← catalogue

Ella Barnwell: A historical romance of border life

by Emerson Bennett · English · Gutenberg #15424 · 490,933 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ella Barnwell: A historical romance of border life
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Ella Barnwell: A historical romance of border life

Author: Emerson Bennett


        
Release date: March 21, 2005 [eBook #15424]
                Most recently updated: December 14, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15424

Credits: Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia,
        Pilar Somoza and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading
        Team.


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELLA BARNWELL: A HISTORICAL ROMANCE OF BORDER LIFE ***




Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia,
Pilar Somoza and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading
Team.






ELLA BARNWELL:

A Historical Romance of Border Life


BY EMERSON BENNETT,

AUTHOR OF
"PRAIRIE FLOWER," "LENI LEOTI," "FOREST ROSE," "MIKE FINK," "VIOLA,"
"CLARA MORELAND," "FORGED WILL," "TRAITOR," "FEMALE SPY," "ROSALIE DU
PONT," "FAIR REBEL," ETC., ETC.


CINCINNATI:
PUBLISHED BY U.P. JAMES,
No. 177 RACE STREET.


Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, BY J.A. &
U.P. JAMES, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States, for the District of Ohio.




PREFACE.


In putting to press a new and revised edition of the following story,
the author would state, that his original design was to combine fact and
fiction, in such a way, as, while making his story move forward to a
proper _denouement_, to give the reader a correct picture of the dress,
customs, and social and war-like habits of the early pioneers of the
west; and also embody a series of historical events which took place on
the frontiers during that revolutionary struggle by which we gained our
glorious independence. For this purpose, Kentucky, in her infancy, was
selected as the scene of action; and most of the existing records of her
early settlements were read with care, each compared with the others,
and only the best authenticated accounts presented to the reader. So
much in fact did the author labor to make the present story historical,
that there is scarcely a scene or character in its pages that had not
its counterpart in reality.

He would only add, that, for important reasons, the original title has
been changed to that which now heads its title-page. "What's in a name?"
queried the great bard. Had he lived in our day, and been a novelist
instead of a poet, he would either not have asked the question, or
answered it very differently than he did.




ELLA BARNWELL.




CHAPTER I.

THE STRANGER.


That portion of territory known throughout Christendom as Kentucky, was,
at an early period, the theatre of some of the wildest, most hardily
contested, and bloody scenes ever placed on record. In fact its very
name, derived from the Indian word Kan-tuck-kee, which was applied to it
long before its discovery by the whites, is peculiarly significant in
meaning--being no less than "the dark and bloody ground." History makes
no mention of its being inhabited prior to its settlement by the present
race; but rather serves to aid us to the inference, that from time
immemorial it was used as a "neutral ground," whereon the different
savage tribes were wont to meet in deadly strife; and hence the
portentious name by which it was known among them. But notwithstanding
its ominous title, Kentucky, when first beheld by the white hunter,
presented all the attractions he would have envied in Paradise itself.
The climate was congenial to his feelings--the country was devoid of
savages--while its thick tangles of green cane--abounding with deer,
elk, bears, buffaloes, panthers, wolves and wild cats, and its more open
woods with pheasant, turkey and partridge--made it the full realization
of his hopes--his longings. What more could he ask? And when he again
stood among his friends, beyond the Alleghanies, is it to be wondered at
that his excited feelings, aided by distance, should lead him to
describe it as the El Dorado of the world? Such indeed he did describe
it; and to such glowing descriptions, Kentucky was doubtless partially
indebted for her settlement so much in advance of the surrounding
territory.

As it is not our purpose, in the present instance, to enter into a
history of the country, further than is necessary to the development of
our story, the reader will pardon us for omitting that account of its
early settlement which can readily be gleaned from numerous works
already familiar to the reading public. It may not be amiss, however, to
remark here, what almost every reader knows, that first and foremost in
the dangerous struggles of pioneer life, was the celebrated Daniel
Boone; whose name, in the west, and particularly in Kentucky, is a
household word; and whose fame, as a fearless hunter, has extended not
only throughout this continent, but over Europe. The birth place of this
renowned individual has been accredited to several states, by as many
writers; but one, more than the rest, is positive in asserting it to
have been Bucks county, Pennsylvania; and the year of his birth 1732;
which is sufficient for our purpose, whether strictly correct or not. At
an early period of his life, all agree that he removed with his father
to a very thinly settled section of North Carolina, where he spent his
time in hunting--thereby supplying the family with meat and destroying
the wild beasts, while his brothers assisted the father in tilling the
farm--and where he afterwards, in a romantic manner, became acquainted
with a settler's daughter, whom he married; and whence, in the spring
of 1769, in company with five others, he set out on an expedition of
danger across the mountains, to explore the western wilds; and after
undergoing hardships innumerable, and losing all his companions in
various ways, he at last succeeded in erecting the first log cabin, and
being the first white settler within the borders of Kentucky. To follow
up, even from this time, a detail of his trials, adventures, captures by
the Indians, and hair-breadth escapes, to the close of his eventful
career, would be sufficient to fill a volume; therefore we shall drop
him for the time--merely remarking, by the way, that he will be found to
figure occasionally in the following pages.

From the first appearance of Boone in the wilds of Kentucky, we shall
pass over a space of some ten or twelve years, and open our story in the
fall of 1781. During this period, the aspect of the country for a
considerable distance around the present site of Lexington, had become
materially changed; and the smoke from the cabin of the white settler
arose in an hundred places, where, a dozen years before, prowled the
wolf, the bear, and the panther, in perfect security. In sooth, the year
in question had been very propitious to the immigrants; who, flocking in
from eastern settlements in goodly numbers, were allowed to domiciliate
themselves in their new homes, with but few exceptions, entirely
unmolested by the savage foe. So much in fact was this the case, that
instead of taking up their residence in a fort--or station, as they were
more generally called--the new comers erected cabins for themselves, at
such points as they considered most agreeable; gradually venturing
further and further from the strongholds, until some of them became too
distant to look hopefully for succor in cases of extreme necessity.

Among the stations most prominent at this period, as being most secure,
and against which the attacks of the Indians were most frequent and
unsuccessful, may be mentioned Harrod's, Boone's, Logan's, and Bryan's,
so called in honor of their founders. The first two named, probably from
being the two earliest founded, were particularly unfortunate in drawing
down upon themselves the concentrated fury of the savages, who at
various times surrounded them in great numbers and attempted to take
them by storm. These attacks not unfrequently lasted several days, in
which a brisk fire was maintained on both sides, whenever a foe could be
seen; until wearied out with fruitless endeavors, or surprised by a
reinforcement of the whites, the Indians would raise the siege, with a
howl of rage, and depart. One of the longest and most remarkable of
these on record, we believe, was that of Boonesborough, which was
attacked in June, 1778, by five hundred Indians, led on by Duquesne, a
Frenchman, and which, with only a small garrison, commanded by Boone
himself, nobly held out for eight days, when the enemy withdrew in
despair. But, as we before remarked, it not being our purpose to enter
into a general history of the time, we will now proceed with our story.

It was near the close of a mild, beautiful day, in the autumn of 1781,
that a young man, some twenty-two years of age, emerged from a wood into
an open space or clearing, at a distance of perhaps fifteen miles
eastward from Lexington. The general appearance of this individual
betokened the hunter, but at the same time one who followed it for
pleasure, rather than as a means of support. This was evident from his
dress, which although somewhat characteristic of the time, was much
superior to that generally worn by the woodsman. He had on a woolen
hunting frock, of fine texture, of a dark green color, that came a few
inches below the hips. Beneath this, and fitting closely around his
shoulders, neck and breast, was a scarlet jacket, ornamented with two
rows of round, white metal buttons. A large cape, with a deep red
fringe, of about inch in width, was attached to the frock, and extended
from the shoulders nearly to the elbow. Around the waist, outside the
frock, passed a dark leather belt, in which were confined a brace of
handsome pistols, and a long silver-hilted hunting knife. Breeches of
cloth, like the frock, were connected with leggins of tanned deer skin,
which in turn extended over, and partly concealed, heavy cow-hide boots.
A neatly made cap of deer skin, with the hair outside, surmounted a
finely shaped head. His features, though somewhat pale and haggard, as
if from recent grief or trouble, were mostly of the Grecian cast. He had
a high, noble forehead; a large, clear, fascinating gray eye; a well
formed mouth, and a prominent chin. In height he was about five feet and
ten inches, broad shouldered, straight, heavy set, with handsome
proportions.

Upon the shoulder of the young man, as he emerged from the wood, rested
an elegant rifle; which, after advancing a short distance, he brought
into a trailing position; and then pausing, he dropped the breech upon
the ground, placed his hands over the muzzle, and, carelessly leaning
his chin upon them, swept with his eye the surrounding country, to which
he was evidently a stranger.

The day had been one of those mild and smoky ones, peculiar to the
climate and season; and the sun, large and red, was near to sinking
behind the far western ridge, giving a beautiful crimson, mellow tinge
to each object which came beneath his rays. The landscape, over which
the stranger gazed, was by no means unpleasing. His position was on an
eminence, overlooking a fertile valley, partly cleared, and partly
shaded by woods, through which wound a crystal stream, whose gentle
murmurs could be heard even where he stood. Beyond this stream, the
ground, in pleasing undulations, took a gentle rise, to a goodly height,
and was covered by what is termed an open wood--a wood peculiar to
Kentucky at this period--consisting of trees in the regularity of an
orchard, at some distance apart, devoid of underbrush, beneath which the
earth was beautifully carpeted with a rank growth of clover, high grass,
and wild flowers innumerable. In the rear of the young hunter, as if to
form a background to the picture, was the wood he had just quitted,
which, continuing the elevation spoken of, but more abruptly, rose high
above him, and was crowned by a ledge of rocks. Far in the distance, to
his right, could be seen another high ridge; while to the left,
spreading far away from the mouth of the valley, if we may so term it,
like the prairies of Missouri, was a beautiful tangle, or cane-brake,
containing its thousands of wild animals. The open space wherein the
hunter stood was not large, covering an area of not more than half a
dozen acres. It was of an oblong form, and sloped off from his position
to the right, left, and front, and reached from the wood down to the
stream in the valley, where stood a rather neat log cabin, from which a
light blue smoke ascended in graceful wreaths. The eye of the stranger,
glancing over the scene, fell upon this latter with that gleam of
satisfaction which is felt by a person after performing a long fatiguing
journey, when he sees before him a comfortable inn, where he is to
repose for the night; and pausing for a couple of minutes, he replaced
his rifle upon his shoulder, and started forward down the hill, at a
leisure pace.

Scarcely had the stranger advanced twenty paces, when he was startled by
a fierce yell, accompanied by the report of a rifle, the ball of which
whizzed past him, within an inch of his head. Ere he could recover from
his surprise, a sharp pain in the side, followed by another report,
caused him to reel like one intoxicated, and finally sink to the earth.
As the young man fell, two Indians sprung from behind a cluster of
bushes, which skirted the clearing some seventy-five yards to the right,
and, with a whoop of triumph, tomahawk in hand, rushed toward him.
Believing that his life now depended upon his own speedy exertions, the
young hunter, by a great effort, succeeded in raising himself on his
knees; and drawing up his rifle with a hasty aim, he fired; but with no
other success than that of causing one of the savages to jerk his head
suddenly aside without slackening his speed. There was still a chance
left him; and setting his teeth hard, the wounded man drew his pistols
from his belt, and awaited the approach of his enemies; who, when within
thirty paces, discovering the weapons of death, suddenly came to a halt,
and commenced loading their rifles with great rapidity.

The young hunter now perceived, with painful regret, that only an
interposition of Providence could save him, for his life was hanging on
a thread that might snap at any moment. It was an awful moment of
suspense, as there, on his knees, far, far away from the land of his
birth, in a strange country, he, in the prime of life, without a friend
near, wounded and weak, was waiting to die, like a wild beast, by the
hands of savages, with his scalp to be borne hence as a trophy, his
flesh to be devoured by wolves, and his bones left to bleach in the open
air. It was an awful moment of suspense! and a thousand thoughts came
rushing through his mind; and he felt he would have given worlds, were
they his, for the existence of even half an hour, with a friend by, to
receive his dying requests. To add to his despair, he felt himself fast
growing weaker and weaker; and with an unsteady vision, as his last
hope, he turned his eye in the direction of the cottage, to note if any
assistance were at hand; but he saw none; and nature failing to support
him longer in his position, he sunk back upon the ground, believing the
last sands of his existence were run.

Meantime, the Indians had loaded their rifles; and one of them, stepping
a pace in front of his companion, was already in the act of aiming,
when, perceiving the young man falter and sink back, he lowered the
muzzle of his gun, and, grasping his tomahawk, darted forward to
despatch him without further loss of ammunition. Already had he reached
within five or six paces of his victim, who, now unable to exert himself
in his own defence, could only look upon his savage enemy and the weapon
uplifted for his destruction, when, crack went another rifle, in an
opposite direction whence the Indians approached, and, bounding into the
air, with a terrific yell, the foremost fell dead by the young man's
side. On seeing his companion fall, the other Indian, who was only a few
paces behind, stopped suddenly, and, with a yell of fear and
disappointment, turned and fled.

Those only who have been placed in peril sufficient to extinguish the
last gleam of hope, and have suddenly been relieved by a mysterious
interposition of Providence, can fully realize the feelings with which
the wounded hunter saw himself rescued from an ignominious death. True,
he was weak and faint from a wound which was, perhaps, mortal; still it
was a great consolation to feel that he should die among those who would
bury him, and perhaps bear a message to friends in a far-off land. With
such thoughts uppermost in his mind, the young man, by great exertion,
raised himself upon his elbow, and turned his head in the direction
whence his deliverer might be expected; but, to his surprise and
disappointment, no one appeared; and after vainly attempting to regain
his feet, he sunk back, completely exhausted. The wound in his side had
now grown very painful, and was bleeding freely; while he became
conscious, that unless the hemorrhage could be stanched immediately, the
only good service a friend could render him, would be to inter his
remains. In this helpless state, something like a minute elapsed, when
he felt a strange sensation about his heart--his head grew dizzy--his
thoughts seemed confused--the sky appeared suddenly to grow dark, and he
believed the icy grasp of death was already settling upon him. At this
moment a form--but whether of friend or foe he could not tell--flitted
before his uncertain vision; and then all became darkness and nonentity.
He had swooned.

When the young stranger recovered his senses, after a lapse of some ten
minutes, his glance rested on the form of a white hunter, of noble
aspect, who was bending over him with a compassionate look; and who,
meantime, had opened his dress to the wound and stanched the blood, by
covering it with a few pieces of coarse linen, which he had torn into
shreds for the purpose, and secured there by means of his belt.

As this latter personage is destined to figure somewhat in the following
pages, we shall take this opportunity of describing him as he appeared
to our wounded friend.

In height and proportion--but not in age--these two individuals were
somewhat alike--the new comer being full five feet, ten inches, with a
robust, athletic frame, and all the concomitants of a powerful man. At
the moment when first beheld by the young man, after regaining his
senses, he was kneeling by his side, his cap of the wild-cat skin was
lying on the ground, and the last mellow rays of the setting sun were
streaming upon an intelligent and manly countenance, which, now rendered
more deeply interesting by the earnest, compassionate look wherewith he
regarded the other, made him appear to that other, in his peculiar
situation, this most noble being he had ever seen. Of years he had seen
some fifty; though there was a freshness about his face, owing probably
to his hardy, healthy mode of life, which made him appear much younger.
His countenance was open and pleasing, with good, regular, though not,
strictly speaking, handsome features. His forehead was high and full,
beneath which beamed a mild, clear blue eye. His nose was rather long
and angular; his cheekbones high and bold; his lips thin and compressed,
covering a goodly set of teeth; his chin round and prominent; the whole
together conveying an expression of energy, decision, hardy recklessness
and manly courage. His dress was fashioned much like the other's,
already described, but of coarser materials--the frock being of
linsey-woolsey; the breeches and leggings of deerskin; and the
moccasins, in place of boots of the same material. Around his waist
passed a belt; wherein, instead of pistols, were confined a tomahawk and
scalping knife--two weapons which were considered as indispensable to
the regular white hunter of that day as to the Indian warrior himself.

So soon as the elder of the two became aware of consciousness on the
part of the younger, a friendly smile succeeded to the look of anxiety
with which he had been regarding him; and in the frank, cordial,
familiar tone of that period, when every man's cabin was the traveler's
home, and every strange guest was treated with the hospitality of an old
acquaintance, he said:

"Well, stranger, I'm right glad to welcome you back to life agin; for I
war beginning to fear your account with earthly matters had closed. By
the Power that made me! but you've had a narrow escape on't; and ef
Betsy (putting his hand on his rifle, which was lying by his side,)
hadn't spoke out as she did, that thar red skin varmint (pointing to the
dead Indian) would have been skulking now like a thief through yonder
woods, with your crown piece hanging to his girdle."

"A thousand thanks," returned the wounded man, pressing the hand of the
other as much as his strength would permit, and accompanying it with a
look of gratitude more eloquent than words: "A thousand thanks, sir, for
your timely shot, and subsequent kindness and interest in behalf of one
you know not, but who will ever remember you with gratitude."

"See here, stranger, I reckon you've not been long in these parts?"

"But a few days, sir."

"And you've come from a good ways east o' the Alleghanies?"

"I have."

"I knew it. I'd have bet Betsey agin a bushel of corn, and that's large
odds you know, that such war the fact, from the particular trouble
you've taken to thank me for doing the duty of a man. Let me assure you,
stranger, that you're in a country now whar equality exists; and whar
one man's just as good as another, provided he is no coward, and behaves
himself as he should do; and whether stranger or not, is equally
entitled to the assistance of his fellows; perticularly when about being
treed by such a sneaking varmint as that lying yonder. Besides, I don't
want any body to thank me for shooting Indians; for I always do it,
whensomever I get a chance, as Betsey would tell you, ef she could speak
English; for somehow thar's no perticular agreement atween us, unless
it's for each to make the most he can off the other; and so far I reckon
thar's a ballance in my favor, though the wretches are ever trying
desperate hard to get even. But come, stranger, it won't do for you to
be lying thar with that hole in your side; and so just have patience a
minute, till I've secured the top-knot of this beauty here, and then
I'll assist you down to yonder cabin, whar I doubt not you'll be well
cared for."

As he spoke, the old woodsman rose to his feet, drew his knife, and
turning to the dead Indian, to the surprise of the other, who was but
little familiar with Kentucky customs of that day, deliberately took off
the scalp, which he attached to his belt;[1] and then spurning the body
with his foot, he muttered: "Go, worthless dog! and fill the belly of
some wolf! and may your cowardly companion be soon keeping you company."
Then, as he turned to the other, and noticed his look of surprise, he
added: "Well, stranger, I reckon this business looks a little odd to
you, coming from away beyond the mountains as you do."

"Why, if truth must be told, I confess it does," answered the other.

"Don't doubt it, stranger; but you'll do it yourself afore you've
wintered here two seasons."

"I must beg leave to differ with you on that point."

"Well, well, we'll not quarrel about it--it arn't worth while; but ef
you stay here two year, without scalping a red-skin and perhaps skinning
one, I'll agree to pay you for your time in bar-skins at your own
valuation."

