dmen marred the beauty of the green prairies. Among
the rich and luxuriant valleys, that of the Hockhocking was pre-eminent
for nature's richest gifts--and the portico of it whereon Lancaster now
stands, was marked as the most luxuriant and picturesque, and became the
seat of an Indian village, at a period so early, that the "memory of man
runneth not parallel thereto." On the green sward of the prairie was held
many a rude gambol of the Indians; and here, too, was many an assemblage
of the warriors of one of the most powerful tribes, taking counsel for a
"war-path," upon some weak or defenceless post.

[Illustration: THE BLOCK-HOUSE.]

Upon one of these stirring occasions, intelligence reached the little
garrison above the mouth of the Hockhocking, that the Indians were
gathering in force somewhere up the valley, for the purpose of striking a
terrible and fatal blow on one of the few and scattered defences of the
whites. A council was held by the garrison, and scouts were sent up the
Hockhocking, in order to ascertain the strength of the foe, and the
probable point of attack. In the month of October, and on one of the
balmiest days of our Indian summer, two men could have been seen emerging
out of the thick plumb and hazel bushes skirting the prairie, and
stealthily climbing the eastern declivity of that most remarkable
promontory, now known as Mount Pleasant, whose western summit gives a
commanding view to the eye of what is doing on the prairie. This eminence
was gained by our two adventurers and hardy scouts, and from this point
they carefully observed the movements taking place on the prairie. Every
day brought an accession of warriors to those already assembled, and every
day the scouts witnessed from their eyrie, the horse-racing, leaping,
running and throwing the deadly tomahawk by the warriors. The old sachems
looking on with indifference--the squaws, for the most part, engaged in
their usual drudgeries, and the papooses manifesting all the noisy and
wayward joy of childhood. The arrival of any new party of savages was
hailed by the terrible war-whoop, which striking the mural face of Mount
Pleasant, was driven back into the various indentations of the surrounding
hills, producing reverberation on reverberation, and echo on echo, till it
seemed as if ten thousand fiends were gathered in their orgies. Such yells
might well strike terror into the bosoms of those unaccustomed to them. To
our scouts these were but