Monuments with the soil we so firmly and proudly tread; moved away in the torrent all our literature, our science, our arts and arms; blotted out for ever our country's existence; the memories, hanging like the rainbow jewels of life's sweet visions over the names we have just mentionedall, all, that is worthy of undying consecration. We hope that that day may never dawn when we cannot look with veneration and pride to the tomb of the mother of our country; or to the bosom of Pennsylvania, which holds the hallowed remains of Mrs. Israel; or to Cumberland Island, where sleeps Mrs. Esther de Read, hard by the precious dust of the gallant Lee; to Clifford, and weep over the grave of the intellectual Mrs. Warren.

The fame of perhaps a hundred others, male and female, who figured in the Seven Years' War, and at earlier periods, lie buried deep down beneath its avalanches, and the reason that their deeds were left unrecorded, while they might have been, must remain there obscured, nay, blotted out from the world for ever, unless, perchance, the antiquarian or geologist may in futurity disembowel some old relic and trace in its rust

eaten remains some motto, shape, or dimensions, which at last can only serve as a legend to make the world curious.

Another century, and the scenes through which Joseph Bishop, and John Carr, and Mrs. Buchanan passed, were they left alone to the mercy of memory and unrecorded, would be earnestly sought after, but, alas, in vain. Even now the people have a desire to hear all that happened when such persons figured in Middle Tennessee, when the denizens of the forest disputed dominion with them.

CHAPTER II.

IN writing the life of Joseph Bishop, we know that we have not been able to give such scenes as many of those alluded to in the preceding chapter, but at the same time we have given such as belong to the early history of the country in which his career was run; such as actually happened; and if he has varied in a slight degree from Capt. John Carr and others in his story of Siglar's and Buchanan's Fort, it is no more than so many witnesses would do who would qualify to what they individually had seen in a common petty muster or street fight; for though each witness might swear the truth, their evidence would differ in so far as neither saw every act in the melee, and could not in consequence depose precisely alike. So we imagine it has been with Captain Bishop and Captain Carr in their respective narratives—that the one has Siglar killed first, and the other

Shaffer; but as both of these old pioneers are alike men of undoubted veracity, we will give in this part of the book Captain Carr's story, word for word as we have given Captain Bishop's in another; and which we copy from the NARRATIVE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS OF THE SOUTH-WEest, as published by Wales & Roberts.

"In June, 1792, the Indians killed Shaffer, near Siglar's Station, whilst he was working in the field. The locality is in sight of my present residence, on Siglar's branch, a tributary of Bledsoe's creek. He was killed in the first part of the day, and the neighbors having collected together to bring the body from the field into the fort, the Indians, lying in ambush, made an attack upon the party, and wounded Gabriel Black, a brother-in-law of General Winchester and Joel Eccles; both, however, afterward recovered from their wounds. The Indians chased the men into the fort, and fired upon it afterward for some time. Thinking toward night that they had left, the men in the fort went out and brought in the body. The fort was poorly manned, and about bedtime the Indians came and made another attack on the fort, set fire to it, and succeeded in taking it.

They killed Mr. Siglar, the owner of it, and also Archie Wilson, a fine young man, who had volunteered his services to help protect the people that night. He had fought bravely, but wounded, and finally retreating from the fort, he was brought to bay at about one hundred yards distant. I was there the next day, and the ground was beaten all round in token of the desperate defence he had made. They had broken the breach of a gun over his head in the fight, and had he not been badly wounded, there is little doubt but that he would have gotten off. It was an awful sight. They wounded Joseph Wilson the same night. Himself and son, twelve years old, were all that escaped of his family. The others, his wife and six children, were taken prisoners, and led by the Indians into captivity, to the Cherokee and Creek nations. One of the girls only went to the Creek nation. Mrs. Siglar made her escape with one child, thrusting her handkerchief into its mouth to prevent its crying whilst she fled. Two of Siglar's children were taken. Mrs. Wilson and her children

were carried to the Cherokee nation, with the ex

ception of one mentioned as taken by the Creeks,