"I am much obliged to you for the offer," answered the young man--a
faint smile lighting his pale features; "but I think it hardly probable
I shall remain in the country that length of time."

"Not unless you have good care, I reckon," returned the other; "for that
thar wound o' yourn arn't none o' the slightest; though I don't want you
to be skeered, for I've seen many a worse one cured. But come, I'll
assist you down to yon cabin, and then I must be off--for I've got a
good distance to travel afore daylight to-morrow;" and bending down as
he spoke, the veteran hunter placed his arms under the arms of the
wounded man, and gently raised him upon his feet.

Although extremely weak from loss of blood, the latter, by this means of
support, was enabled to walk, at a slow pace; and the two descended the
hill--the elder, the while, talking much, and endeavoring by his
discourse to amuse and cheer up his companion.

"Why," he continued, "you think your case a hard one, no doubt,
stranger; but it's nothing compared to what some of us old settlers have
seen and been through with, without even winking, as one may say. Within
the last few year, I've seen a brother and a son shot by the infernal
red-skins--have lost I don't know how many companions in the same
way--been shot at fifty times myself, and captured several; and yet you
see here I am, hale and hearty, and just as eager, with Betsey's
permission, to talk to the varmints now as I war ten year ago."

"But do you not weary of this fatiguing and dangerous mode of life?"
inquired the other.

"Weary, stranger? Lord bless ye! you're but a young hunter to ax such a
question as that. Weary, friend? Why I war born to it--nursed to it--had
a rifle for a plaything; and the first thing I can remember
particularly, war shooting a painter;[2] and it's become as nateral and
necessary as breathing; and when I get so I can't follow the one, I want
to quit the other. Weary on't, indeed! Why, thar's more real
satisfaction in sarcumventing and scalping one o' there red heathen,
than in all the amusement you could scare up in a thick-peopled,
peaceable settlement in a life time."

"By the way," said the other, "pray tell me how you chanced to be so
opportune in saving my life?"

"Why, you must know, I war just crossing through the wood back here
about a mile, on my way home from the Licks, when I came across the
trail of two Indians, whom I 'spected war arter no good; and as Betsey
war itching for something to do, I kind o' kept on the same way, and
happened round on the other side o' this ridge, just as the red varmints
fired. I saw you fall, but could'nt see them, on account o' the hill;
but as I knowed they'd be for showing themselves soon, I got Betsey into
a comfortable position, and waited as patiently as I could, until the
ugly face of that rascal yonder showed clar; when I told her to speak to
him, which she did in rale backwood's dialect, and he died a answering
her. I then hurried round on the skirt of the wood, loading Betsey as I
went; but finding the other varmint had got off, I hastened to you and
found you senseless: the rest you know."

By this time the two had reached nearly to the foot of the hill, and
within a hundred yards of the cabin. Here they were joined by a tall,
lank, lantern-jawed, awkward young man, some twenty years of age, with
small, dark eyes, a long, peaked nose, and flaxen hair that floated down
over his ungainly shoulders, like weeping willows over a scrub oak, and
who carried in his hand a rifle nearly as long and ugly as himself.

"Why, colonel, how are ye? good even' to ye, stranger," was his
salutation, as he came up. "I war down by the tangle yonder, when I
heerd some firing, and some yelling, and I legged it home, ahead o' the
old man, just to keep the women folks in sperets, in case they war
attacked, and get a pop or so at an Injen myself; but thank the Lord,
they warn't thar; and so I ventered on, with long Nance here, to see
whar they mought be."

"Well, Isaac," returned the one addressed as colonel, "I don't doubt
your being a brave lad, and I've had some opportunity o' seeing you
tried; but being is how thar's no Indians to shoot just now, I'll ax you
to show your good qualities in another way. This young man's been badly
wounded, and ef you'll give him a little extra care, you'll put me under
obligations which I'll be happy to repay whensomever needed."

"It don't need them thar inducements you've just mentioned, colonel, to
rouse all my sympathies for a wounded stranger. Rely on't, he shan't
suffer for want o' attention."

"Rightly said, lad; rightly said; and so I leave him in your care.
Tender my regards to your family, for I must be off, and can't stay to
see them." Then turning to the wounded man, he grasped his hand and
said: "Stranger, thar's something about you I like; I don't say it of
every man I meet; and so you may put it down for a compliment or not,
just as you please. Give me your name?"

"Algernon Reynolds."

"Algernon Reynolds, I hope we shall meet again, though in a different
manner from our introduction; but whether or no, ef you ever need the
assistance of either Betsey or myself, just make it known, and we'll do
our best for you. Good bye, sir--good bye, Isaac!" and without waiting a
reply, the speaker sprung suddenly behind a cluster of bushes near which
the party stood, and the next moment was lost to view in the gathering
darkness.

"A great man, that thar, sir!--a powerful great man," observed Isaac,
gazing with admiration after the retreating form of the hunter. "Always
doing good deeds, and never looking for pay nor thanks; may God give him
four-score and ten."

"Amen to that!" returned Reynolds. "But pray tell me his name."

"And you don't know him?"

"I do not."

"And you didn't inquire his name?"

"I did not."

"And ef you had, sir, ten to one but he'd a given you a fictitious one,
to keep clar o' your surprise and extra thanks. Why that, sir, war the
great white hunter, Colonel Daniel Boone."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Reynolds, in no feigned surprise--"the very man I
have so longed to behold; for his fame has already extended far beyond
the Alleghanies. But come, friend Isaac, my wound grows painful; my
exertions thus far have weakened me exceedingly; and with your
permission, I will proceed to the cottage. Ah! I feel myself growing
faint--fainter--fa-i-n-t;" and he sunk senseless into the other's arms;
who, raising him, apparently without an effort, bore him into the house.


[Footnote 1: However barbarous such a proceeding may appear to thousands
in the present day of civilization and refinement, we can assure them,
on the authority of numerous historians of that period, that it was a
general custom with the early settlers of the west, to take the scalp of
an Indian slain by their hand, whenever opportunity presented.]

[Footnote 2: Backwoods name for a panther.]




CHAPTER II.

NEW CHARACTERS.


When young Reynolds again regained his senses, it was some minutes
before he could sufficiently recover from the confusion of ideas
consequent upon his mishap, to follow up the train of events that had
occurred to place him in his present situation. His first recollection
was of the attack made upon him by the Indians; and it required
considerable argument with himself, to prove conclusively, to his own
mind, that he was not even now a captive to the savage foe. Gradually,
one by one, each event recurred to his mind, until he had traced himself
to the moment of his swooning in the arms of a tall, ungainly young man,
called Isaac; but of what, had taken place since--where he now was--or
what length of time had intervened--he had not the remotest idea. He was
lying on his back, upon a rude, though by no means uncomfortable, bed;
and, to the best of his judgment, within the four walls of some
cabin--though to him but two of the walls were visible--owing to the
quantity of skins of the buffalo, bear, and deer, which were suspended
around the foot and front of his pallet. He was undressed; and, as he
judged, upon applying his hand to the wounded part, had been treated
with care; for it came in contact with a nicely arranged bandage of
cloth, which was even now moist with some spirituous liquid. But what
perplexed him most, was the peculiar light, with the aid of which,
though dim, he could discern every object so distinctly. It could not
proceed from a candle--it was too generally diffused; nor from the
fire--it was too gray, and did not flicker; nor from the moon--it was
not silvery enough: from what then did it proceed? It appeared the most
like daylight; but this it could not be, he reasoned, from the fact that
he was wounded just before night-fall--unless--and the idea seemed to
startle him--unless he had lain in a senseless state for many hours, and
it was indeed again morning. Determined, however, to satisfy himself on
this point, he attempted to rise for the purpose; but found, to his no
small surprise and regret, that he had not even strength sufficient to
lift his body from the bed; and, therefore, that nothing was left him,
but to surmise whatever he chose, until some one should appear to solve
the riddle; which, he doubted not, would be ere long.

While these reflections and surmises were rapidly passing through the
mind of our hero--for such we must acknowledge him to be--he heard no
sound indicating the immediate vicinity of any other human being; and
turning his thoughts upon this latter, he was beginning to doubt
whether, at the moment, he was not the only individual beneath the roof;
when he heard a step, as of some one entering another apartment; and,
directly following, a female voice addressed to some person within.

"Have ye looked to the stranger agin, Ella, and moisted his bandage?"

"I have, mother," was the answer, in a sweet and silvery voice, which
caused our wounded hero to start with a thrill of pleasing astonishment.

"And how appeared he, Ella?" continued the first speaker.

"Why, I thought a little better," answered the same soft, musical voice;
"he seemed asleep, and entirely tranquil."

"God send it, gal, for he's had a tougher, sartin. Three days, now,
nater's bin tugging away for him; and I'd hate to see him die now, arter
all; and being the colonel's recommind, too; for Isaac says the colonel
injuncted him strongly to take car o' him; and I'd do any thing to
oblege sech a man as him. He didn't appear to have his senses, I
reckon?"

"I judged not," answered Ella; "though, from his tranquil sleep, I
argued favorably of his case."

"Well," rejoined the other, "it's my opine the crisis is at hand; and
that he'll ayther come out o' this _lethargick_--as they calls it--a
rational, or die straight off. 'Spose you look at him agin, Ella; or,
stay, I'll look myself. Poor feller! how he did rave and run on 'bout
his troubles at home, that's away off, until I all but cried, in
reckoning how I'd feel ef it war Isaac as war going on so.".

As the speaker concluded, she advanced to where the object of her
remarks was lying; and, drawing aside in a gentle manner, some of the
skins near his head, gazed upon him.

As will be surmised by the reader, not a syllable of the foregoing
colloquy had been lost upon Reynolds; who heard, with unbounded
astonishment, of his narrow escape from that dark valley whence none who
enter again return, and that three days had elapsed since he had fallen
into an unconscious state. He learned, too, with regret, that he had
been communicating matters--to what extent he knew not--to others, which
he wished safely locked in his own breast; and judging it best, in the
present instance, to dissemble a little, that his informant might not be
aware of his having overheard her, he feigned to be asleep on her
approach.

"He's sleeping yit, poor creater," continued the hostess, as she bent
over the bed of our hero, until he felt her breath upon his face. "I
hope it arn't a going to be his final sleep--so young, and so handsome
too! but, O dear, thar's no telling what them Injen bullets will do, for
folks does say as how they have a knack o' pizening them, that's orful
to tell on! O Lord o' marcy, Ella, child, do come here!" cried the dame
suddenly: "I do believe he's coming to, for sartin."

This latter speech was occasioned by a movement of the pretended
sleeper, and the gradual opening of his eyes, with the rude stare of
bewildered surprise natural to one in his supposed situation, and such
as he would have exhibited without feigning, had the hostess been
present some ten minutes sooner. Discovering, as already intimated, a
returning consciousness on the part of her guest, the good woman drew
back her head, but still kept her position by the bed, and her eyes
fixed upon him, with an expression which betrayed a fear lest her hopes
of this important event should prove entirely fallacious. Behind her,
with timid step, stole up Ella, and, peeping over her shoulders,
encountered the eyes of the young man beaming upon her, with a look
which her acute perception told her was any thing but insane; and
instantly starting back, the blood rushed upward, crimsoning her neck
and face with a beautiful glow. As for Reynolds--in whom, as already
stated, the voice of Ella alone was sufficient to awaken a thrill of
pleasure--no sooner did he behold her, though but for an instant, than
he felt that thrill revived with a sensation, which, in spite of
himself, he knew was expressed in his own countenance; and he hastened
to speak, in order as much as possible to conceal it.

"Will you have the goodness, madam, to inform me where I am?"

"Thar, thar, Ella, child!" exclaimed the matron, joyously; "I told ye
so--I know'd it--he's come to, for sartin--the Lord be praised!" Then
addressing herself to Reynolds, she continued: "Whar are you, stranger,
do you ax? Why you're in the cabin o' Ben Younker--as honest a man as
ever shot a painter--who's my husband, and father of Isaac Younker, what
brought ye here, according to the directions of Colonel Boone, arter you
war shot by the Injens, the varmints, three days ago; and uncle of Ella
Barnwell here, as I calls daughter, 'cause her parents is dead, poor
creaters, and she hadn't a home to go to, but come'd to live with us,
that are fetching her up in a a dutiful way;" and the good woman
concluded her lucid account of family matters with a sound that much
resembled a person taking breath after some laborious exertion.

"And is it possible," answered Reynolds, who hastened to reply, in order
to conceal a strong inclination he felt for laughing, "that I have lain
here three whole days?"

"Three days, and four nights, and part o' another day, jest as true as
buffaloes run in cane-brakes, and Injen varmints shoot white folks
whensomever they git a chance," replied Mrs. Younker, with great
volubility. "And Ella, the darling, has tended on ye like you war her
own nateral born brother; and Isaac, and Ben, and myself ha' tended on
ye too, while you war raving and running on at an orful rate, though
you've had the best bed, and best o' every thing we've got in the
house."

"For all of which I am at a loss for terms to express my gratitude,"
returned Reynolds, coloring slightly as he thought of the assiduous
attentions he had unconsciously received from Ella Barnwell, who already
began to be an object in his eyes of no little importance.

"Don't mention about gratitude," rejoined the kind hearted Mrs. Younker;
"don't talk about gratitude, for a lettle favor sech as every body's got
a right to, what comes into this country and gits shot by savages. We
havn't done no more for you than we'd a done for any body else in like
sarcumstances; and, la, sir, the pleasure o' knowing you're a going to
git well agin, arter being shot by Injen's pizen bullets,[3] is enough
to pay us twenty times over--Eh! Ella, child--don't you say so?"

"No one, save the gentleman himself, or his dearest friends, can be more
rejoiced at his favorable symptoms than myself," responded Ella,
timidly, in a voice so low, sweet and touching, that Reynolds, who heard
without seeing her--for she kept the rude curtain of skins between
them--felt his heart beat strangely, while his eyes involuntarily grew
moist.

"That's truly said, gal--truly said, I do believe," rejoined Mrs.
Younker; "for she's hung over you, sir, (turning to the wounded man)
night and day, like a mother over her child, until we've had to use
right smart authority to make her go to bed, for fear as how she'd be
sick too."

"And if I live," answered Reynolds, in a voice that trembled with
emotion, "and it is ever in my power to repay such disinterested
attention and kindness, I will do it, even to the sacrificing that life
which she, together with you and your family, good woman, has been the
means, under God, of preserving."

"Under God," repeated the matron; "that's true; I like the way you said
that, stranger; it sounds reverential--it's just--and it raises my
respect for you a good deal; for all our doings is under God's permit;"
and she turned her eyes upward, with a devout look, in which position
she remained several seconds; while Ella, with her fair hands clasped,
followed her example, and seemed, with her moving lips, engaged in
prayer.

"But come," resumed the dame, "it won't do for you, stranger, to be
disturbed too much jest now; for you arn't any too strong, I reckon; and
so you'll jest take my advice, and go to sleep awhile, and you'll feel
all the better for't agin Ben and Isaac come home, which'll be in two or
three hours."

Saying this, Mrs. Younker again disposed the curtains so as to conceal
from Reynolds all external objects; and, together with Ella, withdrew,
leaving him to repose. Whether he profited by her advice immediately, or
whether he meditated for some time on other matters, not excluding Ella,
we shall leave to the imagination of the reader; while we proceed, by
way of episode, to give a general, though brief account, of the Younker
family.

Benjamin Younker was a man about fifty-five years of age--tall,
raw-boned and very muscular--and although now past the prime, even the
meridian of life, was still possessed of uncommon strength. His form,
never handsome, even in youth, was now disfigured by a stoop in the
shoulders, caused by hard labor and rheumatism. His face corresponded
with his body--being long and thin, with hollow cheeks, and high cheek
bones,--his eyes were small and gray, with heavy eye-brows; his nose
long and pointed; his mouth large and homely, though expressive; and his
forehead medium, surmounted by a sprinkling of brown-gray hair. In
speech he was deliberate, generally pointed, and seldom spoke when not
absolutely necessary. He was a good farmer--such being his occupation; a
keen hunter, whenever he chose to amuse himself in that way; a sure
marksman; and, although ignorant in book learning, possessed a sound
judgment, and a common-sense understanding on all subjects of general
utility. He was a native of Eastern Virginia, where the greater portion
of his life had been spent in hunting and agricultural pursuits--where
he was married and had been blessed with two children--a son and a
daughter--of whom the former only was now living, and has already been
introduced to the reader as Isaac--and whence, at the instance of his
wife and son, he removed, in the spring of 1779, into the borders of
Kentucky--finally purchased and settled where he now resided; and where,
although somewhat exposed, he and his family had thus far remained
unmolested.

The dame, Mrs. Younker, was a large, corpulent woman of forty-five, with
features rather coarse and masculine, yet expressive of shrewdness and
courage, and, withal, a goodly share of benevolence. She was one of that
peculiar class of females, who, if there is any thing to be said, always
claim the privilege of saying it; in other words, an inveterate talker;
and who, if we may be allowed the phrase, managed her husband, and all
around her, with the length of her tongue. In the country where she was
brought up and known, to say of another, that he or she could compete
with Ben Younker's wife in talking, was considered the extreme of
comparison; and it is not recorded that any individual ever presumed on
the credulity of the public sufficient to assert that the vocal powers
of the said Mrs. Younker were ever surpassed. Unlike most great talkers,
she was rarely heard to speak ill of any, and then only such as were
really deserving of censure; while her rough kind of piety--if we may so
term it--and her genuine goodness of heart, known to all with whom she
came in contact, served to procure her a long list of friends. She
possessed, as the reader has doubtless judged from the specimen we have
given, little or no education; but this deficiency, in her eyes, as well
as in most of those who lived on the frontiers, was of minor
consequence--the knowledge of hunting, farming, spinning and weaving,
being considered by far the more necessary qualifications for
discharging the social duties of life.

Of Isaac, with whom the reader is already, acquainted, we shall not now
speak, other than to say, he could barely read and write--rather
preferring that he develop his character in his own peculiar way. But
there is another, and though last, we trust will not prove least in
point of interest to the reader, with whom we shall close, this
episodical history--namely--Ella Barnwell.

The mother of Ella--a half sister to the elder-Younker--died when she
was very young, leaving her to the care of a kind and indulgent father,
who, having no other child, lavished on her his whole affections. At the
demise of his wife, Barnwell was a prosperous, if not wealthy merchant,
in one of the eastern cities of Virginia; and knowing the instability of
wealth, together with his desire to fit his daughter for any station in
society, he spared no expense necessary to educate her in all the
different branches of English usually studied by a female. To this was
added drawing, needle-work, music and dancing; and as Ella proved by no
means a backward scholar in whatever she undertook, she was, at the age
of fifteen, to use a familiar phrase, turned out an accomplished young
lady. But alas! she had been qualified for a station which fate seemed
determined not to let her occupy; for just at this important period of
her life, her father became involved in an unfortunate speculation, that
ended in ruin, dishonor, and his own bodily confinement in prison for
debts he could never discharge. Naturally high spirited and proud, this
misfortune and persecution proved too much for his philosophy--and what
was more, his reason--and in a state of mental derangement, he one night
hung himself to the bars of his prison window--leaving his daughter at
the age we have named, a poor, unprotected, we might almost add
friendless, orphan; for moneyless and friendless are too often
synonymous terms, as poor Ella soon learned to her mortification and
sorrow.

