It was a sad and impressive scene--there, on the turbid Ohio, near the midnight hour--to give to the rolling waters the last remains of those who had been their friends and companions, and as full of life and activity as themselves but an hour before;--it was a sad, impressive, and affecting scene--one that was looked upon with weeping eyes--and one which, by those who witnessed it, was never to be forgotten. There were no loud bursts of grief--there were no frantic exclamations of woe--but the place, the hour, and withal the various events which had transpired to call them so soon from a scene of festivity to one of mourning--together with the thoughts of other friends departed, or in terrible captivity--served to render it a most painfully solemn one--and one, as we said before, that was destined never to be forgotten. For a short space after the river engulphed the bodies, all gazed upon the waters in silence; when Boone said, in a voice slightly trembling. "They did their duties--they have gone--God rest their souls, and give peace to their bones!" and taking up a paddle, the noble old hunter pulled steadily for the Kentucky shore in silence, followed by the other boats in the same manner. There they landed, placed the canoes in safety, in case they should again be needed, rekindled their fire, and encamped for the night. On the following morning, they set out upon their homeward journey; where they finally arrived, without any events occurring worthy of note. [Footnote 11: A hunter's phrase for taking sight.] CHAPTER XII. THE INDIANS AND THEIR PRISONERS. As you ascend the Miami from its mouth at the present day, you come almost immediately upon what are termed the Bottoms, or Bottom Lands, which are rich and fertile tracts of country, of miles in extent, and sometimes miles in breadth, almost water level, with the stream in question slowly winding its course through them, like a deep blue ribbon carelessly unrolled upon a dark surface. They are now mostly under culture, and almost entirely devoted to the production of maize, which, in the autumn of the year, presents the goodly sight of a golden harvest. At the time of which we write, there were no such pleasant demonstrations of civilization, but a vast unbroken forest instead, some vestiges of which still remain, in the shape of old decaying trees, standing grim and naked, "To summer's heat and winter's blast," like the ruins of ancient structures, to remind the beholder of former days.