University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.
OLD MYERS.

In a country like ours, of boundless forests, rapidly
filling up with a growing and widely spreading population,
the pioneers of the wilderness, those hardy
and daring spirits who take their lives in their hands,
and march, in advance of civilization, into the wild
woods, to endure privations among the wild animals,
and run the hazard of wild warfare among the savage
tribes, form a very peculiar and interesting class.
Whether it is a natural hardihood and boldness, and
love of adventure, or a desire for retirement, or a
wish to be free from the restraints of civilized society,
that thus leads this peculiar class of people into the
wilderness, it matters not now to inquire. Probably
all these motives, in a greater or less degree, go to
make up the moving principle.

At the head of this class is the renowned Daniel
Boone, whose name will live as long as his Old Kentucky
shall find a place on the page of history. He

was the great Napoleon among the pioneers of the
wilderness. But there are many others of less note,
whose lives were also filled with remarkable adventures,
and curious and interesting incidents. Indeed,
every State in the Union has had more or less of these
characters, which go to make up the class. One of
these was Old Myers, the Panther; a man of iron
constitution, of great power of bone and muscle, and
an indomitable courage that knew no mixture of fear.

Four times, in four different States, had Myers
pitched his lonely tent in the wilderness, among
savage tribes, and waited for the tide of white population
to overtake him; and four times he had “pulled
up stakes” and marched still deeper into the forest,
where he might enjoy more elbow-room, and exclaim
with Selkirk,

And now, at the time of which we speak, he had a
fifth time pitched his tent and struck his fire on the
banks of the Illinois river, in the territory which
afterwards grew up to a State of the same name.
Having lived so much in the wilderness, and associated
so much with the aborigines, he had acquired
much of their habits and mode of life, and by his

location on the Illinois river, he soon became rather a
favorite among the Indian tribes around him. His
skill with the rifle and the bow, and his personal
feats of strength and agility, were well calculated to
excite their admiration and applause. He often took
the lead among them in their games of sport. It was
on one of these occasions that he acquired the
additional name of the Panther.

A party of eight or ten Indians, accompanied by
Myers, had been out two or three days on a hunting
excursion, and were returning, laden with the spoils
of the chase, consisting of various kinds of wild fowl,
squirrels, racoons and buffalo-skins. They had used
all their ammunition except a single charge, which
was reserved in the rifle of the chief for any emergency,
or choice game which might present itself on
the way home. A river lay in the way, which could
be crossed only at one point, without subjecting them
to an extra journey of some ten miles round. When
they arrived at this point, they suddenly came upon
a huge panther, which had taken possession of the
pass, and, like a skilful general, confident of his
strong position, seemed determined to hold it. The
party retreated a little, and stood at bay for a while,
and consulted what should be done.

Various methods were attempted to decoy or
frighten the creature from his position, but without
success. He growled defiance whenever they came
in sight, as much as to say, “If you want this strong-hold
come and take it!” The animal appeared to be
very powerful and fierce. The trembling Indians
hardly dared to come in sight of him, and all the
reconnoitering had to be done by Myers. The
majority were in favor of retreating as fast as possible,
and taking the long journey of ten miles round
for home; but Myers resolutely resisted. He urged
the chief, whose rifle was loaded, to march up to the
panther, take good aim and shoot him down; promising
that the rest of the party would back him up
closely with their knives and tomahawks, in case of a
miss-fire. But the chief refused; he knew too well
the nature and power of the animal. The creature,
he contended, was exceedingly hard to kill. Not one
shot in twenty, however well aimed, would dispatch
him; and if one shot failed, it was a sure death to
the shooter, for the infuriated animal would spring
upon him in an instant, and tear him to pieces. For
similar reasons every Indian in the party declined to
hazard a battle with the enemy in any shape.

At last Myers, in a burst of anger and impatience,

called them all a set of cowards, and snatching the
loaded rifle from the hands of the chief, to the amazement
of the whole party, marched deliberately towards
the panther. The Indians kept at a cautious distance,
to watch the result of the fearful battle. Myers
walked steadily up to within about two rods of the
panther, keeping his eyes fixed upon him, while the
eyes of the panther flashed fire, and his heavy growl
betokened at once the power and firmness of the
animal. At about two rods distance, Myers levelled
his rifle, took deliberate aim, and fired. The shot
inflicted a heavy wound, but not a fatal one; and
the furious animal, maddened with the pain, made
but two leaps before he reached his assailant. Myers
met him with the butt end of his rifle, and staggered
him a little with two or three heavy blows, but the
rifle broke, and the animal grappled him, apparently
with his full power. The Indians at once gave Myers
up for dead, and only thought of making a timely
retreat for themselves.

Fearful was the struggle between Myers and the
panther, but the animal had the best of it at first, for
they soon came to the ground, and Myers underneath,
suffering under the joint operation of sharp claws and
teeth, applied by the most powerful muscles. In falling,

however, Myers, whose right hand was at liberty,
had drawn a long knife. As soon as they came to the
ground, his right arm being free, he made a desperate
plunge at the vitals of the animal, and, as his good
luck would have it, reached his heart. The loud
shrieks of the panther showed that it was a death-wound.
He quivered convulsively, shook his victim
with a spasmodic leap and plunge, then loosened his
hold, and fell powerless by his side. Myers, whose
wounds were severe but not mortal, rose to his feet,
bleeding, and much exhausted, but with life and
strength to give a grand whoop, which conveyed the
news of his victory to his trembling Indian friends.