Ella Barnwell, the young, the beautiful, and accomplished heiress,
was a very different personage from poor Ella Barnwell the bankrupt's
daughter; and those who had fawned upon and flattered and courted the
one, now saw proper to pass the other by in silent contempt. It was a
hard, a very hard lesson for one at the tender age of Ella, who had been
petted and pampered all her life, and taught by her own simplicity of
heart to look upon all pretenders as real friends--it was a hard lesson,
we say, for one of her years, to be forced at one bold stroke to learn
the world, and see her happy, artless dreams vanish like froth from the
foaming cup; but if hard, it was salutary--at least with her; and
instead of blasting in the bud, as it might have done a frailer flower,
it set her reason to work, destroyed the romantic sentimentalism usually
attached to females of that excitable age, taught her to rely more upon
herself, and less upon others, more upon actions and less upon words,
and, in short, made a strong minded woman of her at once. Yet this was
not accomplished without many a heart-rending pang, as the briny tears
of chagrin, disappointment, and almost hopeless destitution, that
nightly chased each other down the pale cheeks of Ella Barnwell to the
pillow which supported her feverish head, for weeks, and even months
after the death of her father, could well attest.

The father of Ella was an Englishman, who had emigrated to this country
a few years previous to his marriage; and as none of his near relations
had seen proper to follow his example, Ella, on his side, was left
entirely destitute of any to whom she could apply for assistance and
protection. On her mother's side, she knew of none who would be likely
to assist her so readily as her half uncle, Benjamin Younker, whom she
remembered as having seen at the funeral of her mother; and who then,
taking her in his brawny arms, while the tears dimmed his eyes, in a
solemn, impressive manner told her, that, in the ups and downs of life,
should she ever stand in need of another's strong arm or purse, to call
on him, and that, while blest with either himself, she should not want.
This at the time had made a deep impression on her youthful mind, but
subsequently had been nearly or quite obliterated, until retouched by
feeling the want of that aid then so solemnly and generously tendered.
Accordingly, after trying some of her supposed true-hearted friends--who
had more than once been sharers in her generosity; and who, in return,
had professed the most devoted attachment; but who now, in her distress,
unkindly treated her urgent requests with cold neglect,--Ella hastened
to make her situation known to her uncle; the result of which had been
her adoption into a family, who, if not graced with that refinement and
education to which she had been accustomed, at least possessed virtues
that many of the refined and learned were strangers to--namely--truth,
honesty, benevolence, and fidelity.

Ella, in her new situation, with her altered views of society in
general, soon grew to love her benefactor and his family, and take that
sincere pleasure in their rude ways, which, at one time, she would have
considered as next to impossible. With a happy faculty, belonging only
to the few, she managed to work herself into their affections, by little
and little, almost imperceptibly, until, ere they were aware of the fact
themselves, she was looked upon rather as a daughter and sister, than a
more distant relation. In sooth, the former appellation the reader has
already seen applied to her during the recorded conversation of the
voluble Mrs. Younker--an appellation which Ella ever took good care to
acknowledge by the corresponding title of mother.

About a year from the period of Ella's becoming a member of the family,
the Younkers had removed, as already stated, to what was then considered
the "Far West," and had finally purchased and settled where we find them
in the opening of our story. In this expedition, Ella, though somewhat
reluctantly, had accompanied them--had remained with them ever
since--and was now, notwithstanding her former lady-like mode of life,
through the tuition of Mrs. Younker, regularly installed into all the
mysteries of milking, churning, sewing, baking, spinning and weaving.
With this brief outline of her past history, we shall proceed to
describe her personal appearance, at the time of her introduction to the
reader, and then leave her to speak and act for herself during the
progress of this drama of life.

Eighteen years of sunshine and cloud, had served to mould the form of
Ella Barnwell into one of peculiar beauty and grace. In height she was a
little above five feet, had a full round bust, and limbs of that
beautiful and airy symmetry, which ever give to their possessor an
appearance of etherial lightness. Her complexion was sufficiently dark
to entitle her to the appellation of brunette; though by many it would
have been thought too light, perhaps, owing to the soft, rich
transparency of her skin; through which, by a crimson tint, could be
traced the "tell-tale-blood," on the slightest provocation tending to
excitement. Her features, if examined closely, could not be put down as
entirely regular, owing to a very slight defect in the mouth, which
otherwise was very handsome, and which was graced with two plump,
pretty, half pouting lips. This defect, however, was only apparent when
the countenance was in stern repose; and, as this was seldom, when in
company with others, it was of course seldom observed. The remainder of
her features were decidedly good, and, seen in profile, really
beautiful. Her eye was a full, soft, animated hazel, that could beam
tenderly with love, sparkle brilliantly with wit, or flash scornfully
with anger; but inclining more to the first and second qualities than
the last. Her eye-brows were well defined, and just sufficiently arched
to correspond with the eyes themselves. Her forehead was prominent, of a
noble cast, and added dignity to her whole appearance. Her hair was a
rich, dark brown, fine and glossy, and although neatly arranged about
the head, evidently required but little training to enable it to fall
gracefully about her neck in beautiful ringlets. The general expression
of her face, was a soft, bewitching playfulness, which, combined with
the half timid, benevolent look, beaming from her large, mild, hazel
eye, invariably won upon the beholder at the first glance, and increased
upon acquaintance. Her voice we have already spoken of as possessing a
silvery sweetness; and if one could be moved at merely seeing her, it
only required this addition to complete the charm. To all of the
foregoing, let us add an ardent temperament--capable of the most tender,
lasting and devoted attachment, when once the affections were placed on
an object--a sweet disposition, modest deportment, and graceful
manners--and you have the portrait in full of Ella Barnwell, the orphan,
the model of her sex, and the admiration of all who knew her.


[Footnote 3: Mrs. Younker is the only authority we have for supposing
Indians poison their bullets, although we have read of poisoned arrows,
and hence infer such a proceeding to be rather a supposition with her
than a certainty.]




CHAPTER III.

THE TALE AND FATAL SECRET.


The dwelling of Benjamin Younker, as already mentioned, stood at the
base of a hill, on the margin of a beautiful valley, and within a
hundred feet of a lucid stream, whose waters, finding their source in
the neighboring bills, rushed down, all gleesome and sparkling, over a
limestone bed, and

    "From morn till night, from night till morn,"

sung gentle melodies for all who chose to listen.

The building itself though rough, both externally and internally, was
what at that period was termed a double cabin; and in this respect was
entitled to a superiority over most of its neighbors. As this may serve
for a representative of the houses or cabins of the early settlers of
Kentucky, we shall proceed to describe its structure and general
appearance somewhat more minutely than might otherwise be deemed
necessary.

The sides of the cottage in question, were composed of logs, rough from
the woods where they had been felled, with the bark still clinging to
them, and without having undergone other transformation than being cut
to a certain length, and notched at either end, so as to sink into each
other, when crossed at right angles, until their bodies met, thereby
forming a structure of compactness, strength and solidity. Some ten or
twelve feet from the ground, the two upper end logs of the cabin
projected a foot or eighteen inches beyond the lower, and supported what
were called _butting poles_--poles which crossed these projections at
right angles, and, extending along the front and back of the building,
formed the eaves of the roof. This latter was constructed by gradually
shortening the logs at either end, until those which crossed them, as we
said before, at right angles, came together at an angle of forty-five
degrees, and the last one formed the ridge-pole or comb of the whole. On
these logs, lapping one over the other, and the lower tier resting
against the butting poles, were laid slabs of clapboard--a species of
plank split from some straight-grained tree--about four feet long, and
from three to four wide. These were secured in their places by logs in
turn resting on them, at certain intervals, and answering the purpose of
nails; necessity requiring these latter articles of convenience to be
dispensed with in the early settlements of the West. As the cabin was
double, two doors gave entrance from without, one into either apartment.
These entrances were formed by cutting away the logs for the space of
three feet by six, and were closed by rude doors, made of rough slabs,
pinned strongly to heavy cross bars, and hung on hinges of the same
material. These, like the rest of the building, were rendered, by their
thickness, bullet proof--so that when closed and bolted, the house was
capable of withstanding an ordinary attack of the Indians. With the
exception of one window, opening into the apartment generally occupied
by the family, and flanked by a heavy shutter, the doors and chimney
were the only means through which light and air were admitted. These
were all firmly secured at night--the unsettled and exposed state of the
country, and the dangerous proximity of the pioneers to the ruthless
savage, particularly those without the forts, rendering necessary, on
their part, the most vigilant caution.

The internal appearance of the cabin corresponded well with the
external. The apartment occupied by the family during the day, where the
meals were cooked and served, and the general household affairs attended
to, was very homely; and might, if contrasted with some of the present
time, be termed almost wretched; though considered, at the period of
which we write, rather above than below the ordinary. The floor was
composed of what by the settlers were termed puncheons; which were made
by splitting in half trees of some eighteen inches in diameter, and
hewing the faces of them as regular as possible with the broad-axe.
These were laid, bark side downwards, upon sleepers running crosswise
for the purpose, and formed at least a dry, solid and durable, if not
polished, floor. At one end of the cabin was the chimney, built of logs,
outside the apartment, but connecting with it by a space cut away for
the purpose. The back, jambs, and hearth of this chimney were of stone,
and put together, in a manner not likely to be imitated by masons of
the present day. A coarse kind of plaster filled up the surrounding
crevices, and served to keep out the air and give a rude finish to the
whole.

The furniture of the Younkers, if the title be not too ambiguous, would
scarcely have been coveted by any of our modern exquisites, even had
they been living in that age of straight-forward common sense. A large,
rough slab, split from some tree, and supported by round legs set in
auger holes, had the honor of standing for a table--around which, like a
brood of chickens around their mother, were promiscuously collected
several three-legged stools of similar workmanship. In one corner of the
room were a few shelves; on which were ranged some wooden trenchers,
pewter plates, knives and forks, and the like necessary articles, while
a not very costly collection of pots and kettles took a less dignified
and prominent position beneath. Another corner was occupied by a bed,
the covering of which was composed of skins of different animals, with
sheetings of home-made linen. In the vicinity of the bed, along the
wall, was a row of pegs, suspending various garments of the occupants;
all of which--with the exception of a few articles, belonging to Ella,
procured for her before the death of her father--were of the plainest
and coarsest description. A churn--a clock--the latter a very rare thing
among the pioneers of Kentucky--a footwheel for spinning flax--a small
mirror--together with several minor articles, of which it is needless to
speak--completed the inventory of the apartment. From this room were two
exits, besides the outer door--one by a ladder leading above to a sort
of attic chamber, where were two beds; and the other through the wall
into the adjoining cabin, whither our hero had been borne in a state of
insensibility on the night of his mishap, and where he was for the
second time presented to the reader. This latter place was graced with a
bed, a loom for weaving, a spinning-wheel, a large oaken chest, and a
few rough benches.

Such, reader, as our description has set forth, was the general
appearance of Younker's dwelling, both without and within, in the year
of our Lord 1781; and, moreover, a fair representative of an hundred
others of the period in question--so arbitrary was necessity in making
one imitate the other. But to resume our story.

In the after part of a day as mild and beautiful as the one on which we
opened our narrative, but some four weeks later, Ella Barnwell,
needle-work in hand, was seated near the open door leading from the
apartment first described to the reader. Her head was bent forward, and
her eyes were apparently fixed upon her occupation with great
intentness--though a close observer might have detected furtive glances
occasionally thrown upon a young man, with a pale and somewhat agitated
countenance, who was pacing to and fro on the ground without. With the
exception of these two, no person was within sight--though the rattling
of a loom in the other apartment or cabin, betokened the vicinity of the
industrious hostess.

For some moments the young man--a no less personage than our hero--paced
back and forth like one whose mind is harrowed by some disagreeable
thought: then suddenly halting in front of the doorway, and in a voice
which, though not intended to be so, was slightly tremulous, he
addressed himself to the young lady, in words denoting a previous
conversation.

"Then I must have said some strange things, Ella--I beg pardon--Miss
Barnwell."

"Have I not requested you, Mr. Reynolds, on more than one occasion, to
call me Ella, instead of using the formality which rather belongs to
strangers in fashionable society than to those dwelling beneath the same
roof, in the wilds of Kentucky?" responded the person addressed, in a
tone of pique, while she raised her head and let her soft, dark eyes
rest reproachfully on the other.

"Well, well, Ella," rejoined Reynolds, "I crave pardon for my
heedlessness; and promise you, on that score at least, no more cause for
offence in future."

"Offence!" said Ella, quickly, catching at the word: "O, no--no--not
offence, Mr. Reynolds! I should be sorry to take offence at what was
meant in all kindness, and with true respect; but somehow I--that
is--perhaps it may not appear so to others--but I--to me it appears
studied--and--and--cold;" and as she concluded, in a hesitating manner,
she quickly bent her head forward, while her cheek crimsoned at the
thought, that she might perhaps have ventured too far, and laid herself
liable to misconstruction.

"And yet, Ella," returned Reynolds, somewhat playfully, "you resemble
many others I have known, in preaching what you do not practice. You
request me to lay aside all formality, and address you by your name
only; while you, in that very request, apply to me the title you
consider as studied, formal and cold."

"You have reference to my saying _Mr._ Reynolds, I presume," answered
Ella; "but I see no analogy between the two; as in addressing you thus,
I do but what, under the circumstances, is proper; and what, doubtless,
habit has rendered familiar to your ear; while, on the other hand, no
one ever thinks of calling me any thing but Ella, or at the most, Ella
Barnwell--and hence all superfluities grate harshly."

"Even complimentary adjectives, eh?" asked Reynolds, with an arch look.

"Even those, Mr. Reynolds; and those most of all are offensive, I assure
you."

"I thought all of your sex were fond of flattery."

"Then have you greatly erred in thinking."

"But thus says general report."

"Then, sir, general report is a slanderer, and should not be credited.
Those who court flattery, are weak-minded and vain; and I trust you do
not so consider all our sex."

"Heaven forbid," answered Reynolds, with energy, "that I should think
thus of all, or judge any too harshly!--but there may be causes to force
one into the conviction, that the exceptions are too few to spoil the
rule."

"I trust such is not your case," responded Ella, quickly, while her eyes
rested on the other with a searching glance.

"No one is required to criminate himself in law," replied Reynolds,
evasively, with a sigh; and then immediately added, as if anxious to
change the topic: "But I am eager for you to inform me what I said
during my delirium."

"O, many things," returned Ella, "the half of which I could not repeat;
but more particularly you spoke of troubles at home, and often repeated
the name of Elvira with great bitterness. Then you would run on
incoherently, for some time, about pistols, and swords, and end by
saying that the quarrel was just--that you were provoked to it, until it
became almost self defence--and that if he died, his blood would be on
his own head."

"Good heavens, Ella! did I indeed say this?" exclaimed Reynolds, with a
start, while his features became deadly pale. "Did I say more? did I
mention further particulars?--speak! tell me--tell me truly!"

"Not in my hearing," answered Ella, while her own face blanched at the
sudden vehemence of the other.

"Well, well, do not be alarmed!" said Reynolds, evidently somewhat
relieved, and softening his voice, as he noticed the change in her
countenance; "people sometimes say strange things, when reason, the
great regulator of the tongue, is absent. What construction did you put
upon my words, Ella?"

"Why, in sooth," replied Ella, watching his features closely as she
spoke, "I thought nothing of them, other than to suppose you might
formerly have had some trouble; and that in the chaos of wild images
crowding your brain, after being attacked and wounded by savages, it was
natural some of these image should be of a bloody nature."

"Then you did not look upon the words as having reference to a reality."

"No! at the time I did not."

"At the time?" repeated Reynolds, with a slight fall of countenance;
"have you then seen or heard any thing since to make you suspicious?"

"Nothing--until--"

"Well, well," said Reynolds, quickly, as she hesitated; "speak out and
fear nothing!"

"Until but now, when you became so agitated, and spoke so vehemently on
my repeating your delirious language," added Ella, concluding the
sentence.

"Ha!" ejaculated Reynolds, as if to himself; "sanity has done more to
betray me than delirium. Well, Ella," continued he, addressing her more
direct, "you have heard enough to make you doubtful of my character;
therefore you must needs hear the whole, that you may not judge me worse
than I am; but remember, withal, the tale is for your ear alone."

"Nay, Mr. Reynolds, if it be a secret, I would rather not have it in
keeping," answered Ella.

"It is a secret," returned Reynolds, solemnly, with his eyes cast down
in a dejected manner; "a secret, I would to Heaven I had not myself in
keeping! but hear it you must, Ella, for various reasons, from my lips;
and then we part--(his voice slightly faltered) we part--forever!"

"Forever!" gasped Ella, quickly, with a choking sensation, while her
features grew pale, and then suddenly flushed, and her work
unconsciously dropped from her hand. Then, as if ashamed of having
betrayed her feelings, she became confused, and endeavored to cover the
exposure by adding, with a forced laugh: "But really, Mr. Reynolds, I
must crave pardon for my silly behavior--but your manner of speaking,
somehow, startled me--and--and I--before I was aware--really, it was
very silly--indeed it was, and I pray you overlook it!"

"Were circumstances not as I have too much reason to fear they are,"
returned Reynolds, slowly, sadly, and impressively, with his eyes fixed
earnestly and even tenderly upon the other, "I would not exchange that
simple expression of yours, Ella, for a mine of gold. By that alone you
have spoken volumes, and told me what I already feared was true, but
hoped was otherwise. Nay, turn not your head away, Ella--dear Ella, if
you will allow me so to address you--it is better, under the
circumstances, that we speak plainly and understandingly, as the time of
our final separation draweth near. I fear that my manner and language
have hitherto too much expressed my feelings, and encouraged hopes in
you that can never be realized. Oh! Ella, if such be the case, I would,
for your dear sake, we had never met!--and the thought hereafter, that I
have caused you a pang, will add its weight of anguish to my already
bitter lot. The days that I have spent beneath this hospitable roof, and
in your sweet presence, are so many of bright sunshine, in a life of
cloud and storm; but will only serve, as I recall them, to make the
remainder, by contrast, seem more dark and dreary. From the first I
learned you were an orphan, and my sympathy was aroused in your behalf;
subsequently, I listened to your recital of grief, and trouble, and cold
treatment by the world--told in an artless manner--and in spite of me,
in spite of my struggles to the contrary, I discovered awakening in my
breast a feeling of a stronger nature. Had my wound permitted, I should
have torn myself from your presence then, with the endeavor, if such a
thing were possible, to forget you; but, alas! fate ordered otherwise,
and the consequence I fear will be to add sorrow to both. But one thing,
dear Ella, before I go further, let me ask: Can you, and will you
forgive me, for the manner in which I have conducted myself in your
company?"

"I have nothing to forgive; and had I, it should be forgiven," answered
Ella, sweetly, in a timid voice, her hands unconsciously toying with her
needle-work, and her face half averted, whereon could be traced the
suppressed workings of internal emotion.

"Thank you, Ella--thank you, for taking a weight from my heart. And now,
ere I proceed with what to both of us will prove a painful revelation,
let me make one request more--a foolish one I know--but one I trust you
will grant nevertheless."

"Name it," said Ella, timidly, as the other paused.

