The drapery is rustled— He turns not his ear: “Ho! Look up, proud warrior, Thy foeman is here!” A dark form stood o’er him, His red arm on high; But quailed not the chieftain Beneath his dark eye. “What art thou, bold savage? Sooth, light the foot fell That stole through the watch Of my tried sentinel.” “Where Weatherford willeth, Even there will he go; He heeds not thy sentry When seeking his foe.” “I fear thee not, boaster!” “Thou needest not fear; For peace for my people, For peace came I here. “Thou’d’st have me sent to thee, And sent to thee bound; But Weatherford dies not The death of a hound: No recreant, no trembler, No captive am I— I’ve fetterless lived, and Will fetterless die. “To save my crushed people I die, but die free— A sacrifice worthy Of them and of thee!” “No—back to thy forest— Bold warrior go! I strike not the head That is bent to the blow “Aye, go! but remember When meet we again, Thy lot is the gibbet, The cord and the chain. Be strong for the battle! No quarter we yield: No fear and no mercy! Now, back to the field!” “I long have fought with thee, And still would fight on— But my true Seminoles— My warriors are gone! My brave ones I’d rally, And fight at their head; But where is the warrior Can rally the dead! “At red Talledegha, Emuckfaw they stood— Thou knowest that our valleys Are black with their blood. By the wailing Savannah Unburied they lie; Spare, warrior, the remnant, Let Weatherford die!” No longer the soldier The bold plea could hear, But quick from his bronzed cheek He hurried a tear. “Devoted and brave! As Thou will’st shall it be; Here’s peace to thy people, And friendship for thee!” THE FOLLOWING IS THE INCIDENT ON WHICH THE FOREGOING LINES ARE FOUNDED.[2] Billy Weatherford, the celebrated savage warrior, is, at length, vanquished—the destroyer is conquered—the hand which so profusely dealt death and desolation among the whites, is now paralyzed—it is motionless. He died at his late residence near Montpelier, in this state, on the 9th inst. His deeds of war are well known to the early settlers in South Alabama, and will be remembered by them while they live: and be talked of, with horror, by generations yet unborn. But his dauntless spirit has taken its flight—“he is gone to the land of his fathers.” Billy Weatherford, denominated ‘The Prophet’ was about one-fourth Indian (some say a half breed) his ancestry, on the white side, having been Scottish. It has been said, that he boasted of having no _Yankee_ (meaning American) blood in his veins.