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Down from the canvas beams his speaking eye upon us, and its meaning seems to say, justice to her is honor to me. With feelings an American only can appreciate, the task is undertaken, and whatever its defects may be, its merit is its truthfulness.

In 1779, Col. John Doneldson, a brave and wealthy old Virginia surveyor, started to the banks of the Cumberland with a party of emigrants. He had been preceded by Captain James Robertson and his companions, nine sturdy pioneers, who had engaged to build huts, plant corn, and make as comfortable a home as possible for the band that was to follow. This consisted of families, and among them the families of several of those adventurous pioneers.

The country was full of Indians, the forests deep, wild, and unexplored, and the perils very great. In order to escape the toil and danger of travelling through the wilderness, Colonel Donelson accomplished the journey by water. It was a distance of more than two thousand miles, and never before had any man been bold enough to project such a voyage. They sailed down the Holston river to the Tennessee, down the Tennessee to its junction with the Ohio, up the Ohio till they reached the Cumberland, and up this stream to the French Salt Springs, on the spot where now stands the city of Nashville. Colonel Donelson kept an account of this remarkable and perilous voy. age, entitled, "Journal of a voyage, intended by God's permission, in the good boat Adventure, from Fort Patrick Henry on Holston river, to the French Salt Springs on Cumberland river, kept by John Donel

son," and the thrilling incidents and remarkable per sonal adventures are deeply interesting.

They were four months on the journey, the suffer ings and privations of which can scarcely be appreciated by the more fortunate who now travel the same way amid quiet woods, green fields, and peaceful country homes. To those adventurers, the dangerous points of the rivers were unknown, and many were the acci dents that befell them. They started in the depths of winter and were obliged to encounter excessive cold and frosts. But worse than all, the Indians were ever on the watch to entrap them. The journal says, "we still perceived them, marching down the river in considerable bodies, keeping pace with us." The wildest, most romantic, and lonely spot on this continent is the "Whirl," in the Tennessee river, where the river is compressed within less than half its usual width by the Cumberland mountain which juts in on both sides. Its beauty is only equalled by its danger. In passing through this place, a large canoe containing all the property of one of the emigrants, was overturned and the little cargo was lost. The family had gone into a larger boat for safety. "The company," says Col. Donelson, "pitying their distress, concluded to halt and assist in recovering the property. We had landed on the northern shore, at a level spot, and were going up to the place, when the Indians, to our astonishment, appeared immediately over us on the opposite cliffs, and commenced firing down upon us, which occasioned a precipitate retreat to the boats. We immediately moved off."