"It is, simply, that in judging me by the evidence I shall give against
myself, you will lean strongly to the side of mercy; and, when I am
gone, think of me rather as an unfortunate than criminal being."

"You alarm me, Mr. Reynolds, with such a request!" answered Ella,
looking up to the other with a pale, anxious countenance. "I know not
the meaning of it! and, as I said before, I would rather not have your
secret in keeping--the more so, as you say the revelation will be a
painful one to both."

For a moment the young man paused, as though undecided as to his reply,
while his countenance expressed a look of mortified regret really
painful to behold--so much so, that Ella, moved by this to a feeling of
compassion, said:

"I perceive my answer wounds your feelings--I meant no harm; go on with
your story; I will listen, and endeavor to concede all you desire."

"Thank you--again thank you!" returned the other, energetically, with
emotion. "I will make my narrative brief as possible."

Saying which, he entered the apartment where the other was sitting, and
seating himself a few feet distant from her, after some little
hesitation, as if to bring his resolution to the point, thus began:

"I shall pass over all minor affairs of my life, and come at once to the
period and event, which changed me from a happy youth, blessed with home
and friends, to a wanderer--I know not but an outlaw--on the face of the
earth. I was born in the state of Connecticut, A.D. 1759; and my father
being a man of property, and one determined on giving his children (of
whom there were two, one older than myself) a liberal education, I was
at an early age sent to a neighboring school, where I remained until
turned of eighteen, and then returned to my parents.

"About this period, an old, eccentric lady--a maiden aunt of my
father--died, bequeathing to me--or rather to the second born of her
nephew, Albert Reynolds, which chanced to be myself--the bulk of her
property--in value some fifty thousand dollars, on condition, that,
between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two, I should marry a certain
Elvira Longworth--a lady some three years my junior, for whom my great
aunt had formed a strong attachment. And the will further provided, That
in case the said second born of Albert Reynolds, either through the
intervention of Providence, in removing him from off the face of the
earth, (so it was worded) and from among the living, or through a mutual
dislike of the parties seemed, did not between the specified ages,
celebrate, with due rejoicing, the said nuptials with the said Elvira
Longworth, the sum of twenty thousand dollars should be paid over to the
said Elvira, if living, and the remainder of the property (or in case
she was deceased the whole) should revert to the regular heirs at law.

"Such was the will--one of the most singular perhaps on record--which,
whatever the design of its author, was destined, by a train of
circumstances no one could foresee, to result in the most terrible
consequences to those it should have benefited. On the reading thereof,
no little dissatisfaction was expressed in regard to it, by numerous
relatives of the deceased; each of whom, as a matter of course, was
expecting a considerable share of the old lady's property; and all of
whom, with but few exceptions, were nearer akin than myself; and
therefore, in that respect, more properly entitled to it. As a
consequence of the will, I, though innocent of its construction--for
none could be more surprised at it than myself--became a regular target
for the ridicule, envy, and hate of those who chanced to be disappointed
thereby. At the outset, I had no intention of seeking a title to the
property by complying with the specification set forth at the instance
of its late owner; and only looked upon it as a piece of crack-brained
folly, that would serve for a nine days' comment and jest, and then be
forgotten; but when I saw, that instead of being treated with the
courtesy and respect no conscious act of mine had ever forfeited, I was
ridiculed, sneered at, and looked upon with jealousy and hate by those
whose souls were too narrow to believe in a noble action--and who,
measuring and judging me by their own sordid standards of avaricious
justice, deemed I would spare no pains to legally rob them, as they
termed it,--when I saw this, I say, my blood became heated, my fiercer
passions were roused, and I inwardly swore, that if it were now in my
power to accomplish what they feared, I would do it, though the lady in
question were a fright to look upon. In this decision I was rather
encouraged by my father, who being at the time somewhat involved,
thought it a feasible plan of providing for me, and then, by my aid,
recovering from his own pecuniary embarrassments.

"As yet I had never seen Elvira--she living in an adjoining county,
some thirty miles distant, where my aunt, on a visit to a distant
relative, had first made her acquaintance, and formed that singular
attachment, peculiar to eccentric temperaments, which had resulted in
the manner already shown. Accordingly, one fine spring morning, I
mounted my horse, and set forth to seek my intended, and behold what
manner of person she was of. Late at night I arrived at the village
where she resided--stabled my beast--took lodging at a hotel--inquired
out her residence--and, betimes, the morning following, made my
obeisance in her presence, and with that bashful, awkward grace--if I
may be allowed so paradoxical a term--which my youth present purpose,
and former good breeding combined, were calculated to produce. I was
more embarrassed still a minute after, when, having given my name, and
hinted at the singular document of the old lady deceased, I found my
fair intended, as well as her family, were in total ignorance of my
meaning; and could I at the moment have been suddenly transferred to my
horse, I do not think I should have paused to make the necessary
explanation. As it was, there was no alternative; and accordingly
begging a private interview with Elvira, I disclosed the whole secret;
which she listened to for a time with unfeigned surprise; and then
bursting into a wild, ringing laugh, declared it to be 'The funniest and
most ridiculous thing she ever heard of.'

"She was a gay, sprightly, beautiful being--fresh in the bloom of some
fifteen summers--with a bright, sparkling, roguish eye--long, floating,
auburn ringlets--a musical voice--a ringing laugh--the latter frequent
and long,--so that I soon felt it needed not the stimulating desire of
wealth and revenge to urge me on to that, which, under any
circumstances, would have been by no means disagreeable. To make a long
story short, I called upon her at stated periods; and, within a year
from our first acquaintance, we were plighted to each other. About this
time my father, together with some influential friends, procured me a
lieutenancy, to serve in our present struggle for the maintainance of
that glorious independence, drawn up by the immortal Jefferson, and
signed by the noble patriots some two years before. I served a two
years' campaign, and fought in the unfortunate and bloody battle of
Camden; which resulted, as doubtless you have heard, in great loss and
defeat to the American arms. Shortly after the action commenced, our
captain was killed, and the command of the company devolved on me. I
fulfilled my duties to the best of my ability, and myself and men were
in the hottest of the fight. But from some alleged misdemeanor, whereof
I can take my oath I was guiltless, I was afterward very severely
censured by one of my superior officers; which so wounded my feelings,
that I at once resigned my commission and returned to my native state.

"On arriving at home, to my surprise and mortification, I learned that
my intended was just on the eve of marriage with a cousin of mine--a
worthless fellow--who, urged on by the relatives interested, and his own
desire of acquiring the handsome competence of twenty thousand dollars,
had taken advantage of my absence to calumniate me, (in which design he
had been aided by several worthy assistants) and supplant me in the good
graces--I will not say affections, as I think the term too strong--of
Elvira Longworth.

"The lady in question I do not think I ever loved--at least as I
understand the meaning of that term--and now--that she had listened to
slander against me while absent, and, without waiting to know whether it
would be refuted on my return, had engaged herself to another--I cared
less for her than before;--but my pride was touched, that I should be
thus tamely set aside for one I heartily despised; and this, together
with my desire to thwart the machinations of the whole intriguing clique
arrayed against me, determined me, if feasible, to regain the favor of
Elvira, and have the ceremony performed as soon as possible. This, Ella,
I know you think, and I am ready to admit it, was wrong--very wrong;
but I make no pretensions to be other than a frail mortal, liable to all
the errors appertaining thereto; and were this is the only sin to be
laid to my charge, my conscience were far less troublesome than now.

"I determined, I say, to regain my former place in her favor or
affection--whichever you like--and, to be brief, I apparently succeeded.
The day was set for our marriage; which, for several reasons unnecessary
to be detailed, was to take place at the residence of my father; and, as
the will specified it should be with all due rejoicings, great
preparations were accordingly made, and a goodly number of guests
invited.

"At length the day came--the eventful day. Never shall I forget it; nor
with what feelings, at the appointed hour, I entered the crowded hall,
where the ceremony was to take place, with Elvira leaning tremblingly on
my arm, her features devoid of all color, and approached the spot where
the divine stood ready to unite us forever. All eyes were now fixed upon
us; and the marriage rite was begun amid that deep and almost awful
solemnity, which not unfrequently characterizes such proceedings on
peculiar occasions, when every spectator, as well as the actors
themselves, feel a secret awe steal over them, as though about to
witness a tragic, rather than a civil, performance.

"I have mentioned that Elvira trembled violently when we entered the
hall; but this trembling increased after the divine commenced the
ritual; so that when I had answered in the affirmative the solemn
question pertaining to my taking the being by my side as mine till
death, her trepidation had become so great that it was with difficulty I
could support her; and when the same interrogative was put to her, a
silence of some moments followed; and then the answer came forth, low
and trembling, but still sufficiently distinct to be generally
understood; and was, to the unbounded astonishment of all, in the
negative!"

"In the negative!" exclaimed Ella, suddenly, who had during the last few
sentences been unconsciously leaning forward, as though to devour each
syllable as it was uttered, and who now resumed her former position with
a long drawn breath. "In the negative say you, Alger--a--a--Mr.
Reynolds?"

"Call me Algernon, Ella, I pray you; it sounds more sweet and friendly.
Ay, she answered in the negative. Heavens! what a shock was there for
my proud nature! To be thus publicly insulted and rejected--to be thus
made the butt and ridicule of fools and knaves--a mark for the jests and
sneers of friend and foe! Oh! how my blood boiled and coursed in lava
streams through my heated veins! I saw it all. I was the dupe of some
artful design, intended to stigmatize me forever; and wild with a
thousand terrible brain-searing thoughts, I rushed from the hall to my
own apartment, seized upon my pistols, and was just in the act of
putting a period to my existence, when my arm was suddenly grasped, and
my hated rival and cousin stood before me.

"'Fiend!' cried I in frenzy; 'devil in human shape!--do you seek me in
the body? What want you here?'

"His features were pale with excitement, and his lips quivered as he
made answer: 'Be calm, Algernon, be calm; it was meant but in jest!'

"'Jest!' screamed I; 'do you then own to a knowledge of it,
villain?--were you its author?--then take that, and answer it as you
dare!'--and as I spoke, with the breech of my undischarged pistol, I
stretched him senseless at my feet. Under the excitement of the moment,
I was about to take a more terrible revenge; when others suddenly rushed
in--seized and disarmed me--bore my rival from my sight--and, to
conclude, placed me in bed, where I was confined for three weeks by a
delirious fever, and then only recovered as it were by a miracle.

"During my convalescence, I learned that my cousin, soon after my
return, had been privately married to Elvira; and prompted by his evil
genius, and some of my enemies, had induced his wife to enter into the
plot, the result of which has already been briefly narrated. I do not
think she did it through malice, and doubtless little thought of the
consequences that were destined to follow; but whether so or not, her
punishment has, I think, been fully adequate to her crime; for the last
I heard of her, she was an inmate of a mad-house--remorse for her
conduct, the abuse heaped upon her by society, and her own severe fright
at the termination of the stratagem, having driven her insane. Now comes
the most tragic part of my narrative.

"When so far recovered as to again be abroad, I was cautioned by my
parents against my rash act; and for their sakes, I promised to be
temperate in all my movements; but, alas! how little we know when we
promise, what we may be in sooth destined to perform. On my father's
estate, about a mile distant from his residence, was a beautiful
grove--whither, for recreation, I was in the habit of repairing at all
periods of my life; and where, so soon as my strength permitted, after
my sickness, I rambled daily. About ten days from my recovery, as I was
taking my usual stroll through these grounds, I was suddenly confronted
by my cousin. His cheeks were hollow and pale, and his whole appearance
haggard in the extreme. His eyes, too, seemed to flash, or burn, as it
were, with an unearthly brightness; and his voice, as he addressed me,
was hoarse, and his manner hurried.

"'We meet well,' he said, 'well! I have watched for you long.'

"'Away!' cried I; 'tempt me no more--or something will follow I may
regret hereafter!'

"'Ha, ha, ha!' laughed he, in derision, with that peculiar, hollow
sound, which even now, as I recall it, makes my blood run cold:--'Say
you so, cousin?--I came for that;' and again he laughed as before. 'See
here--see here!' and he presented, as he spoke, with the butts toward
me, a brace of pistols. 'Here is what will settle all our animosities,'
he continued; 'take your choice, and be quick, or perchance we may be
interrupted.'

"'Are you mad,' cried I, 'that you thus seek my life, after the wrongs
you have done me?'

"'Mad!--ha, ha!--yes!--yes!--I believe I am,' he answered; 'and my wife
is mad also. I did you wrong, I know--went to apologise for it, and you
struck me down. Whatever the offence, a blow I never did and never will
forgive; so take your choice, and be quick, for one or both of us must
never quit this place alive.'

"'Away!' cried I, turning aside; 'I will not stain my hands with the
blood of my kin. Go! the world is large enough to hold us both.'

"'Coward!' hissed he; 'take that, then, and bear what I have borne;' and
with the palm of his hand he smote me on the cheek.

"I could bear no more--I was no longer myself--I was maddened with
passion--and snatching a pistol from his hand, which was still extended
toward me, without scarcely knowing what I did, I exclaimed, 'Your blood
be on your own head!'--and--and--Oh, Heaven!--pardon me, Ella--I--shot
him through the body."

Ella, who had partly risen from her seat, and was listening with
breathless attention, now uttered an exclamation of horror, and sunk
back, with features ghastly pale; while the other, burying his face in
his hands, shook his whole frame with convulsive sobs. For some time
neither spoke; and then the young man, slowly raising his face, which
was now a sad spectacle of the workings of grief and remorse, again
proceeded:

"Horror-stricken--aghast at what I had done--I stood for a moment,
gazing upon him weltering in his blood, with eyes that burned and seemed
starting from their sockets--with feelings that are indescribable--and
then rushing to him, I endeavored to raise him, and learn the extent of
his injury.

"'Fly!' said he, faintly, as I bent over him--'fly for your life! I have
got my due--I am mortally wounded--and if you remain, you will surely be
arrested as my murderer. Farewell, Algernon--the fault was mine--but
this you can not prove; and so leave me--leave me while you have
opportunity.'

"His words were true; I felt them in force; if he died, I would be
arraigned as his murderer--I had no proof to the contrary--circumstances
would be against me--I should be imprisoned--condemned--perhaps
executed--a loathsome sight for gaping thousands--I could not bear the
thought--I might escape--ay, would escape--and bidding him a hasty
farewell, I turned and fled. Not a hundred rods distant I met my father;
and falling on my knees before him, I hurriedly related what had taken
place, and begged advice for myself, and his immediate attendance upon
my cousin. He turned pale and trembled violently at my narration; and,
as I concluded, drew forth a purse of gold, which he chanced to have
with him, and placing it in my hand, exclaimed:

"'Fly--son--child--Algernon--for Heaven's sake, fly!'

"'Whither, father?'

"'To the far western wilds, beyond the reach of civilization--at least
beyond the reach of justice--and spare my old eyes the awful sight of
seeing a beloved son arraigned as a criminal!'

"'And my mother?'

"'You can not see her--it might cost you your life,--farewell!' and with
the last word trembling on his lips, he embraced me fondly, and we
parted--perchance forever.

"I fled, feeling that the brand of Cain was on me; that henceforth my
life was to be one of remorse and misery; that I was to be a wanderer
upon the face of the earth--mayhap an Ishmael, with every man's hand
against me. To atone in a measure to my conscience for the awful deed I
had committed, I knelt upon the earth, and swore, by all I held sacred
in time and eternity, that if the wound inflicted upon my cousin should
prove mortal, I would live a life of celibacy, and become a wandering
pilgrim in the western wilds of America till God should see proper to
call me hence."

"And--and did the wound prove mortal?" asked Ella, breathlessly.

"Alas! I know not, Ella, and I fear to know. Four months have passed
since then; and after many adventures, hardships, sufferings, and
hair-breadth escapes, you see me here before you, a miserable man."

"But not one guilty of murder, Algernon," said Ella, energetically.

"I know not that--Heaven grant it true!"

"O, then, do not despair, Algernon!--trust in God, and hope for the
best. I have a hope that all will yet be well."

"Amen to that, dear Ella; and a thousand, thousand thanks, for your
sweet words of consolation; they are as balm to my torn and bleeding
heart; but until I _know_ my fate, we must not meet again; and if, oh
Heaven! and if the worst be true--then--then farewell forever! But who
comes here?"




CHAPTER IV.

THE STRANGER.


The closing sentence of the preceding chapter was occasioned by the
glimpse of a man's shadow, that for a moment swept along in the
sunlight, some twenty paces distant from the speaker, and then suddenly
disappeared by being swallowed up in the larger and more stationary
shade thrown from the cottage by the sinking sun. Scarcely were the
words alluded to uttered, ere the sound of a step was heard close by the
door, and the next moment the cause of the shadow and remark divided the
light of the entrance.

The individual in question, was a stout built, broad-shouldered,
athletic man--some five feet nine inches in height--whose age, judging
from his general appearance, as well as his features, might range from
twenty-seven to thirty years. At the moment when he appeared before our
acquaintances of the foregoing chapter, his right arm was held in a
manner so as to screen the lower portion of his face; while a hat, not
very much unlike those of the present day, pressed down upon his
forehead, left but little of his countenance, and that mainly about the
eyes, visible. With the latter he gave a quick, searching, suspicious
glance at the two before him; and then, as if satisfied he had nothing
to fear, lowered his arm and raised his hat from his forehead, exposing
a physiognomy by no means pleasing to one skilled in reading the heart
thereby. His complexion was swarthy--his skin coarse--and the general
expression of his features repulsive in the extreme; this expression
arising from the combination of three distinct parts of his
countenance--namely: the forehead which was low and receding from two
dark-red, shaggy eye-brows,--the eyes themselves, which were small,
bloodshot and very fiery; and the mouth, which was narrow, thin-lipped,
and habitually contracted into a sneering, sinister smile. In this
general expression, was combined cunning, deceit, treachery, and
bloodthirsty ferocity--each one of which passions were sufficiently
powerful, when fully excited, to predominate over the whole combination.
The hair of his head was short, thick, coarse and red, grew low upon his
forehead, and, in its own peculiar way, added a fierceness to his whole
appearance. Nature had evidently designed him for a villain of the
darkest die; and on the same principle that she gives a rattle to a
certain venomous snake, that other creatures may be warned of the deadly
fang in time to avoid it--so had she stamped him with a look wherein his
passions were mirrored, that those who gazed thereon might know with
whom and what they had to do, and be prepared accordingly. The costume
too of the stranger was rather singular, and worthy of note--being
composed, for the most part, of an extraordinary long frock or
overcoat--more like the gown of some monk than either--which reached
almost down to the moccasins covering his feet, and was laced together
in front, nearly the whole length, by thongs of deerskin. Around the
waist passed a rude belt of the same material--carelessly tied at one
side--in which, contrary to the usual custom of that period, there was
not confined a single weapon, not even so much as a knife; and this
fact, together with the general appearance of the individual and his own
suspicious movements, led Algernon, almost at the first glance, to
consider the long frock or gown an article of disguise, beneath which
the stranger was doubtless doubly armed and costumed in a very
different manner.

