and stands upon a level with his opponent. His spirit has elevated him into a hero; the loungers of the camp have pressed about him, to catch a glimpse of his features, and several have recognised an acquaintance. The name of a bully, familiar as the victor in many a brawl, is passing through the busy throng. Stout men have gathered round him, to advocate his cause, and insure him a fair trial, according to the ancient form of battle. The band is divided into two parties, animated by a mutual sense of justice, and a common desire for victory. As they stood in the ring, ready for the onset, a great disparity was visible in the appearance of the combatants, the advantage being decidedly on the part of the wagoner. He was in the vigor of life; big, muscular, hardened by labor and exposure, and experienced in this mode of warfare. Calm and self-possessed, he contemplated his adversary without dread, and looked for an easy victory. The youth, who in his hunting shirt-seemed slender, and by no means athletic, now showed himself a young giant, when his broad chest, his huge limbs, and strong joints, were exposed. He was only about eighteen or twenty years of age; his frame was large, but had not yet acquired the fulness, the compactness, and the vigor, of ripe manhood, which it afterward possessed in so eminent a degree: his limbs seemed to be loosely hung together, but the bones and muscles were enormous, and the eye full of courage. The battle was severe, but brief; and even in that country where pugilism ranks among the amusements of the refined circles, would have been esteemed a pretty specimen of that art. It is true there was not much science, for boxing has never been publicly countenanced in this country, and one of the competitors was a person who would not have condescended to cultivate the art as a source either of amusement or reputation. But there was a spirit, a life, an earnestness about this combat, which, to such as could witness with pleasure a spectacle so revolting, gave it an intense interest. The wagoner was completely and terribly beaten. His antagonist sprang upon him with the ferocity of an enraged panther, and after a few blows the battle ceased to be doubtful. The tremendous fist of the young Virginian broke down all the guards of his practised opponent: the athletic teamster, who had been the leader in many a brawl, now met with one greater than himself, and in a few minutes he was stretched exhausted at the feet of his vanquisher, who was but little hurt. That youth was DANIEL MORGAN, who had now for the first time taken the field, against the enemies of his country, as a volunteer soldier. A few years afterward, when the war for independence called out the patriotism and chivalry of the land, he became known to fame as the daring and sagacious leader of a regiment of riflemen, whose exploits were among the most brilliant of a contest fruitful in noble deeds. It was a favorite corps of Washington, who always bestowed his confidence with judgment. Morgan rose to the rank of Major-General, often led our armies to victory, and was said to have been more frequently engaged in battle than any other officer. He was as celebrated for his activity, strength, and personal courage, as for his military talents; and the above is one of the numerous incidents of his eventful life, which attest his almost incredible bodily powers. PENCILLED M A THOUGHT: ON A BLANK LEAF OF A 'BLANK BOOK.' never strongly soars, nor deeply dives, But muddles truth, at which he ne'er arrives! YE varied forests that with graceful sweep While groups are heard discussing martial law, The Muse inquires not why these 'braves' in arms THE TARGET. "T WAS on that morn, blest be the welcome day! "T was on that morn, our heroes might be seen 'Halt!' cried the captain of this martial band, THE LEADER. HERE, gentle reader, as in faint relief, The Muse attempts an outline of her chief: Nor yet the man she subjects to her rule, Heaven makes the man, but habit makes the fool. The great ram-beaver which our hero wore, It gave a faded ribbon to the wind; A gift his wife had lent this son of Mars, Around the 'border' chief its shelter cast, Shreds from an old kilmannock night-cap tied,* What time the 'powers' should meet in bloody fray. By fashion's ultra hand turned up before; And when he marched, it seemed full sure his toes The moose-skin belt that bound his sword, gave way; The blood of foemen thou shalt never taste; A poker turned, thou load'st the wench's arm, And fire and sword' shall keep her kitchen warm! THE SPEECH. He now continued: 'Friends, the hour of fate, THE TRIAL. a pound of tea!' THEIR guns were levelled and their shots let fly, But strange to tell, all guiltless of their aim, Each thought his neighbor must have been to blame: At least they said so; and their leader swore, 'T was fearful waste of ammunition store, And he, by long experience bold, must say, 'T was strange that fifty bullets missed their way. A second volley, with the same effect, Showed there was strange misfortune or neglect. The boldest deemed some sudden judgment near, A mouse's birth has caused a mountain wo: And though the story springs from fiction's school, * A slouch cap worn by northern boatmen. MEG'S HISTORY. FROM Scotia's land, full forty years before, Its humble inmates tilled the sterile ground, Deep-rooted hate had now usurped the place Where long her friends had ceased her loss to mourn, 'YOUR powder spare,' she cried, 'from such abuse, They've dealt with harder-headed chaps than you! One which your friends would hardly like to name, I vow to truth, they 'Il thank me for the deed!' THE RETREAT. JUST as the dame her bold harangue had screamed, Came booming on the air: their captain heard, And listened long; Attention!' was the word; And soon to prove they knew their chief's commands, In tube-like order lifted both their hands, And placed them to their ears; then touched the ground, To catch the echoes of the dreadful sound: It came again! O Mars! in battle great, Oft as it seems, thy voice alone is fate Breathed through a trumpet, when thy fiery car |