It was a hot, sultry morning in the latter part of August, 1811.<br />A dugout canoe containing two occupants was swiftly speeding down the Scioto, at a point near which the city of Columbus now stands.<br />The clear green water wimpled musically at the bow of the vessel, and a frothy wake bubbled and eddied at the stern. The surface of the stream lay cool and dark in the shadow of the overhanging trees; but where the red rays of the rising sun shot through the dense foliage and fell upon the pulseless bosom of the sluggish tide, they gave it the metallic luster of burnished copper. Great trees ranged themselves as stalwart sentinels along the shores, a part of the grand army that stretched away to the far distance on either hand. Their leaves were dark-green and glossy. Yellow and purple wild flowers lifted their fair faces to the morning sun and nodded a welcome. Feathered songsters fluttered among the gray boughs and chirped and warbled merrily. A venturesome fish popped several feet out of the water&mdash;just ahead of&nbsp;the swiftly flying dugout&mdash;and flashed its silver scales in a tantalizing manner.