As the eyes of the new comer, after closely scanning Reynolds, rested
for the first time upon Ella, there flashed across his ugly features an
expression of admiration and surprise--while the look of suspicion which
he had previously exhibited, seemed entirely to disappear. Turning to
the young man, who on his appearance had risen from his seat, and now
stood as if waiting to know his commands, in a voice evidently much
softened from its usual tones, but still by no means pleasant and
harmonious, he said:

"Will you be kind enough to inform me, sir, to whom this dwelling
belongs?"

"It is owned, I believe, by one Benjamin Younker," answered Algernon, in
a cavalier manner, still eyeing the other closely.

"May I ask his occupation?"

"He is a farmer, sir--a tiller of the soil."

"Will you favor me with a description of his personal appearance?"

"I can do so," replied Algernon, somewhat surprised at the question,
"provided I know the motive of inquiry to be a good one."

"It is no other, I assure you," returned the stranger. "It was simply
prompted by curiosity."

"Well, then, the individual in question is a man who has seen more than
fifty years--is tall, raw-boned, muscular, has a stoop in the shoulder,
a long, thin face, small eyes, and hair slightly gray."

"Has he any sons?" inquired the stranger.

"One, a youth of twenty, who bears a strong resemblance to his father."

"Daughters?"

"He has no other child."

"Then this young lady"--slightly bowing to Ella.

"Is a more distant relation--a niece," answered Ella, rising as she
spoke and disappearing from his sight.

"A beautiful creature!" said the stranger, musingly, as if to
himself--"a beautiful creature! Pardon me," added he, again addressing
Algernon; "but may I inquire concerning yourself?"

"I am a guest here, sir."

"Aha--yes; a hunter I presume?"

"I sometimes hunt."

"Pardon me again--but are there more indwellers here than you have
mentioned?"

"One, sir--the good dame of the cottage."

For a moment or two the stranger mused, as if running over in his mind
all that had been said; and then observed:

"Doubtless you think me very inquisitive; but I had a reason for all my
questions; and I thank you sincerely, sir, for your prompt replies. It
is now growing late; the sun will presently be down; and as I am a
traveler--a stranger in this region--I would rather not pursue my
journey further, providing I could be entertained here for the night."

"As to that, I am unable to answer," said Algernon; "but if you will
step within, I will make the necessary inquiries."

"Thank you," replied the stranger, with a show of cordiality; "thank
you;" and he immediately entered the cottage.

Those days, as before said, were the good old days of hospitality--and,
as far as population went, of social intercourse also--when every man's
cabin was the stranger's home, and every neighbor every neighbor's
friend. There were no distinct grades of society then as now, from which
an honest individual of moral worth must be excluded because of
poverty--a good character for upright dealing being the standard by
which all were judged; and whoever possessed this, could rank equally
with the best, though poor as the beggar Lazarus. Doubtless intellect
and education then, as well as at the present day, held in many things a
superiority over imbecility and ignorance; but there were no distinct
lines of demarcation drawn; and in the ordinary routine of intercourse
one with another, there was no superiority claimed, and none
acknowledged. And this arose, probably, from the necessity each felt
for there being a general unity--a general blending together of all
qualifications, as it were, into one body politic--by which each
individual became an individual member of the whole, perfect in his
place, and capable of supplying what another might chance to need; as
the man of education might be puny in stature and deficient of a strong
arm; the man of strong arm deficient in education; the imbecile man
might be a superior woodman--the man of intellect an inferior one:--so
that, as before remarked, each of these qualities, being essential to
perfect the whole, each one of course was called upon to exercise his
peculiar talent, and take his position on an equality with his neighbor.
There has been great change in society since then; those days of simple
equality have gone forever; but we question if the present race, with
all their privileges, with all their security, with all their means of
enjoyment, are as happy as those noble old pioneers, with all their
necessities, with all their dangers, with all their sufferings.

According, therefore, to the established custom of the early settlers,
the stranger for whom Algernon proceeded to make inquiries, was entitled
to all the rights of hospitality; and whether liked or disliked, could
not consistently be smiled away, nor frowned away, as doubtless he would
have been, had he lived in this civil, wonderworking age of lightning
and steam; and though his appearance was any thing but agreeable to Mrs.
Younker, who surveyed him through her spectacles (being a little near
sighted) from the adjoining cabin, whither Algernon had repaired to
learn her decision; and though it would prove inconvenient to herself
to grant his request; yet, as she expressed it, "He war a stranger, as
hadn't no home and didn't know whar to go to; and prehaps war hungry,
poor man; and it wouldn't be right nor Christian-like to refuse him jest
a night's lodging like;" and so the matter was settled, and Algernon was
deputed to inform him that he could stay and would be welcome to such
fare as their humble means afforded.

Some half an hour later, a loud hallooing announced the arrival of the
two Younkers with the domestic cattle--consisting of the kine and some
pet sheep which ran with them--from their labors in a distant field,
where they had been engaged in harvesting corn. A few minutes after, the
elder Younker entered the cabin, bearing upon his shoulder a rifle, from
which depended a large, fat turkey that he had shot during his absence.
With a slight but friendly nod to the stranger, he proceeded to deposit
his game on the hearth--where it was presently examined and commented on
at considerable length by the good dame--and then carefully placing his
rifle on a couple of horn hooks depending from the ceiling for the
purpose, he seated himself on a stool, his back to the wall, with the
air of one who is very much fatigued, and does not wish to mingle in
conversation of any kind.

The sun by this time was already below the horizon; twilight was fast
deepening into night; and the matron, having finished her remarks on the
turkey, and "Wondered ef sech birds wouldn't git to being scaser arter a
while, when all on, 'em war shot?" proceeded to the cow-yard, to assist
Isaac in milking; while Ella hurried hither and thither, with almost
noiseless activity, to prepare the evening repast. A bright fire was
soon kindled in the chimney, over which was suspended a kettle for
boiling water; while in front, nearly perpendicular, was placed a large
corn loaf, whose savory odor, as it began to cook, was far from being
disagreeable to the olfactory organs of the lookers on. The table, of
which we have previously given a description, was next drawn into the
middle of the apartment and covered with a home-made cloth of linen; on
which were placed a medley of dishes of various sizes and
materials--some of wood, some of pewter, some of earthern, and one of
stone--with knives and forks to correspond. Three of these dishes were
occupied--one with clean, fresh butter, another with rich old cheese,
and the third with a quantity of cold venison steak. In the course of
another half hour, the cake was baked and on the table--Isaac and his
mother had entered with the milk--the announcement was made by Ella that
all was ready; and the whole party, taking seats around the humble
board, proceeded to do justice to the fare before them.

A light, placed in the center of the table, threw its gleams upon
the faces of each, and exhibited a singular variety of expressions.
That of the stranger was downcast, sinister, and suspicious, combined
with an evident desire of appearing exactly the reverse. Occasionally,
when he thought no eye was on him, he would steal a glance at Ella;
and some times gaze steadily--like one who is resolved upon a
certain event, without being decided as to the exact manner of its
accomplishment--until he found himself observed, when his glance would
fall to his plate, or be directed to some other object, with the
seeming embarrassment of one caught in some guilty act. This was noticed
more than once by Algernon; who, perhaps, more than either of the
others, felt from the first that strong dislike, that suspicious
repugnance to the stranger, which can only be explained as one of the
mysteries of nature, whereby we are sometimes warned of whom we should
shun, as the instinct of an animal makes known to it its inveterate foe;
and though he strove to think there was nothing of evil meant by a
circumstance apparently so trifling--that the glance of the stranger was
simply one of admiration or curiosity--yet the thought that it might be
otherwise--that he might be planning something wicked to the fair being
before him--haunted his mind like some hideous vision, made him for
the time more distrustful, more watchful than ever, and was afterward
reverted to with a painful sensation. The features of Algernon also
exhibited an expression of remorse and hopeless melancholy; the reason
whereof the reader, who has now been made acquainted with the secret,
will readily understand. The face of Ella, too, was paler than
usual--more sad and thoughtful--so much so, that it was remarked by Mrs.
Younker, who immediately instituted the necessary inquiries concerning
her health, and explained to her at some length the most approved method
of curing a cold, in case that were the cause. In striking contrast to
the sober looks of the others--for Younker himself was a man who seldom
exhibited other than a sedate expression--was the general appearance and
manner of Isaac. He seemed exceedingly exhilarated in spirits, yet kept
his eyes down, and appeared at times very absent minded. Whatever his
thoughts were, it was evident they were pleasing ones; for he would
smile to himself, and occasionally display a comical nervousness, as
though he had some very important secret to make known, yet was not
ready to communicate it. This had been observed in him through the day;
and was so different from his usual manner, and so much beyond any
conjecture his mother could form of the cause, that at last her
curiosity became so excited, that to restrain it longer was like holding
down the safety-valve to an over-heated steam boiler; and, accordingly,
taking advantage of another mysterious smile, which Isaac chanced to
display while looking at a large piece of corn bread, already on its way
to his capacious jaws, she exclaimed:

"Why, what on yarth _is_ the matter with you, Isaac, that you keep a
grinning, and grinning, and fidgetting about all to yourself so much
like a plaguy nateral born fool for?"

So loudly, suddenly and unexpectedly was this question put--for all had
been silent some minutes previous--that Isaac started, blushed, dropped
the bread--already near enough to his teeth to have felt uncomfortable,
had it been capable of feeling--endeavored to catch it--blundered--and
finally upset his plate and contents into his lap, in a manner so truly
ridiculous, that Ella and Mrs. Younker, unable to restrain their mirth,
laughed heartily, while the stranger and Algernon smiled, and the stern
features of the father relaxed into an expression of quiet humor seldom
seen on his countenance.

"'Pon my word," continued Mrs. Younker, so soon as she could collect
breath enough after laughing to go on; "I do raley believe as how the
boy's ayther crazy, or in love, for sartin. What does ail ye, Isaac?--do
tell!"

"Perhaps he was thinking of his dear Peggy," said Ella, archly; who was,
by the way, very fond of teasing him whenever opportunity presented; and
could not even now, despite her previous low spirits, forbear a little
innocent raillery--her temperament being such, that wit and humor were
ever ready on the slightest provocation to take the ascendancy, as old
wine when stirred ever sends its sparkling beads upward. "I wonder,
Isaac, if you looked as amiable and interesting in the eyes of dear
Peggy, and made as graceful an appearance, when you popped the
question?"

"Why, how in the name o' all Christen nater did you find out I'd done
it?" asked Isaac, in reply; who having, meantime, regained his former
position, and restored the plate, minus some of its contents, now sat a
perfect picture of comical surprise, with his mouth slightly ajar, and
his small eyes strained to their utmost and fastened seriously upon the
querist as he awaited her answer.

"Murder will out, dear Isaac," replied Ella, with a ringing laugh; in
which she was joined by most of the others; and particularly by the
subject of the joke; who perceiving, too late for retreat, that he had
been betrayed into an acknowledgment of his secret, deemed this his
wisest course for defence.

"And so, Isaac, you have really proposed to darling Peggy, then? and we
are to have a wedding shortly?" continued his tormentor. "And pray which
did look the most foolish of the two?--or was it a drawn-game, as we
sometimes say of draughts?"

"Why," rejoined Isaac, changing color as rapidly as an aurora borealis,
and evidently much embarrassed; "I 'spect I mought as well own up,
being's I've got cotched in my own trap; and besides, it won't make no
great difference, only as I war intending it for a surprise. You see I
axed Peggy the question last night; and it's all settled; and we're
going to be married in less nor a week, ef nothing unforeseen don't
happen; and as Mr. Reynolds ar a stranger in these diggins, I thought
prehaps as how he'd like a little amusement like, and so I've fixed on
him for my groomsman."

"I am much obliged for your kind intentions, and the honor you would
confer on me," answered Reynolds, sadly; "but I am sorry to say, I shall
be under the necessity of declining your invitation; as on the morrow I
design taking a farewell leave of you all, and quitting this part of the
country forever."

Mr. Younker, his wife, and son, all started, with looks of surprise, at
this announcement, while Ella again grew deadly pale; and rising, with
some little trepidation, retired from the table. The stranger was the
only one unmoved.

"To-morrow!" ejaculated Mrs. Younker.

"Take leave o' us!" said the host.

"Quit the country forever!" repeated Isaac.

"Such, I assure you, is my determination," rejoined Algernon.

"But your wound, Mr. Reynolds?" suggested Younker.

"Is not entirely healed," returned Algernon; "yet I trust sufficiently
so to allow me to pursue my journey. The wound, as you are aware, was
only a flesh one--the ball having entered the right side, glanced on the
lower rib, and passed out nearly in front--and though very dangerous at
the time from excessive hemorrhage, has of late been rapidly healing,
and now troubles me but little if any."

"Well, now, Mr. Reynolds," rejoined Mrs. Younker, "I'm a considerable
older woman nor you ar--that is, I mean to say, I'm a much older
individule--and I 'spect I've had in my time some lettle experience
in matters that you don't know nothing about; and so you musn't go to
thinking hard o' me, ef I give you a lettle advice, and tell you to
stay right whar you ar, and not stir a single step away for three
weeks;--'cause ef you do, your wound may get rupturous agin, and in
some lone place jest carry you right straight off into the shader o'
the valley of death--as our good old Rev. Mr. Allprayer used to say,
when he wanted to comfort the sick. O, dear good man he war, Preacher
Allprayer,"--continued the voluble old lady, with a sigh, her mind now
wholly occupied with his virtues--"dear good man he war! I jest
remember--Lor bless ye, I'll never forgit it--how he come'd to me when I
war sick--with tears a running out o' his eyes like he'd been eating raw
inyuns, poor man--and told me that I war going to die right straight
away, and never need to hope to be no better; and that I'd most likely
go right straight to that orful place whar all bad folks goes to. O, the
dear man! I never could help always liking him arter that--it made me
feel so orful narvous and religious like. Why, what on yarth be you
grinning at agin, Isaac?--jest for all the world like a monkey for?"

"Nothing, mother," answered Isaac, nearly choking with smothered
laughter; "only I war jest kind o' thinking what a kind comforter Mr.
Allprayer war, to tell you you couldn't live any longer; and that when
you died you'd jest go right straight to--to--"

"Silence! you irrelevant boy, you!" (irreverent was doubtless meant)
interrupted the dame, angrily: "How dare you to go making fun o' the
pious Rev. Mr. Allprayer?--him as used to preach all Sunday long, and
pray all Sunday night, and never did nothing wrong--though he did git
turned out o' the meeting house arterward for getting drunk and
swearing; but then the poor man cried and said it were nothing but a
accident, which hadn't happened more nor ten times to him sence he'd bin
a preacher of the everlasting gospel. Thar, thar, the crazy head's a
giggling agin! I do wish, Ben, you'd see to Isaac, and make him behave
himself--for he's got so tittery like, sence he's axed Peggy, thar's no
use o' trying to do nothing with him."

"Isaac! Isaac!" said his father with a reproving glance; and, as though
that voice and look possessed a spell, the features of the young man
instantly became grave, almost solemn. Then turning to Algernon, the old
man continued: "As to leaving us, Mr. Reynolds, you of course know your
own business best, and it arn't my desire to interfere; but ef you could
put up with our humble fare, say a week or ten days longer, I think as
how it would be much better for you, and would give us a deal of
pleasure besides."

"Why, I'll jest tell you what tis," put in Isaac: "I've fixed on you for
groomsman, and I arn't a going to gin in no how; so unless you want to
quarrel; you'll have to stay; and more'n that, it's spected you'll see
to takin Ella thar; for I know she don't like to go with any o' the
fellers round here; and I shall gin out she's going with you; which may
be won't hurt your feelings none--at any rate, I know it won't hers."

At the mention of Ella, Algernon crimsoned to the eyes, and became so
exceedingly confused, that he could with difficulty stammer forth, by
way of reply, the query as to the time when the important event was
expected to take place.

"Let me see," answered Isaac, telling off the days on his fingers:
"to-morrow's Friday; then Saturday's one, Sunday's two, Monday's three,
and Tuesday's four--only four days from to-morrow morning, Mr. Reynolds."

"Then, as you so urgently insist upon it," rejoined Reynolds, "I will
postpone my departure till after the wedding."

Isaac thanked him cordially, and the father and mother looked gratified
at the result; Ella he could not see--she having withdrawn from the
table, as previously noted. Some further conversation ensued relative to
the manner in which weddings were conducted in that country, and the
design of proceeding with the one in question; but as we intend the
reader to be present at the wedding itself, we shall not detail it.
We will remark here, by the way, that the stranger seemed to take a
singular interest in all that was said concerning the residence of the
intended bride, the road the party were expected to take to reach there,
their probable number, manner of travel, and the time when they would be
likely to set forth and return. In all this it was observed by Algernon,
that whenever he asked a question direct, it was put in such a careless
manner as would lead one not otherwise suspicious to suppose him
perfectly indifferent as to whether it were answered or not; but he
somehow fancied, he scarce knew why, that there was a strong under
current to this outward seeming. And furthermore he observed, that the
stranger in general avoided putting a question at all--rather seeking
his information by conjecturing or supposing what would immediately be
contradicted or confirmed. This mode of interrogation, so closely
followed up to every particular, yet apparently with such indifference,
together with the stranger's treacherous look and several minor things
all bearing a suspicious cast, more than half convinced Algernon that
the other was a spy, and that some foul play was assuredly meditated;
though what, and to whom, or for what purpose, he was at a loss to
determine.

From the particulars of the coming wedding, the stranger, after a
little, adroitly turned the conversation upon the wound of Reynolds;
asked a number of questions, and appeared deeply interested in the whole
narration concerning it--the attack upon him by the Indians and his
providential escape through the assistance of Boone--all of which was
detailed by Isaac in his own peculiar way. From this case in particular,
the conversation gradually changed to other cases that had happened
in the vicinity; and also to the state of the country, with regard
to what it had been and now was--its settlements--its increase of
inhabitants--the many Indian invasions and massacres that had occurred
within the last five years on the borders--and the present supposed
population of the frontiers.

"As to myself," said Younker, in reply to some observation of the
stranger, "as to myself and family, we've been extremely fortunate in
'scaping the red foe--though I've bin daily fearful that when I went
away to my work in the morning, I'd may be come back agin at noon or
night and find my women folks gone, or murdered, and my cot in ashes;
but, thank the Lord! I've been so far spared sech a heart rending
sight."

"And had you no personal fears?" asked the stranger.

"I don't know's I understand you."

"Had you no fears for yourself individually?"

"Well, I can't say's I had," answered the other. "I'm an old man--or at
least I'm in my second half century--and I've so endeavored to live, as
not to fear to go at any moment when God sees fit, and by whatsomever
means he may choose to take me."

"I suppose you now consider yourself in a measure safe from Indian
encroachments?" observed the other.

"No man, stranger--I beg pardon, but I'd like to know your name!"

"Certainly, sir," answered the other, a little embarrassed. "My name
is--is--Williams."

"Thank you! No man, Mr. Williams, ar justified in considering himself
safe from Injens, in a country like this; but to tell the truth, I don't
feel so fearful of 'em, as when I first come out here with my family,
two year ago; though thar's no telling what may hap in the course o' two
year more."

"And did you venture here at once on your arrival in this western
country?"

