of their bodily ease, and so given up to
the pleasures of appetite, that Washington began to have serious
doubts of their fitness to endure the hardships of a rough campaign,
and of their courage and firmness to face the dangers of the
battle-field.

One evening late, about this time, as the army lay encamped at the
Little Meadows, there suddenly appeared among them, from the
neighboring woods, a large party of hunters, all Pennsylvanians,
dressed in the wild garb of Indians, and armed with hatchets, knives,
and rifles. Their leader was a certain Capt. Jack, one of the greatest
hunters of his day, and nearly as famous in the border tales of
Pennsylvania as Daniel Boone in those of green Kentucky. When your
Uncle Juvinell was quite a lad, he read the story of this strange man,
in an old book, which pleased and interested him so much at the time,
that he has never since forgotten it, and will now repeat it to you in
the very words of the old chronicler:--

"The 'Black Hunter,' the 'Black Rifle,' the 'Wild Hunter of
Juniata,' is a white man. His history is this: He entered the
woods with a few enterprising companions, built his cabin,
cleared a little land, and amused himself with the pleasure of
fishing and hunting. He felt happy; for then he had not a care.
But on an evening, when he returned from a day of sport, he
found his cabin burnt, his wife and children murdered. From
that moment he forsakes civilized man, hunts out caves in which
he lives, protects the frontier inhabitants from the Indians,
and seizes every opportunity of revenge that offers. He lives
the terror of the Indians, and the consolation of the whites.
On one occasion, near Juniata, in the middle of a dark night, a
family were suddenly awaked from sleep by the report of a gun.
They jumped from their huts; and, by the glimmering light from
the chimney, saw an Indian fall to rise no more. The open door
exposed to view the Wild Hunter. 'I have saved your lives!' he
cried; then turned, and was buried in the gloom of night."

Bidding his leather-stockings to wait where they were till he came
back, the Black Hunter strode on to the general's tent, and, without
more ado than to enter, made known the object of his coming there, in
a speech that smacked somewhat of the Indian style of oratory; which I
will give you, as nearly as I can, in his own words:--

"Englishmen,