The old man dwelt at great length on his hair-breadth escapes and deeds of prowess; but the destruction of the implacable “Black-foot,” was the absorbing subject.  This chief, it appeared, had, with a small party, been hovering round Poe’s farm for several nights, and the inmates were in great terror of a midnight attack; the principal aim of the chief, being, it is supposed to despatch a man, whose activity had rendered him particularly obnoxious to his tribe, and whose bravery was acknowledged by the settlers far and near.

After several nights passed in anxiety, every little circumstance, any unusual noise, the baying of a dog, a disturbance in the hog-pens, exciting the greatest apprehension, Poe determined on stealthily watching the enemy under covert of a hillock or embankment on the farm.  He accordingly sallied out with his Indian rifle, in the haze of the evening, taking with him a supply of aqua vitae, as he facetiously said, to keep up his “dander.”  After watching a considerable time, every now and then applying his ear to the ground to listen for approaching footsteps (a plan invariably followed by Indians themselves), he ascertained that an Indian was in the vicinity; again intently listening, he soon satisfied himself that the alarm he had experienced was occasioned by one individual only.  Instantly on the qui-vive, he first cocked his rifle, and, just as he descried the Indian’s head above the embankment he pulled with unerring aim the fatal trigger, when with an agonizing howl, the Indian toppled backwards down the embankment, and all was silent.  Poe now sprang forward, and with his knife severed the “war scalp” from the head of the savage, and after securing his knife and rifle, returned to his home in high glee to announce the horrid achievement.  It was, however, deemed unsafe to venture out again that night, for fear of other Indians of Black-foot’s band, who it was well known were in the neighbourhood.

In the morning Poe sallied out to the place of reconnoitre with some of the inmates of the farm.  Here they found, stretched on the ground, weltering in gore, the vanquished warrior, who was now, for the first time, from a plume he wore, and some other peculiarity in his equipments, identified as the veritable “Sachem,” who had for months kept that settlement in a state of alarm.  Poe was soon complimented by the settlers around, and from that day forward became a celebrated character.

I was subsequently told on board the canal packet, that the Indian referred to, was not the notorious chief of that name, but a second-rate warrior, who, having headed a band of marauders, ***med the soubriquet.  How far this may be the fact, I cannot determine.  I, however, frequently heard Poe’s name mentioned as a brave defender of the hearths and homes of the early settlers in the remote districts of Ohio.