"Not exactly; for the land laws o' Virginna, passed the year I come out,
made it rayther difficult gitting hold o' land, about which thar war a
great deal o' disputing; and which war kept up till the commissioners
came out and settled the matter; and so while this war agitating, I took
my family to Boonesborough, whar they remained, excepting Isaac, who
went along with me, until we'd got all matters fixed for moving 'em
here. But as you've axed considerable many questions, pray may I know ef
you're from the east?--And ef so, what news thar is with respect to this
here war with the Britishers?" "Why," replied the other, hesitatingly,
"though not strictly speaking from the east, yet I've been eastward the
past season, and have some news of the war; and, as far as I am able to
judge, think it will result in the total subjugation of the colonies."

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Younker.

"Heaven forefend!" said Reynolds, with a start.

"Lord presarve us!--marsy on us!" cried Mrs. Younker, with vehemence.
"What on yarth shall we do, ef them plaguy Britishers git uppermost?
They'll take away all our lands, for sartin!--and Ben's bin and bought
four hundred acres, poor man, at forty cents a acre, under the new laws
of Varginna[4]--which comes to one hundred and sixty dollars, hard
money; and now maybe he'll have to lose it all, and not git nothing for
it; and then what in the name o' the whole univarsal creation will
become on us?"

"Well, well, Dorothy--don't fret about it till it happens--thar'll be
plenty o' time then," said Younker, gravely; "and perhaps it won't
happen at all."

"Don't talk to me about fretting, Mr. Younker!" rejoined the now
irritated dame, a la Caudle: "I reckon I don't fret no easier nor you
do, nor half so much nother; but I'd like to know who wouldn't fret,
when they know they're going to lose all thar property by them thar good
for nothing red-coated Britishers, who I do believe is jest as mean as
Injens, and they're too mean to live, that's sartin. Fret, indeed! I
reckon it wouldn't do for you to be letting Preacher Allprayer hear ye
say so; for he said one time with his own mouth--and to me too, mind
that!--that I'd got the bestest disposition in the whole universal yarth
o' creation under the sun!" and the voluble old lady paused to take
breath.

"It's my opine, that ef Preacher Allprayer had lived with you as long as
I have, he wouldn't repeat that thar sentence under oath," returned
Younker, quietly. Then perceiving that a storm was brewing, he hastened
to change the conversation, by addressing the stranger: "What cause have
you, Mr. Williams, for speaking so discourageous o' the war?"

"The failure of the American arms in battle, the weakness of their
resources, and the strength of their opponents," replied the other. "I
presume you have heard of the battles of Guilford and Camden, in both of
which General Greene was defeated?"

"General _Gates_ commanded at Camden, sir!" interposed Reynolds somewhat
haughtily.

"I beg pardon, sir!" retorted the other, in a sneering, sarcastic tone;
"but I was speaking of the defeat of General _Greene!_"

"At Camden?"

"At Camden, sir!"

"I am sorry you are no better informed," rejoined Algernon, with
flashing eyes. "I repeat that General Gates commanded at Camden; and as,
unfortunately, I chanced to be in the fight, I claim the privilege of
being positive."

"The youth is doubtless speaking of the battle fought a year or two
ago," rejoined Williams, turning to Younker, in a manner the most
insulting to Reynolds; who clenched his hand, and pressed his nether lip
with his teeth until the blood sprang through, but said nothing. "I have
reference to the two engagements which took place at Guilford Court
House and Camden, in March and April last; whereby, as I said before,
General Greene, who commanded at both, was twice defeated, and retreated
with great loss; although in the former action his forces outnumbered
those of his opponent, Lord Cornwallis, as two to one; and in the
latter, far exceeded those of Lord Rawdon, his opponent also."

"This is indeed startling news," answered Younker, "and I'm fearful o'
the result!"

"You may depend on't, them thar four-hundred acres is all gone clean to
smash," observed Mrs. Younker; "and its my opine, Ben, you'd better sell
right straight out immediately, afore the news gits about any further,
for fear o' accidents and them things."

"I suppose in reality the present war with England does not trouble you
here?" said the stranger, interrogatively.

"Why not in reality," answered Younker, "only so far as the Britishers
and thar accursed renegade agents set on the Injens agin us."

"To what renegade agents do you allude?" inquired the other, with a
degree of interest he had not before exhibited.

"Why, to the Girtys, McKee, and Elliot--and perticularly to that thar
scoundrel, Simon Girty the worst o' all on 'em."

"Ha! Simon Girty," said the other, with a slight start and change of
countenance; "what know you of him?"

"Nothing that's good, you may be sartin, and every thing that's evil.
He's leagued with the Injens, purposely to excite 'em agin his own white
brethren--to have them murder women and children, that he may feast his
eyes on thar innocent blood. I'm not given to be o' a revengeful speret,
Mr. Williams; but I never think o' that thar renegade, Simon Girty, but
I inwardly pray for the curse o' an avenging God to light upon him; and
come it will, ayther soon or late, you may depend on't!"

"Amen to that thar sentiment!" responded the dame; while the stranger
became very much agitated, on account, as he said, of a violent pain in
his side, to which he was subject.

Mrs. Younker was on the point of bringing down her invectives on the
head of the renegade in a speech of some considerable length, when,
perceiving the distressful look of the other, the kind-hearted woman
suddenly forgot her animosity in sympathy for her suffering guest; and
forthwith proceeded, with all the eloquence of which she was master, to
recommend a certain essence that chanced to be in the house, as a never
failing remedy for all griping and other pains with which unfortunate
humanity was oftentimes afflicted.

"It's one o' the bestest things as ever war invented," continued the
good woman, in her eulogy of the article in question; "and has did more
good in it's time, nor all the doctors on the univarsal yarth put
together could do, in the way of curing sprains, and bruises, and
stomach-pains, and them things; and ef you don't believe it, Mr.
Williams, you can see it all in print, ef you can read, and I spect you
can, on the bottle itself, jest as plain as any thing; and besides, I've
got the testament (testimony, doubtless) of the good and pious Rev. Mr.
Allprayer, who tuk some on't once for the gout; and he said as how the
contracting (counteracting?) pains war so many, that he didn't no more
feel the gout for a long time to come afterwards. I've no doubt it'll
sarve you jest the same way, and I'll go and fetch it right straight
off."

But the mission of the good woman was prevented by the complainant's
insisting that he was much better, would presently be well, and wished
to retire for the night. His request was granted--but little more was
said--and all shortly after betook themselves to bed--to think, or
sleep, or dream, as the case might be with each.

When the family arose on the following morning, they found the stranger
had departed; but when or whither none could tell.


[Footnote 4: It may be proper to note here, for the benefit of those
unfamiliar with the early history of Kentucky, that, at the period of
which we write, it was claimed and held by Virginia as a portion of her
territory, for which she legislated accordingly.]




CHAPTER V.

THE WEDDING.


The year 1781 was remarkable in the history of Kentucky for the immense
emigration from the east into its territory of unmarried females. It
appears, in looking over the records of the time, as though some mighty
barrier had hitherto kept them in check, which, being removed, allowed
them to rush forward in overwhelming force, like to the pent up waters
of some stream when its obstruction suddenly gives way. Whatever this
hitherto obstruction or barrier may have been, we do not pretend to say;
but the fact itself we record as we find it chronicled in history. The
result of this influx of females into a region almost wholly populated
by the opposite sex was one, as will readily be perceived, of great
importance to the well-being of the embryo state; and was duly
celebrated by the rising generation, in a general jubilee of
marriages--one following fast upon another, like drops of rain in a
genial summer shower; and, to extend the simile, with an effect by no
means less productive of fertility, in a long run, to the country round
about.

A wedding in those days was an affair of great importance to the
neighborhood of its location; and was looked forward to by old and
young--the latter in particular--as a grand holiday of feasting,
dancing, and general rejoicing. Nor can this be wondered at, when we
take into consideration the fact, that, in the early settlement of the
country, a wedding was almost the only gathering, as they were called,
which was not accompanied with some laborious employment--such as
harvesting, log-rolling, and the like. Occasionally there might be some
dissatisfaction felt and expressed by some, who, from some cause or
another, chanced to be left out of the almost general invitation; in
which case a special resentment not unfrequently followed. This was
accomplished in various ways--sometimes by felling trees, or placing
other obstacles across some narrow portion of the horse-path by which
the wedding party were advancing, thereby causing considerable delay for
their removal--sometimes by ambushing and firing a volley of blank
cartridges at the party in question, so as to frighten the horses, by
which means more or less were frequently injured, by being thrown to the
ground--and sometimes by shearing the manes and tails of the horses
themselves, while their owners were being occupied with the feast, and
the dance, and the gay carousal of the occasion. But to proceed.

The morning of the day set apart by Isaac Younker, as the one which was
to see him duly united to Peggy Wilson, came in due time--as many an
important one has both before and since--without one visible sign in the
heavens, or otherwise, to denote that any thing remarkable was about to
happen. In fact it might be put down to the reverse of all this; for,
unlike the generality of wished-for days, it was exceedingly fair,
balmy, and beautiful. The sun rose at the expected time, large and red,
and saluted the hills and tree-tops, and anon the vales, with a smiling
light, as though he felt exceedingly happy to greet them again after a
calm night's repose. The dew sparkled on blade and leaf, as if with
delight at his appearance; a few flowers modestly uncovered their
blooming heads; a few warblers of the forest--for although autumn had
nearly half advanced, some had delayed their journey to the sunny
south--sung gleesome songs; and altogether the morning in question was
really a delightful one.

The family of the Younkers were stirring betimes, making the necessary
preparations for their departure, and looking out for the expected
guests; who, according to the custom of the period, first assembled at
the residence of the groom, to proceed thence in company with him to
the mansion of the bride, which place they must always reach in time to
have the ceremony performed before partaking of the dinner prepared for
the occasion. For this purpose, as the distance to the house of the fair
intended was not unfrequently considerable, they generally came at an
early hour; and as Isaac's fair Peggy was not likely to be visible short
of a ten miles' ride, his companions for the journey accordingly began
to appear in couples before his father's dwelling, ere the sun was an
hour above the hills.

Isaac, on the present occasion, stood ready to receive them as they
rode up, arrayed in his wedding garments; which--save a few trifling
exceptions in some minor articles, and the addition of five or six metal
buttons displayed on his hunting frock in a very singular manner, and
a couple of knee buckles, all old family relics--presented the same
appearance as those worn by him during his ordinary labors. And this,
by the way, exhibits another feature of the extreme simplicity of the
time--and one too highly praise-worthy--when the individual was sought
for himself alone, and not for the tinsel gew-gaws, comparatively
speaking, he might chance to exhibit. Necessity forced all to be plain
and substantial in the matter of dress; and consequently comfort and
convenience were looked to, rather than ostentatious display. All at
that day were habited much alike--so that a description of the costume
of one of either sex, as in the case of their habitations, previously
noted, would describe that of a whole community.

"Let the reader," says a historian, in speaking of the manners and dress
of those noble pioneers, "imagine an assemblage of people, without a
store, tailor, or mantuamaker within an hundred miles; and an assemblage
of horses, without a blacksmith or saddler within an equal distance. The
gentlemen dressed in shoepacks, moccasins, leather breeches, leggins,
linsey hunting-shirts, and all home-made. The ladies dressed in linsey
petticoats, and linsey or linen bed-gowns, coarse shoes, stockings,
handkerchiefs, and buckskin gloves, if any. If there were any buckles,
rings, buttons or ruffles, they were the relics of old times--family
pieces from parents or grandparents. The horses were caparisoned with
old saddles, old bridles or halters, and packsaddles, with a bag or
blanket thrown over them--a rope or string as often constituting the
girth as a piece of leather."

But to our story:

Since leaving Isaac in the preceding chapter, after his important
announcement, as therein recorded, he had been by no means idle. The two
days immediately following had been spent by him in riding post-haste
through the surrounding country, to inform his friends that he was on
the point of becoming a married man, and require their presence at the
appointed hour and place of ceremony. The rest of the time (Sunday of
course exempted) had been carefully husbanded by him in making all due
preparation; and he now stood before his expected guests with the air
one, to use a common phrase, who has not been caught napping. For each,
as they rode up, he had a friendly salutation and familiar word; and
inviting them to dismount and enter, until the whole number should be
arrived, he led away and secured their horses to the neighboring trees.

In due time the last couple made their appearance; and having partaken
of some refreshment, which was highly recommended and presented by Mrs.
Younker herself--whose tongue, by the way, had seen no rest for at least
two hours--the whole party, in gleeful spirits, prepared to mount and
set forth on their journey. Even Algernon, as he assisted the graceful
Ella into her saddle, and then sprung lightly himself upon the back of
a high mettled, beautiful steed by her side, could not avoid exhibiting
a look of cheerfulness, almost gaiety, in striking contrast to his
habitual gloom. And this too produced a like effect upon Ella; who,
mounted upon a fine spirited, noble animal, and displaying all the ease
and grace of an accomplished rider, with her flushed cheek and sparkling
eyes, seemed the personification of loveliness. Her dress was
exceedingly neat, of the fashion and quality worn in the east--being one
she had brought with her on her removal hither. A neat hood, to which
was attached a green veil, now thrown carelessly back and floating down
behind, covered her head and partially concealed a profusion of
beautiful ringlets.

The company at length being all mounted, Isaac took it upon himself to
lead the way; for the reason, as he alleged, that having traveled the
ground oftener than either of the others, he of course knew the best and
nearest path to the abode of Peggy Wilson. Algernon as groomsman rode
next with Ella; followed in turn by the father and mother of the groom;
and then in double file by the whole company--talking, laughing and full
of glee--to the number of some fifteen couples. Turning the corner of
the house, they forded the streamlet previously mentioned, crossed the
valley, and ascended by a narrow horse-path the opposite hill, leaving
the canebrake some distance away to the left.

In those days a road--or at least such a highway as we of the present
so denominate--was a something unknown; a few horse-paths, so termed,
traversing the country in various directions--narrow, oftentimes
obstructed, and sometimes dangerous. Over one of this latter class, as
before said, our wedding party now wended their way, in high spirits;
sometimes riding at a brisk trot or gallop, where their course lay open
and clear, sometimes walking their horses very slow, in single file,
where the path, winding across craggy bluffs, among rocks and trees,
became very narrow and unsafe. Twice, on this latter account, did the
gentlemen of the company dismount and lead the horses of their partners
for some considerable distance past the stony and dangerous defile, by
which means all accidents were avoided. When they had reached within
a mile of their destination, Isaac drew rein and all came to a halt.
Turning upon his saddle, with the air of a commander of some important
expedition, he sang out in a loud, shrill voice;

"Well, boys and gals, here we ar--this here's the spot--who's agoing to
run for the bottle?"

"Whoop! yaho! give way thar!" was the answer from a couple of voices in
the rear; and at the same instant, two young men, separating from their
partners, came bounding forward, on two blood horses, at break-neck
speed.

"Stop!" thundered Isaac, as they came tearing up to where he was sitting
astride his beast; and obedient to his command, the two individuals in
question reined in their impatient steeds, hard abreast, close by his
side. "Well, ef you arn't a couple o' beauties, then jest put it down
that I don't know," continued Isaac, eying them coolly from head to
heel, with a quizzical, comical look. "You'd both on ye average two
decent looking fellars--for whar Seth Stokes is too long, Sam Switcher
arn't long enough; and whar Sam Switcher's got too much, Seth Stokes
han't got nothing."

A roar of laughter, in which both Seth and Sam joined, followed Isaac's
closing remarks; for besides partaking of the ludicrous, none could deny
that his description was correct. The two worthies in question were
certainly two very singular looking beings to be brought together for a
race, and presented a most laughable appearance. The one bearing the
poetical appellation of Seth Stokes, was long, thin and bony, with sharp
features, and legs that reminded one of a carpenter's compass; while his
companion, Sam Switcher, was round-favored, short in limbs and stature,
and fat almost to corpulency--thus forming a contrast to the other of
the most striking kind.

As soon as the laugh at their expense had subsided, Isaac again sang
out: "Squar your hosses' heads thar--get ready, boys--now clippet, and
don't keep us long waiting the bottle! for I reckon as how some on us
is gitting dry. Yehep! yahoa!" and ere the sound of his voice had died
away, down came the switches, accompanied by a terrible yell, and off
went horses and bottle-riders--over stumps, logs and rocks--past trees
and brush, and whatever obstacle might lie in their course--with a speed
that threatened them with death at every moment; while the others
remained quietly seated on their ponies, enjoying the sport, and
sometimes shouting after them such words of encouragement as, "Go it,
Seth!" "Up to him, Sammy!" "Pull up, legs!" "Jump it, fatty!" so long as
the racers were in sight.

This race for the bottle, as it was called, was a peculiar feature for
displaying the horsemanship and hardy recklessness of the early
settlers; as a more dangerous one, to both horse and rider, could not
well be imagined. That the reader may form a clear conception of what it
was in reality--and also to destroy the idea if any such may have been
formed, that it existed only in our imagination--we shall take the
liberty of giving a short extract from the author already quoted. In
speaking of the foregoing, he says:

"The worse the path--the more logs, brush, and deep hollows, the
better--as these obstacles afforded an opportunity for the greater
display of intrepidity and horsemanship. The English fox-chase, in point
of danger to the riders and their horses, is nothing to this race for
the bottle. The start was announced by an Indian yell; when logs, brush,
muddy hollows, hill and glen, were speedily passed by the rival ponies.
The bottle was always filled for the occasion, so that there was no use
for judges; for the first who reached the door was presented with the
prize, with which he returned in triumph to the company. On approaching
them, he announced his victory over his rival by a shrill whoop. At the
head of the troop he gave the bottle first to the groom and his
attendants, and then to each pair in succession to the rear of the line,
giving each a drachm; and then putting the bottle in the bosom of his
hunting shirt, took his station in the company."

In something like a quarter of an hour, the clatter of horses' feet was
heard by the company, the rival-racers presently appeared in sight, and
all became anxious to learn who was the successful runner. They were not
long kept in suspense; for advancing at a fast gallop, the riders were,
soon within speaking distance; when a loud, shrill whoop from Seth
Stokes, announced that in this case success had at least been with the
long, if not with the strong.

"How's this, Sammy?" cried a dozen voices, as the rivals rode up to the
party.

"I don't exactly know," answered the individual addressed, shaking his
head with a serio-comical expression; "but stifle me with the night-mar,
if ever I'm cotched riding a race with death on horseback agin."

This allusion to the bony appearance of his companion, caused a roar
of laughter at the expense of the winner, in which he good-humoredly
joined. According to custom, as previously mentioned, the bottle was
presented first to Isaac, and then passed in regular order through
the lines--Algernon and Ella merely putting it to their lips without
drinking. When this ceremony was over, the party resumed their
journey--no less merry on account of the whiskey--and by half an hour
past eleven o'clock, all drew rein before the door of Abijah Wilson,
the father of the fair intended.

Here another party, the friends of the bride, were waiting to receive
them; and after some few introductions, much shaking of hands, and other
demonstrations of joy, the announcement was made, that the squire was
ready to perform the ceremony. Instantly all talking was suspended, the
company proceeded to form into a half circle, and then all became silent
and solemn as the house of death. Isaac presently appeared from behind a
coarse, temporary screen of cloth, hung up for the occasion--the house
having no division save a chamber over head--leading the blushing Peggy
by the hand, (a rosy cheeked, buxom lass of eighteen) both looking as
frightened and foolish as could reasonably be expected. Behind the bride
and groom came Algernon, in company with a dark-eyed, pretty brunette,
who performed the part of bridesmaid. Taking their several places, the
Squire, as he was termed--a man of forty--stepped forward, and said a
few words concerning the importance of the present event, asked the
necessary questions, joined their hands, and pronounced them man and
wife. Then followed the usual amount of congratulations, good wishes for
the future happiness of the married pair, kissing of the bride, and so
forth, in all of which proceedings they differed not materially from
their successors of the present day.

