" The red-deer pauses not to crush
The broken branch and withered brush,
And scarcely may the dry leaves feel
His sharp and sudden hoof of steel;
For, startled in the scatter'd wood,
In fear he seeks the guardian flood,
Then in the forest's deepest haunt,
Finds shelter and a time to pant."
WHAT seemed the object of the chief Sanutee, the most wise and valiant among the Yemassees? Was it game — was it battle? To us seemingly objectless, his course had yet a motive. He continued to pursue it alone. It was yet early day, and, though here and there inhabited, no human being save himself seemed stirring in that dim region. His path wound about and sometimes followed the edge of a swamp or bayou, formed by a narrow and turbid creek, setting in from the river, and making one of the thousand indentations common to all streams coursing through the level flats of the southern country. He occupied an hour or more in rounding this bayou; and then, with something of directness in his progress, he took his way down the river bank and towards the settlement of the whites.
Yet their abodes or presence seemed not his object. Whenever, here and there, as he continued along the river, the larger log hovel of the pioneer met his sight, shooting up beyond the limits of civilization, and preparing the way for its approach, the Indian chief would turn aside from the prospect with ill-concealed disgust.
"—— He would the plain
Lay in its tall old groves again."
Now and then, as — perched on some elevated bank, and plying the mysteries of his woodcraft, hewing his timber, clearing his land, or breaking the earth — the borderer rose before his glance, in the neighbourhood of his half-finished wigwam, singing out some cheery song of the old country, as much for the strengthening of his resolve as for the sake of the music, the warrior would dart aside into the forest, not only out of sight but out of hearing, nor