PREFACE. AT the famous battle of Tippacanoe, in which as before intimated, I bore a humble part, an American Sergeant had the fortune to kill an Indian Chief. The thing chanced as follows: The Sergeant was slightly wounded in the leg, consequently he stepped a little aside, and was occupied in bandaging the wounded part with his handkerchief, when he was beset by a tall savage. It was still quite dark, for the battle began before daylight in the morning. The Sergeant, however, perceived the tomahawk lifted in the air, and jumped backward, in time to avoid the descending stroke. Before he could draw his cutlass, the Indian sprang upon him. The two men grappled each other, and in the struggle both fell to the ground. The Sergeant was undermost, but his arms were free, and, placing his hands about the Indian's throat, he clenched like the noose around the neck of a man upon the gallows. The convulsed savage, strove in vain to escape. With fatal perseverance, the Sergeant clung to the neck of his prey, until his limbs quivered in the agonies of death. The Chief that was thus killed, was a leader of distinction, and the Sergeant deserved fame for the achievement. But it |