About half an hour from the close of the ceremony, the guests were
invited to partake of a sumptuous dinner, prepared expressly for the
occasion. It was placed on rough tables made of large slabs, supported
by small, round legs, set in auger holes; and though there was a
scantiness of dishes--and these in the main consisting of a few
pewter-plates, several wooden trenchers, with spoons of like material,
interspersed with some of horn--and though the scarcity of knives
required many of the gentlemen to make use of those carried in their
belts--yet the food itself was such as might have rejoiced an epicure.
It consisted of beef, roasted and boiled--pork, roasted and
fried--together with chicken, turkey, partridge, and venison--well
flanked on every side by bread, butter, and cheese, potatoes, cabbage,
and various other vegetables. That it was both acceptable and palatable,
was sufficiently proved by the hearty, joyous manner, in which each
individual performed his or her part, and the rapidity with which it
disappeared. The dessert was composed of two or three kinds of pies and
puddings, washed down (at least by those who chose so to do) with
whiskey. Great hilarity prevailed--particularly after the introduction
of the bottle. Immediately dinner was over, the tables were removed, the
fiddler was called for, and the dance commenced, which was to last till
the following morning. The dance was opened by Isaac and the bridesmaid,
with another couple--beginning with a square four, and ending with what
was termed a jig. From this time forth, until the party separated, the
poor fiddler experienced but little relaxation or comfort--unless in
being encouraged, occasionally, by a refreshing salute from the lips of
Black Betty; a being of no greater intellect, reader, than a bottle of
whiskey.

Some two hours after dinner, the father and mother of Isaac announced
their intention of forthwith returning home; and, although seriously
pressed to tarry longer, shortly after took their leave of the
company--Mrs. Younker adding, as a farewell speech, "That she hoped to
gracious Peggy'd jest make Isaac as good a wife nor she had Ben, and
then thar wouldn't never be no need o' having trouble;" and wound up by
quoting the Rev. Mr. Allprayer as the best authority on the subject.
Younker stood by her side, calmly heard her through, and then shrugging
his shoulders with a very significant expression, walked away without
saying a word, to the great amusement of the whole assemblage.

As to Algernon, he seemed to take no delight in what was going forward;
and though he participated somewhat in the dance, yet it was evident to
all observers that his mind went not with his body, and that what he did
was done more with a design of concealing his real feelings, than for
any amusement it afforded himself. When not occupied in this manner, or
in conversation, he would steal away, seat himself where he was least
likely to be observed, and fall into a gloomy, abstracted mood; from
which, when suddenly roused by some loud peal of laughter, or by the
touch and voice of some person near, he would sometimes start and look
around as one just awakened from a frightful vision. This gloomy
abstraction, too, appeared to grow upon him more and more, as the day
settled into night and the night wore on, as though he felt some dreaded
calamity had been hanging over, and was now about to fall upon him. So
apparent was this toward the last, that even the most careless began to
observe, and make remarks, and ask questions concerning him; and some
even proceeded to inquire of him regarding the state of his health. His
answers to all interrogatives now became so brief and abrupt, that but
few ventured to address him the second time. Whatever the cause of his
present gloomy state of mind, it was evidently not the ordinary one--at
least not wholly that--for never before had Ella (who was in the habit,
since their acquaintance, of observing him narrowly) seen him in such a
mood as now. It was, perhaps, one of those strange mental foresights,
peculiar to certain temperaments, whereby the individual is sometimes
warned of impending danger, and feels oppressed by a weight of
despondency impossible to shake off.

This serious change in the appearance of Algernon, was not without its
effect upon Ella. Naturally of a tender, affectionate, and sympathetic
disposition, she could not feel at ease when another was suffering, and
particularly when that other was one standing so high in her estimation
as Algernon Reynolds. Naturally, too, possessing light and buoyant
spirits--fond of gaiety where all were gay--she exhibited on the present
occasion the effect of two strong but counteracting passions. Her
features, if we may be allowed the comparison, were like the noon-day
heavens, when filled with the broken clouds of a passing storm. Now all
would be bright and cheerful, and the sun of mirth would sparkle in her
eyes; and anon some dark cloud of dejection would sweep along, shut
out the merry light, and cast its shadow drearily over the whole
countenance,--or, to use language without simile, she would one moment
be merry and another sad. Toward the last, however, the latter feeling
gained the ascendancy; she appeared to take no further share in the
merriment of the dance; and had any watched her closely, they might
have guessed the cause, from the manner in which she from time to time
gazed at the pale face of Algernon.

Meantime the dance went bravely on, Black Betty circulated somewhat
freely, and the mirth of the revelers grew more and more boisterous.
Taking advantage of a slight cessation in the general hilarity, about
nine o'clock in the evening, and while the fiddler with some of the
party were engaged in partaking of refreshment, Seth Stokes, encouraged
doubtless by the inspiration he had received from the whiskey, stepped
boldly into the middle of the apartment with the bottle in his hand, and
said:

"Jest allow me, my jollies, to give a toast."

"Harken all! A toast--a toast--from the long man o' the bony frame!"
cried the voice of Sam Switcher. A laugh, and then silence followed.

"Here's to--to Isaac and Peggy Younker--two beauties!" continued Seth.
"May thar union be duly acknowledged by the rising generation o' old
Kaintuck;" and the speaker gravely proceeded to drink.

"Bravo! bravo!" cried a dozen voices, with a merry shout, accompanied
with great clapping of bands; while Isaac, who was sitting by his new
wife, arose, blushed, bowed rather awkwardly, and then sat down again.

"Isaac! Isaac!--A toast from Isaac!" shouted a chorus of voices.

Isaac at first looked very much confused--scratched his head and twisted
around in a very fidgetty manner,--but presently his countenance
flushed, and a smile of triumph crossing his sharp features, announced
that he had been suddenly favored with an idea apropos. This was
instantly perceived by some of the wags standing near, one of whom
exclaimed:

"I see it--it's coming!"

"He's got it!" said a second.

"I knew it--I'd ha' bet a bar-skin he'd fetch it," cried a third.

"Out with it, Ike, afore you forget it," shouted the fourth.

"Hold your jabbering tongues--!" cried Isaac, in vexation. "You're
enough to bother a feller to death. I'd like to see some o' the rest on
ye cramped up fur a toast, jest to see how _you'd_ feel with all on 'em
hollering like." A hearty laugh at his expense was all the sympathy poor
Isaac received.

"Give us the bottle!" resumed Isaac. "Now here goes," continued he,
rising and holding Black Betty by the neck. "Here's to the gals o' old
Kaintuck--Heaven bless 'em! May they bloom like clover heads, be
plentier nor bar-skins, and follow the example o' Peggy, every mother's
daughter on 'em!--hooray!" And having drank, the speaker resumed his
seat, amid roars of laughter and three rounds of applause.

By the time this mirth had subsided, the fiddler struck up, and the
dance again went on as before. Some two hours later the bridesmaid, with
two or three others, managed to steal away the bride unobserved; and
proceeding to a ladder at one end of the apartment, ascended to the
chamber above, and saw her safely lodged in bed. In the course of
another half hour the same number of gentlemen performed a like service
for Isaac--such being customary at all weddings of that period.

During the night Black Betty, in company with more substantial
refreshment, was sent up to the newly married pair some two or three
times; and always returned (Black Betty we mean) considerable lighter
than she went; thus proving, that if lovers can live on air, the married
ones do not always partake of things less spiritual. About three o'clock
in the morning, Algernon and Ella took leave of the company and set out
upon their return--he pleading illness as an apology for withdrawing
thus early. The remainder of the party keep together until five, when
they gradually began to separate; and by six the dancing had ceased, and
the greater portion of them had taken their departure. Thus ended the
wedding of Isaac Younker--a fair specimen, by the way, of a backwood's
wedding in the early settlement of the west.




CHAPTER VI.

THE PRESENTIMENT.


Deep and gloomy were the meditations of Algernon Reynolds, as, in
company with Ella Barnwell, he rode slowly along the narrow path which
he had traversed, if not with buoyant, at least with far lighter
spirits than now, the morning before. From some, latent cause, he felt
oppressed with a weight of despondency, as previously mentioned, that
served to prostrate in a measure both his mental powers and physical
system. He felt, though he could give no reason why, that some calamity
was about to befall himself and the fair being by his side; and he
strove to arouse himself and shake off the gloomy thoughts; but if he
succeeded, it was only momentary, and they would again rush back with an
increased power. He had been subject, since his unfortunate quarrel with
his cousin, to gloomy reveries and depressions of spirits--but never
before had he felt exactly as now; and though in all former cases the
event referred to had been the cause of his sad abstractions, yet in the
present instance it scarcely held a place in his thoughts. Could it be a
presentiment, he asked himself, sent to warn him of danger and prepare
him to meet it? But the question he could not answer.

The night, or rather the morning, though clear overhead, was uncommonly
dark; and the stars, what few could be discerned, shed only pale, faint
gleams, as though their lights were about to be extinguished. For some
time both Algernon and Ella continued their journey without exchanging a
syllable--she too, as well as himself, being deeply absorbed in no very
pleasant reflections. She thought of him, of his hard fate, to meet with
so many bitter disappointments at an age so young; and at last, for no
premeditated, no intentional crime, be forced to fly from home and
friends, and all he held dear, to wander in a far off land, among
strangers--or worse, among the solitudes of the wilderness--exposed to a
thousand dangers from wild savage beasts, and wilder and more savage
human beings; and perhaps, withal, be branded as a felon and fugitive
from justice. She thought what must be his feelings, his sense of utter
desolation, with none around to sympathize--no sweet being by his side
to whisper a single word of encouragement and hope; or, should the worst
prove true, to share his painful lot, and endeavor to render less
burdensome his remorseful thoughts, by smiles of endearment and looks of
love. She thought, too, that to-morrow--perhaps today--he would take his
departure, peradventure never to behold her again; and this was the
saddest of the train. Until she saw him, Ella had never known what it
was to love--perchance she did not now--but at least she had experienced
those fluttering sensations, those deep and strange emotions, those
involuntary yearnings of the heart toward some object in his presence,
that aching void in his absence, which the more experienced would
doubtless put down to that cause, and which no other being had ever even
for a moment awakened in her breast. For something like half an hour the
two rode on together, buried in their own sad reflections, when Ella
broke the silence, by saying, in a low, touching voice:

"You seem sad to-night, Algernon."

Algernon started, sighed heavily, and turning slightly on his saddle,
said: "I am sad, Ella--very, very sad."

"May I ask the cause?" rejoined Ella, gently.

"Doubtless you will think it strange, Ella, but the cause I believe to
have originated in a waking vision or presentiment."

"That does seem strange!" observed Ella, in return.

"Did it never strike you, dear Ella, that we are all strange beings,
subject to strange influences, and destined, many of us, to strange
ends?" inquired Reynolds, solemnly.

"Perhaps I do not understand you," replied Ella; "but with regard to
destiny, I am inclined to think that we in a measure shape our own. As
to our being strange, there are many things relating to us that we may
not understand, and therefore look upon them in the light of which you
speak."

"Are there any we do understand, Ella?" rejoined Algernon. "When I say
understand, I mean the word to be used in its minutest and broadest
sense. You say there are many things we may not understand concerning
ourselves--what ones, I pray you, do we fully comprehend? We are here
upon the earth--so much we know. We shall die and pass away--so much we
know also. But how came we here, and why? How do we exist? How do we
think, reason, speak, feel, move, see, hear, smell, taste? All these
we do, we know; but yet not one--not a single one of them can we
comprehend. You wish to raise your hand; and forthwith, by some
extraordinary power--extraordinary because you cannot tell where it is,
nor how it is--you raise it. Why cannot a dead person do the same?
Strange question you will say to yourself with a smile--but one easily
answered! Why, because in such a person life is extinct--there is no
vital principle--the heart is stopped--the blood has ceased to flow
in its regular channels! Ay! but let me ask you _why_ that life is
extinct?--why that breath has stopped?--and why that blood has ceased
to flow? There was just the same amount of air when the person died as
before! There were the same ingredients still left to stimulate that
blood to action! Then wherefore should both cease?--and with them the
power of thought, reason, speech, and all the other senses? It was not
by a design of the individual himself; for he strove to his utmost to
breathe longer; he was not ready to die--he did not want to quit this
earth so soon; and yet with all his efforts to the contrary, reason
fled, the breath stopped, the blood ceased, the limbs became palsied and
cold, and corruption, decay and dust stood ready to follow. Now why was
this? There is but one answer: 'God willed it!' If then one question
resolves itself into one answer,--'the will of God'--so may all of
the same species; and we come out, after a long train of analytical
reasoning, exactly where we started--with this difference--that when we
set out, we believed in being able to explain the wherefore; but when we
came to the end, we could only assert it as a wonderful fact, whereof
not a single iota could we understand."

Algernon spoke in a clear, distinct, earnest tone--in a manner that
showed the subject was not new to his thoughts; and after a short pause,
during which Ella made no reply, he again proceeded.

"In this grand organ of man--where all things are strange and
incomprehensible--to me the combination of the physical and mental is
strangest of all. The soul and the body are united and yet divided. Each
is distinct from and acts without the other at times, and yet both act
in concert with a wonderful power. The soul plans and the body executes.
The body exercises the soul--the soul the body. The one is visible--the
other invisible; the one is mortal--the other immortal. Now why do they
act together here? Why was not each placed in its separate sphere of
action? Again: What is the soul? Men tell us it is a spirit. What is a
spirit? An invisible something that never dies. Who can comprehend it?
None. Whither does it go when separated forever from the body? None can
answer, save in language of Scripture: 'It returns to God who gave it.'"

"I have never heard the proposition advanced by another," continued
Algernon, after another slight pause, "but I have sometimes thought
myself, that the soul departs from the body, for a brief season, and
wanders at will among scenes either near or remote, and returns with
its impressions, either clouded or clear, to communicate them to the
corporeal or not, as the case may be: hence dreams or visions, and
strong impressions when we wake, that something bright and good has
refreshed our sleep, or something dark and evil has made it troubled and
feverish. Again I have sometimes thought that this soul--this invisible
and immortal something within us--has power at times to look into the
future, and see events about to transpire; which events being sometimes
of a dark and terrible nature, leave upon it like impressions; and hence
gloomy and melancholy forebodings. This may be all sophistry--as much of
our better reasoning on things we know nothing about often is--but if it
be true, then may I trust to account for my present sadness."

"Have you really, then, sad forebodings?" inquired Ella, quickly and
earnestly.

"Against my will and sober reason, dear Ella, I must own I have.
Perchance, however, the feeling was only called up by a train of
melancholy meditations. While sitting there to-night, gazing upon
the many bounding forms--some full of beauty and grace, and some of
strength--noting their joyous faces, and listening occasionally to the
lightsome jest, and merry, ringing laugh--I could not avoid contrasting
with the present the time when I was as happy and full full of mirth as
they. I pictured to myself how they would stare and shudder and draw
away from me, did they know my hand was stained with the blood of my
own kin. Then I began, involuntarily as it were, to picture to myself
the fate of each; and they came up before me in the form of a vision,
(though if such, it was a waking one) but in regular order; and I saw
them pass on one after another--some gliding smoothly down the stream of
time to old age--some wretched and crippled, groping their way along
over barren wastes, without water or food, though nearly dying for the
want of both--some wading through streams of blood, with fierce and
angry looks--and some with pale faces, red eyes, and hollow cheeks,
roving amid coffins, sepulchres and bones; but of all, the very fewest
number happy."

"Oh! it was an awful vision!" exclaimed Ella, with a shudder.

"It was awful enough," rejoined Algernon; "and despite of me, it made me
more and more sad as I thought upon it. Could it indeed be a dream? But
no! I was--seemingly at least--as wide awake and conscious as at the
present moment. I saw the dance going on as ever--I saw the merry
smiles, and heard the jest and laugh as before. Could it be some strange
hallucination of the brain--some wild imagining--caused by my previous
exercise and over heat? I pondered upon it long and seriously, but could
not determine. Suddenly--I know not how nor why--that ill-looking
stranger who lodged one night at your uncle's, and departed so
mysteriously, came up in my mind; and almost at the same moment, I
fancied myself riding with you, dear Ella, through a dark and lonely
wood--when all of a sudden there came a fierce yell--several dark,
hideous forms, with him among them, swam around me--I heard you shriek
for aid--and then all became darkness and confusion; from which I was
aroused by some one inquiring if I were ill? What I answered I know not;
but the querist immediately took his leave."

"It all seems very strange, Algernon," observed Ella, thoughtfully; "but
it was probably nothing more than a feverish dream, brought about by
your exercise acting too suddenly and powerfully upon your nervous
system, which doubtless has not as yet recovered from the prostration
caused by your wound."

"So I tried to think, dear Ella," returned Algernon, with a sigh; "but
I have not even yet been able to shake off the gloomy impression, that,
whatever the cause, it was sent as a warning of danger. But I am
foolish, perhaps, to think as I do; and so let us change the subject.
You spoke a few moments since of destiny. You said, if I mistake not,
you believed each individual capable of shaping his own."

"I did," answered Ella; "with the exception, that I qualified it by
saying in a measure. No person, I think, has the power of moulding
himself to an end which is contrary to the law of nature and his own
physical organization; but at the same time he has many ways, some good
and some evil, left open for him to choose; else he were not a free
agent."

"Ay," rejoined Algernon, "by-paths all to the same great end. I look
upon every one here, Ella, as a traveler placed upon the great highway
called destiny--with a secret power within that impels him forward, but
allows no pause nor retrograde. Along this highway are flowers, and
briars, and thistles, and weeds, and shady woods, and barren rocks, and
sterile bluffs, and glassy plots; but proportioned differently to each,
as the Maker of all designs his path to be pleasant or otherwise. Beside
this highway are perhaps a dozen minor paths, all running a similar
course, and all finally merging into it--either near or far, as the case
may be--before its termination at the great gate of death. The free
agency you speak of, is in choosing of these lesser paths--some of which
are full of the snares of temptation, the chasms of ruin, and the
pitfalls of destruction; and some of the flowers of peace, the bowers of
plenty, and the green woods of contentment. But how to follow the proper
one is the difficulty; for they run into one another--cross and recross
in a thousand different ways--so that the best disposed as often hit the
wrong as the right one, and are entrapped before they are aware of their
dangerous course. Worldly wisdom is here put at fault, and the fool as
often goes right as the wise man of lore--thus showing, notwithstanding
our free agency, that circumstances govern us; and that what many put
down as crime, is, in fact, oftentimes, neither more nor less than error
of judgment."

"Then you consider free agency only a chance game, depending, as it
were, upon the throw of a die?" observed Ella, inquiringly.

