At the time I emigrated to Ohio the deadly
hatred of the red men toward the whites had reached its acme. The rifle,
the tomahawk and the scalping knife were daily at work; and men, women
and children daily fell victims to this sanguinary spirit. In this state
I found things when I reached the small village opposite the mouth of
Licking river, and now the great city of Cincinnati. Here in this great
temple of nature man has taken up his abode, and all that he could wish
responds to his touch; the fields and meadows yield their produce, and,
unmolested by the red man whom he has usurped, he enjoys the bounties of
a beneficent Creator. And where is the red man? Where is he! Like wax
before the flame he has melted away from before the white man, leaving
him no legacy save that courageous daring which will live in song long
after their last remnant shall have passed away. At the time when I
first stepped upon these grounds the red man still grasped the sceptre
which has since been wrenched from his hand. They saw the throne of
their father beginning to totter. Their realm had attracted the cupidity
of a race of strangers, and with maddening despair, they grasped their
falling power, and daily grew more desperate as they became more
endangered.
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