But another incident related to me was truly affecting, and occurred at the time of removal. "There was an old Indian," continued my host, "named _Euchellah_, who had thrown out the idea that he was a strong man, and never would submit to leave his cabin willingly: those who wanted him to go must take him by force. It was in the forenoon, and a whole posse of officers entered his cabin, and after a pretty severe scuffle we succeeded in fastening the old fellow's arms and hands with a rope. He now saw that he must go, and told his wife to get ready, and she got ready _by going out to feed her pig and the chickens_, just as if she was coming back in a few hours. We then started with our prisoners, and just as we were crossing a hill which overlooked the Indian's cabin, he suddenly wheeled about, and as his eyes fell upon his little garden and his hut, he burst into tears, and I thought the man's heart would break. And now when people tell me that the Indian never weeps, I tell them it's no such thing; but, it was true, _Euchellah_ had some reason to feel bad; for he had four children buried near his cabin, and had lived there for fifty years. We continued on our way to the West, but in two days our Indian made his escape with his wife. We hunted for them among the mountains, and though we recaptured Euchellah, we never could find his wife, and afterwards heard that she starved to death on a distant mountain. The Indian was now guarded by four soldiers; but, while crossing a certain gap, he suddenly rose upon his keepers and killed three of them, while the other officer, as well as himself, escaped. The Indian was again taken prisoner, tried by court martial, and sentenced _to be executed_. When told that he was to be shot down by a rifle ball, he manifested no fear, and, up to the moment that he was shot down, not a tear made its appearance in his eye. He could weep on leaving his home, but he would not weep when he came to die. And the old man was buried on the road side, half way between this place and Murphy."
"But another removal incident that I remember," continued my landlord, "was to this effect. It was another old Indian who had a large family and was religious. When we called to take him, he said he only wanted to ask one favor, which was, that we would let him _have one more prayer with his wife and children in his old cabin_. We of course granted the request, and when he was through out came the old fellow and said that he was ready. But just as we were leaving the little clearing, the Indian called his wife and children to his side, and talked to them in the most poetical and affecting manner about their meager but much-loved possession, which they were about to leave for ever. He then took the lead of our procession, and without uttering a word, marched onward with a firm step. We never heard this man's voice again until we had passed beyond the Mississippi."