THE RIFLEMAN OF CHIPPEWA.

At the time of the French and Indian wars, the American army was
encamped on the plains of Chippewa. Colonel St. Clair, the commander,
was a bold and meritorious officer; but there was mixed with his bravery
a large share of rashness or indiscretion. His rashness, in this case,
consisted in encamping on an open plain beside a thick wood, from which
an Indian scout could easily pick off his outposts, without being
exposed, in the least, to the fire of the sentinel.

Five nights had passed, and every night he had been surprised by the
disappearance of a sentry, who stood at a lonely post in the vicinity of
the forest. These repeated disasters had struck such a dread into the
breasts of the remaining soldiers, that no one would volunteer to take
the post, and the commander, knowing it would be throwing away their
lives, let it remain unoccupied several nights.

At length a rifleman of the Virginia corps, volunteered his services. He
was told the danger of the duty; but he laughed at the fears of his
comrades, saying he would return safe, to drink the health of his
commander in the morning. The guard marched up soon after, and he
shouldered his rifle, and fell in. He arrived at his bounds, and,
bidding his fellow-sentinels good-night, assumed the duties of his post.

The night was dark, from the thick clouds that overspread the firmament.
No star shone on the sentinel as he paced his lonely path, and naught
was heard but the mournful hoot of the owl, as she raised her nightly
wail from the withered branch of the venerable oak. At length, a low