Ohio History Journal

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The Black Hand

The Black Hand.                   457


thyself be beaten by the cunning right hand of a boy! Disgraced

thou art, and no longer shalt thou be numbered among the

members of my frame." And the hand clung to the rock and

turned black, and spread and grew until it was as the hand of

a giant; and while the chief, Ahyomah and the tribe stood silently

watching the wonder, the defeated warrior wrapped his robe

about him, spoke no word of farewell, and striding swiftly into

the dark depths of the forest, was seen no more by man.





Have you ever seen the place where the murderer's hand

Had instamped on the rock its indelible brand,

A stain which nor water nor time could efface?

'Tis a deep lonely glen, 'tis a wild gloomy place,

Where the waters of Licking so silently lave,

Where the huge frowning rock high impends o'er the wave,

On whose pine-covered summit we hear the deep sigh

When the zephyrs of evening so gently pass by.

Here a generous savage was once doomed to bleed,

'Twas the treacherous white man committed the deed.

The hand of the murderer fixed the imprint,

'Twas the blood of the victim that gave the black tint.

A captive in battle the white man was made,

And deep in the wilds is the victim conveyed,

Here far from his kindred the youth must be slain,

His prayers, his entreaties, his struggles are vain.

The war dance is treading, his death song is singing,

And the wild savage yell in his ears is a-ringing.

The fire for the torture is blazing on high,

His death doom is sealed, here the white man must die,

The hatchet is raised, the weapon descends,

But quick an old chief o'er the victim now bends.

The hatchet he seizes and hurls to the ground.

He raises the youth and his limbs are unbound.

"My son fell in battle," exclaims the old chief,

"But ye saw not my sorrow, tho' deep was my grief,