Thus was this noble act achieved, of which history furnishes but few parallels; and which strikingly illustrates the coolness, determination and bravery, which ever characterized the noble-hearted Jasper. But, unfortunately for his country, she was soon destined to lose his valuable services, when, in the very hey-day of his youth, he sealed his patriotism with his heart's blood before the walls of Savannah.
Elerson's Twenty-Five Mile Race—_Page_ 32. ]
Among the members of that celebrated rifle corps, commanded by Daniel Morgan, to which we already have referred, was a man by the name of Elerson, who, in deeds of daring and intrepidity, was almost a match for Timothy Murphy, whose frequent companion he was when on an expedition against their mutual enemies, the Tories, red-coats, and Indians. Quick of perception, rapid in his conclusions and his actions, light of foot, and brave as a lion, he was an enemy whom the Indians feared, and a friend whom all reckoned as second only to the renowned Murphy himself. The corps to which these celebrated marksmen belonged was attached to the expedition of Generals Clinton and Sullivan against the Six Nations in 1779. Elerson was with Clinton when that officer halted at Otsego Lake, to await the coming up of his superior, from the direction of Wyoming. While the army lay at this place, Elerson rambled off from the main body, in search of adventure, and _pulse_ for the dinner of the mess to which he belonged. Regardless of danger, he wandered about until he had procured a quantity of the weed, when he prepared to return to camp. It seems that he had been discovered and tracked by a party of Indians, who determined upon his capture. As he was adjusting his burden, he heard a rustling of the leaves near him. Looking in the direction indicated, he discovered a band of six or eight Indians, stationed between him and the camp, so as to cut off his retreat in that direction, and who were in the act of springing upon him. Conscious of their object—for he might have been shot down with ease—he determined to foil them if in his power, knowing full well the fate of a prisoner in their hands. Seizing his rifle, he dropped his bundle, and fled through the only avenue left open for his escape, followed by the whole pack, hooting and yelling at his heels. As he started to run, half a dozen tomahawks were hurled at him, and came whizzing and flying through the air. Fortunately but one reached its object, and that nearly cut the middle finger from his left hand. With the agility of the hunted stag, Elerson bounded over an old brushwood fence which stood in his path, and darted into the shades of the forest, followed by his no less rapid pursuers. Aware that the course he had taken was away from the camp—so also were his enemies—he prepared himself for a mighty effort, trusting that an opportunity would offer to "double" and find his way back. Vain hope! The Indians, aware that such would naturally be his aim, took care to prevent it by spreading themselves somewhat in the form of a crescent; but, in so doing, they nearly lost sight of their prey. Fearful that he might escape, they discharged their rifles—hoping to wound or kill him—but with no effect. The brave fellow tried every nerve to outstrip, and every stratagem and device to mislead his savage pursuers; but they were too cunning to be deceived, and kept on his track with the ardor of blood-hounds. Four long hours the chase continued thus, until overtasked nature threatened to give way, and yield him to the tomahawk and scalping-knives of his enemies. Like some powerful engine, his heart was forcing the blood through his distended and throbbing veins, which were swollen to bursting with the mighty efforts of the chase. His breath came short and rapid, betokening a speedy termination of the race, unless a breathing spell was afforded him. An opportunity at last was offered, when, having, as he thought, outstripped his pursuers for a moment, he halted in a little lonely dell to recover his waning strength. His hope was destined to disappointment, however, for the circle closed in upon him, and the bust of an Indian presented itself at a slight opening in front. He raised his rifle to fire, but at that moment a shot from his rear admonished him that danger was all around; another took effect in his side, and warned him of the danger of delay. The Indian in front had disappeared, and he hastened forward, with the love of life still strong in his breast. The wound in his side bled freely, although only a flesh-wound, and therefore not dangerous nor painful. It served, however, to track him by, and, conscious of the fact, he managed to tear a strip from his hunting-shirt and staunch the blood.