They now came up to him with shouting and joy,
and so full of admiration that they were almost ready
to worship him. They dressed and bound up his
wounds, and were now ready to pursue their journey
home without the least impediment. Before crossing
the river, however, Myers cut off the head of the
panther, which he took home with him, and fastened
it up by the side of his cabin-door, where it remained
for years, a memorial of a deed that excited the admi
ration of the Indians in all that region. From that
time forth they gave Myers that name, and always
called him the Panther.

Time rolled on, and the Panther continued to
occupy his hut in the wilderness, on the banks of the
Illinois river, a general favorite among the savages,
and exercising great influence over them. At last the
tide of white population again overtook him, and he
found himself once more surrounded by white neighbors.
Still, however, he seemed loth to forsake the
noble Illinois, on whose banks he had been so long a
fixture, and he held on, forming a sort of connecting
link between the white settlers and the Indians.

At length hostilities broke out, which resulted in
the memorable Black Hawk War, that spread desolation
through that part of the country. Parties of
Indians committed the most wanton and cruel depredations,
often murdering old friends and companions,
with whom they had held long conversation. The
white settlers, for some distance round, flocked to the
cabin of the Panther for protection. His cabin was
transformed into a sort of garrison, and was filled by
more than a hundred men, women, and children, who
rested almost their only hope of safety on the prowess
of the Panther, and his influence over the savages.

At this time a party of about nine hundred of the
Iroquois tribe were on the banks of the Illinois, about
a mile from the garrison of Myers, and nearly opposite

the present town of La Salle. One day news
was brought to the camp of Myers, that his brother-in-law
and wife, and their three children, had been
cruelly murdered by some of the Indians. The Panther
heard the sad news in silence. The eyes of the
people were upon him, to see what he would do.
Presently they beheld him with a deliberate and
determined air, putting himself in battle array. He
girded on his tomahawk and scalping-knife, and
shouldered his loaded rifle, and, at open mid-day,
silently and alone, bent his steps towards the Indian
encampment. With a fearless and firm tread, he
marched directly into the midst of the assembly,
elevated his rifle at the head of the principal chief
present, and shot him dead on the spot. He then
deliberately severed the head from the trunk, and
holding it up by the hair before the awe-struck multitude,
he exclaimed, “You have murdered my brother-in-law,
his wife and their little ones; and now I have
murdered your chief. I am now even with you.
But now mind, every one of you that is found
here to-morrow morning at sunrise, is a dead Indian!”

All this was accomplished without the least molestation
from the Indians. These people are accustomed

to regard any remarkable deed of daring as the
result of some supernatural agency; and doubtless so
considered the present incident. Believing their
chief had fallen a victim to some unseen power, they
were stupified with terror, and looked on without
even a thought of resistance. Myers bore off the
head in triumph to his cabin, where he was welcomed
by his anxious friends, almost as one returning from
the dead. The next morning not an Indian was to be
found anywhere in the vicinity. Their camps were
deserted, and they left forever their ancient haunts
and their dead, and that part of the State was not
molested by them afterwards.

The last account we have of Old Myers, the Panther,
was in 1838. The old man was eighty years of
age, but his form was still erect, and his steps were
firm; his eyes were not dim, nor his natural force
abated. Up to that time he had remained on the
banks of his favorite Illinois. But now the old
veteran pioneer grew discontented. The State was
rapidly filling up with inhabitants, and the forms and
restraints of civilization pressed upon him. The
wildness and freshness of the country were destroyed.
He looked abroad from his old favorite hills, and he
saw that in every direction the march of civilization

had broken in upon the repose of the old forest, and
his heart again yearned

The old man talked about selling out and once
more “pulling up stakes” to be off.

“What?” said a neighbor, “you are not going to
leave us, Father Myers, and take yourself to the
woods again in your old age?”

“Yes,” said Myers, “I can't stand this eternal
bustle of the world around me. I must be off in the
woods, where it is quiet, and as soon as I can sell out
my improvements, I shall make tracks.”

The venerable “squatter” had no fee in the land
he occupied, but the improvements on it were his
own, and it was not long before a gentleman appeared
who offered a fair equivalent for these, with a right
to purchase the soil. The bargain was completed,
and the money counted out, and the Panther began
to prepare for his departure.

“Where are you going, Father Myers?” said the
neighbor.

“Well, I reckon,” said the old Panther, “I shall go
away off somewhere to the further side of Missouri;
I understand the people haint got there yet, and
there's plenty of woods there.”

He proceeded to array himself for his journey.
He put on the same hunting-shirt which he wore
when he killed the Indian chief. He loaded his rifle
and girded on his tomahawk and scalping-knife; and,
having filled his knapsack with such articles as he
chose to carry with him, he buckled it upon his shoulders,
and giving a farewell glance round the cabin,
he sallied forth and took the western road for Missouri.
When he had reached a little eminence some
rods distant, he was observed to hesitate, and stop,
and look back. Presently he returned slowly to the
cabin.

“Have you forgot anything, Father Myers?” said
the occupant.

“I believe,” said the old man, “I must take the
head of the panther along with me, if you have no
objections.”

“Certainly,” said the gentleman; “any personal
matters you have a perfect right to.”

The old man took down the dried-up remains of
the panther's head from the wall, where it had hung

for many years, and fastened it to his knapsack.
Then taking one last lingering look of the premises,
he turned to the occupant, and asked if he was
willing he should give his “grand yell” before he
started on his journey.

“Certainly, Father Myers,” said the gentleman;
“I wish you to exercise the utmost freedom in all
personal matters before you leave.”

At this the old Panther gave a long, and loud,
shrill whoop, that rang through the welkin, and was
echoed by forest and hills for miles around.

“There,” said the old man, “now my blessing is
on the land and on you. Your ground will always
yield an abundance, and you will always prosper.”

Then Old Myers, the Panther, turned his face to
the westward, and took up his solitary march for the
distant wilderness.