"I believe this much of free agency, that a train of circumstances often
forces some to evil and others to good; and that we should look upon the
former, in many cases--mind I do not say all--as unfortunate rather than
criminal--with pity rather than scorn; and so endeavor to reclaim them.
Were this doctrine more practiced by Christians--by those whom the world
terms good, (but whom circumstances alone have made better than their
fellows,) there would be far less of sin, misery, and crime abounding
for them to deplore. Let the creed of churches only be to ameliorate the
condition of the poor, relieve the distressed, remove temptations from
youth, encourage the virtuous, and endeavor, by gently means, to reclaim
the erring--and the holy design of Him who died to save would nobly
progress, prisons would be turned into asylums, and scaffolds be things
known only by tradition."

Algernon spoke with an easy, earnest eloquence, and a force of emphasis,
that made each word tell with proper effect upon his fair hearer. To
Ella the ideas he advanced were, many of them, entirely new; and she
mused thoughtfully upon them, as they rode along, without reply; while
he, becoming warm upon a subject that evidently occupied no inferior
place in his mind, went on to speak of the wrongs and abuses which
society in general heaped upon the unfortunate, as he termed
them--contrasted the charity of professing Christians of the eighteenth
century with that of Christ himself--and pointed out what he considered
the most effectual means of remedy. To show that a train of
circumstances would frequently force persons against their own will and
reason to be what society terms criminal, he referred to himself, and
his own so far eventful destiny; and Ella could not but admit to
herself, that, in his case at least, his arguments were well grounded,
and she shaped her replies accordingly.

Thus conversing, they continued upon their course, until they came to
the brow of a steep descent, down which the path ran in a zigzag manner,
through a dark, gloomy ravine, now rendered intensely so to our
travelers, by the hour, their thoughts, the wildness of the scenery
around, and the dense growth of cedars covering the hollow, whose
untrimmed branches, growing even to the ground, overreached and partly
obstructed their way. By this time only one or two stars were visible in
the heavens; and they shone with pale, faint gleams; while in the east
the beautiful gray and crimson tints of Aurora announced that day was
already breaking on the slumbering world. Drawing rein, Algernon and
Ella paused as if to contemplate the scene. Below and around them each
object presented that misty, indistinct appearance, which leaves the
imagination power to give it either a pleasing or hideous shape. In the
immediate vicinity, the country was uneven; rocky, and covered with
cedars; but far off to the right could be discerned the even surface of
the cane-brake, previously mentioned, now stretching away in the
distance like the unruffled bosom of some beautiful lake. A light breeze
slightly rustled the leaves of the trees, among whose branches an
occasional songster piped forth his morning lay of rejoicing.

"How lovely is nature in all her varieties!" exclaimed Ella, with
animation, as she glanced over the scene.

"Ay, and in that variety lies her loveliness," answered Algernon.
"It is the constant and eternal change going forward that interests us,
and gives to nature her undying charm. Man--high-souled, contemplative
man--was not born to sameness. Variety is to his mind what food is to
his body; and as the latter, deprived of its usual nourishment, sinks to
decay--so the former, from like deprivation of its strengthening power,
becomes weak and imbecile. Again: as coarse, plain food and hardy
exercise add health and vigor to the physical--so does the contemplation
of nature in her wildness and grandeur give to the mental a powerful and
lofty tone. Of all writers for poetical and vigorous intellects, give me
those who have been reared among cloud-capped hills, and craggy steeps,
and rushing streams, and roaring cataracts; for their conceptions are
grand, their comparisons beautiful, and the founts from which they draw,
as exhaustless almost as nature herself."

"I have often thought the same myself," returned Ella; "for I never gaze
upon a beautiful scene in nature, that I do not feel refreshed. To me
the two most delightful are morning and evening. I love to stand upon
some eminence, and mark, as now, the first gray, crimson and golden
streaks that rush up in the eastern sky; and catch the first rays of old
Sol, as he, surrounded by a reddened halo, shows his welcome face above
the hills; or at calm eve watch his departure, as with a last, fond,
lingering look he takes his leave, as 'twere in sorrow that he could not
longer tarry; while earth, not thus to be outdone in point of grief,
puts on her sable dress to mourn his absence."

"Ah! Ella," said Algernon, turning to her with a gentle smile, "methinks
morning and evening are somewhat indebted to you for a touch of poetry
in their behalf."

"Rather say I am indebted to them for a thousand fine feelings I have
not even power to express," rejoined Ella.

Algernon was on the point of returning an answer, when, casting his eyes
down into the ravine, he slightly started, his gaze became fixed, and
his features grew a shade more pale. Ella noticed this sudden change,
and in a voice slightly tremulous inquired the cause. For nearly a
minute Algernon made no reply, but kept his eyes steadily bent in the
same direction, apparently riveted on some object below. Ella also
looked down; but seeing nothing worthy of note, and growing somewhat
alarmed at his silence, was on the point of addressing him again, when,
slightly turning his head, and rubbing his eyes with his hand, he said:

"Methought I saw a dark object move in the hollow below; but I think I
must have been mistaken, for all appears quiet there now--not even a
limb or so much as a leaf stirs. Lest there should be danger, however,
dear Ella, I will ride down first and ascertain. If I give an alarm,
turn your horse and do not spare him till you reach Wilson's."

"No, no, no!" exclaimed Ella, with vehemence, laying her hand upon his
arm, as he was about starting forward, her own features now growing very
pale. "If you go, Algernon, you go not alone! If there is danger, I will
share it with you."

Algernon turned towards her a face that, one moment crimsoned with
animation and the next became deadly pale; while his whole frame
quivered with intense emotion, and he seemed vainly struggling to
command contending feelings. Suddenly clasping her hand in his, he
pressed it warmly, raised it to his lips, and in a trembling tone said:

"Ella--dear Ella--God bless you! If ever--but--no--no--no;" and covering
his face with his hands, he wept convulsively; while she, no less deeply
affected, could scarcely sit her horse.

At length Algernon withdrew his hands, and exhibited features pale but
calm. Drawing forth his pistols, he carefully examined their priming,
and then replaced them in his belt. During this proceeding, he failed
not to urge Ella to alter her design and remain, while he went forward;
but finding her determined on keeping him company, he signified his
readiness to proceed, and both started slowly down the hill together.
They reached the ravine in safety, and advanced some twenty yards
further, when suddenly there arose a terrific Indian yell, followed
instantly by the sharp report of several fire-arms, a wild, piercing
shriek, some two or three heavy groans, a rustling among the trees, and
then by a stillness as deep and awfully solemn as that which pervades
the narrow house appointed for all living.




CHAPTER VII.

THE OLD WOODSMAN AND HIS DOG.


The sun was perhaps an hour above the mountain tops, when a solitary
hunter, in the direction of the cane-brake, might have been seen shaping
his course toward the hill whereon Algernon and Ella had so lately
paused to contemplate the dawning day. Upon his shoulder rested a long
rifle, and a dog of the Newfoundland species followed in his steps or
trotted along by his side. In a few minutes he reached the place
referred to; when the snuffling of his canine companion causing him to
look down, his attention instantly became fixed upon the foot-prints of
the horses which had passed there the day before, and particularly on
the two that had repassed there so lately.

"What is it, Cæsar?" said he, addressing the brute. "Nothing wrong here,
I reckon." Cæsar, as if conscious of his master's language, raised his
head, and looking down into the ravine, appeared to snuff the air;
then darting forward, he was quickly lost among the branching cedars.
Scarcely thirty seconds elapsed, ere a long, low howl came up from the
valley; and starting like one suddenly surprised by some disagreeable
occurrence, the hunter, with a cheek slightly blanched, hurried down the
crooked path, muttering as he went, "Thar's something wrong, for
sartin--for Cæsar never lies."

In less than a minute the hunter came in sight of his dog, which he
found standing with his hind feet on the ground and his fore-paws
resting on the carcass of a horse, that had apparently been dead but a
short time. As Cæsar perceived his master approach, he uttered another
of those peculiar, long, low, mournful howls, which the superstitious
not unfrequently interpret as omens of evil.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the hunter, as he came up; "thar's been foul
play here, Cæsar--foul play, for sartin. D'ye think, dog, it war Indians
as done it?"

The brute looked up into the speaker's face, with one of those
expressions of intelligence or sagacity, which seem to speak what the
tongue has not power to utter, and then wagging his tail, gave a sharp,
fierce bark.

"Right, dog!" continued the other, as, stooping to the ground, he began
to examine with great care the prints left there by human feet. "Right,
dog, they're the rale varmints, and no mistake. Ef all folks war as
sensible and knowing as you, thar would'nt be many fools about, I
reckon."

Having finished his examination of the ground, the hunter again turned
to look at the carcass of the horse, which was lying on its left side,
some two feet from the path, and had apparently fallen dead from a shot
in the forehead, between the eyes. An old saddle, devoid of straps, lay
just concealed under the branching cedars. The ground around was trodden
as if from a scuffle, and the limbs of the trees were broken in many
places--while in two or three others could be seen spots of blood, not
even yet dry--none of which informants of the recent struggle escaped
the keen observation of the woodsman. Suddenly the dog, which had been
watching his master's motions intently, put his nose to the ground,
darted along the path further into the ravine, and presently resounded
another of those mournful howls.

"Ha! another diskivery!" exclaimed the hunter, as he started after his
companion.

About thirty yards further on, he came upon the carcass of another
horse, which had been killed by a ball in the right side, and the blow
of some weapon, probably a tomahawk, on the head. By its side also lay
a lady's saddle, stripped like the former of its trappings. This the
woodsman now proceeded to examine attentively, for something like a
minute, during which time a troubled expression rested on his dark,
sunburnt features.

"I'm either mightily mistaken," said he at length, with a grave look,
"or that thar horse and saddle is the property of Ben Younker; and I
reckon it's the same critter as is rid by Ella Barnwell. Heaven forbid,
sweet lady, that it be thou as met with this terrible misfortune!--but
ef it be, by the Power that made me, I swar to follow on thy trail; and
ef I meet any of thy captors, then, Betsey, I'll just call on you for a
backwoods sentiment."

As he concluded, the hunter turned with a look of affection towards his
rifle, which he firmly grasped with a nervous motion. At this moment,
the dog, which had been busying himself by running to and fro with his
nose to the ground, suddenly paused, and laying back his ears, uttered
a low, fierce growl. The hunter cast toward him a quick glance; and
dropping upon his knees, applied his ear to the earth, where he remained
some fifteen seconds; then rising to his feet, he made a motion with his
hand, and together with Cæsar withdrew into the thicket.

For some time no sound was heard to justify this precaution of the
woodsman; but at length a slight jarring of the ground became apparent,
followed by a noise at some distance, resembling the clatter of horses'
feet, which, gradually growing louder as the cause drew nearer, soon
became sufficiently so to put all doubts on the matter at rest. In less
than five minutes from the disappearance of the hunter, some eight
or ten horses, bearing as many riders, approached the hill from the
direction of Wilson's, and began to descend into the ravine. The party,
composed of both sexes, were in high glee--some jesting, some singing,
and some laughing uproariously. Nothing occurred to interrupt their
merriment, until they began to lose themselves among the cedars of the
hollow, when the foremost horse suddenly gave a snort and bounded to one
side--a movement which his companion, close behind, imitated--while the
rider of the latter, a female, uttered a loud, piercing scream of
fright. In a moment the whole party was in confusion--some turning their
horses to the right about and riding back towards Wilson's, at headlong
speed--and some pausing in fear, undecided what to do. The two foremost
horses now became very refractory, rearing and plunging in a manner that
threatened to unseat their riders every moment. Of the two, the one
ridden by the lady was the most ungovernable; and in spite of her
efforts to quiet or hold him, he seized the bit in his teeth, and,
rearing on his hind legs, plunged madly forward, until he came to where
the other carcass was lying, when, giving another snort of fear, he
again reared, and turning aside into the thicket, left his rider almost
senseless in the path he had just quitted. Fortunately the beast shaped
his course to where the hunter was concealed, who, with a sudden spring,
as he was rushing past, seized upon the bridle near the bit, and
succeeded, after a struggle, in mastering and leading him back to the
path.

By this time the companion of the lady had come up; and seeing her
condition, was dismounting to render her assistance; when his eye
falling upon the stranger, he started, and placed his hand quickly to
his belt, as if in search of some weapon of defence. The hunter saw the
movement, and said, with a gesture of command:

"Hold! young man; don't do any thing rash!"

"Who are you, sir?"

"A friend."

"Your name!" continued the other, as he sprang to the ground.

"Names don't matter, stranger, in cases sech as this. I said I war a
friend."

"By what may I know you as such."

"My deeds," returned the other, laconically. "Think you, stranger, ef I
wanted to harm ye, I couldn't have done it without you seeing me?" and
as he spoke, he glanced significantly toward his rifle.

"True," returned the other; "but what's the meaning of this?" and he
pointed toward the dead horse.

"It means Indians, as nigh as I can come at it," replied the hunter.
"But look to the living afore the dead!" And the woodsman in turn
pointed toward the lady.

"Right!" said the other; and springing to her side, he raised her in his
arms.

She was not injured, other than slightly stunned by the fall, and she
quickly regained her senses. At first she was somewhat alarmed; but
perceiving who supported her, and nothing in the mild, noble, benevolent
countenance of the stranger, who was still holding her horse by the
bridle, of a sinister nature, she anxiously inquired what had happened.

"I can only guess by what I see;" answered the hunter, "that some o'
your company have been less fortunate than you. Didn't two o' them set
out in advance?"

"Gracious heavens!" cried the young man supporting the lady; "it is Ella
Barnwell and the stranger Reynolds!"

"Then they must be quickly trailed!" rejoined the hunter briefly. "Go,
young man, take your lady back agin, and raise an armed party for
pursuit. Be quick in your operations, and I'll wait and join you here.
Leave your horses thar, for we must take it afoot; and besides, gather
as much provision as you can all easily carry, for Heaven only knows
whar or when our journey'll end."

"But do you think they're still living?"

"I hope so."

"Then let us return, Henry," said the lady, "as quick as possible, so
that a party for pursuit may be collected before the wedding guests have
all separated."

"I fear it will be difficult, Mary, but we must try it," replied the
young man, as he assisted her to mount. Then, turning to the stranger,
he added: "But won't you accompany us, sir?"

"No, it can do no good; besides I'm afoot, and would only cause delay,
and thar's been too much o' that already."

"At least, sir, favor me with your name."

"The first white hunter o' old Kaintuck," answered the other, stroking
the neck of the fiery beast on which the lady was now sitting.

"What!" exclaimed the other, in a tone of surprise: "Boone! Colonel
Daniel Boone?"

"Why, I'm sometimes called colonel," returned the hunter, dryly, still
stroking the horse's neck; "but Daniel's the older title, and a little
the most familiar one besides."

"I crave pardon for my former rudeness, Colonel," said the other,
advancing and offering his hand; "but you were a stranger to me you
know."

"Well, well, it's all right--I'd have done exactly so myself," answered
Boone, grasping the young man's hand with a cordiality that showed no
offence had been taken. "And now--a--how do you call yourself?"

"Henry Millbanks."

"Now, Master Millbanks, pray be speedy; for while we talk, our friends
may die, and it goes agin nater to think on't," said Boone, anxiously.

As he spoke, he led forward the lady's horse past the other carcass;
while Henry, springing upon his own beast, followed after. Having seen
them safely out of the ravine, the noble hunter turned back to wait the
arrival of the expected assistance. He had just gained the center of the
thicket, when he was slightly startled again by the growl of his dog,
and the tramp of what appeared to be another horse, coming from the
direction of Younker's. Hastily secreting himself, he awaited in silence
the approach of the new comer, whom he soon discovered to be an old
acquaintance, who was riding at a fast gallop, bearing some heavy weight
in his arms. As he came up to the carcass of Ella's horse, he slackened
his speed, looked at it earnestly, then gazed cautiously around, and was
about to spur his boast onward again, when the sound of Boone's voice
reached, his ear; requesting him to pause; and at the same time, to his
astonishment, Boone himself emerged into the path before him.

"Ha! Colonel Boone," said the horsemen, quickly; "I'm glad to meet ye;
for now is a time when every true man's wanted."

"What's the news, David Billings?" inquired Boone, anxiously, as he
noticed a troubled, earnest expression on the countenance of the other.

"Bad!" answered Billings, emphatically. "The Injens have been down upon
us agin in a shocking manner."

"Heaven forbid thar be many victims!" ejaculated Boone, unconsciously
tightening the grasp on his rifle.

"Too many--too many!" rejoined Billings, shaking his head sadly. "Thar's
my neighbor Millbanks' family--"

"Well? well?" cried Boone, impatiently, as the other seemed to hesitate.

"Have all been murdered, and his house burnt to ashes."

"All?" echoed Boone.

"All but young Harry, who's fortunately away to a wedding at Wilson's."

"Why, the one you speak of war just now here," said Boone, with a start;
"and I sent him back to raise a party to trail the red varmints, who've
been operating as you see yonder: Good heavens! what awful news for poor
Harry, who seems so likely a lad."

"Yes, likely you may well say," returned the other; "and so war the
whole family--God ha' mercy on 'em! But what's been done here?"

"Why, I suppose Ella Barnwell--Younker's niece, you know--and a likely
young stranger who war along with her, called Reynolds, have been
captured."

"Ha! well it's supposed Younker and his wife are captives too, or else
that thar bones lie white among the ashes of thar own ruins."

"Good heavens!" cried Boone. "Any more, David?"

"Yes, thar's Absalom Switcher and his wife, and a young gal of twelve;
and Ephraim Stokes' wife and a young boy of five; who war left by
themselves, (Stokes himself being away, and his son Seth at the wedding,
as was a son o' Switcher's also) have all bin foully mardered--besides
Johnny Long's family, Peter Pierson's, and a young child of Fred Mason's
that happened to be at Pierson's house, and one or two others whose
names I disremember."

"But when did this happen, David?"

"Last night," replied the other. "It's suspected that the Injens ha bin
warting round here, and took advantage of this wedding, when the greater
part on 'em war away. It's thought too that thar war a white spy out,
who gin 'em information, and led 'em on--as a villainous looking chap
war seed about the vicinity not long ago."

"Do they suspicion who war the spy?" asked Boone.

"Why some thinks as how it war that thar accussed renegade, Simon
Girty."

"Wretch!" muttered Boone, grasping his rifle almost fiercely; "I'd like
to have old Bess, here, hold a short conflab with him. But what have you
got thar in your arms, that seems so heavy, David?"

"Rifles, Colonel. I've bin riding round and collecting on 'em for this
mad party of Younker's, who went off without any precaution; and I'm now
on my way to deliver 'em, that they may start instanter arter the cussed
red skins, and punish 'em according to the Mosaic law."

"Spur on then, David, and you may perhaps overtake some o' them; and all
that you do, arm and send 'em here as quick as possible--for I'm
dreadful impatient to be off."

The colloquy between the two thus concluded, the horseman--a
strongly-built, hard-favored, muscular man of forty--set spurs to his
horse; and bounding onward toward Wilson's (distant some five miles--the
ravine being about half way between the residence of the groom and
bride,) he was quickly lost to the sight of the other, who quietly
seated himself to await the reinforcement.

In the course of half an hour, Boone was joined by some three or four of
the wedding party, who bad been overtaken by Billings, learned the news,
accepted a rifle each, bidden their fair companions adieu, and sent them
and the horses back to the house of the bride, while they moved forward
to meet danger, rescue the living, and seek revenge.

In the course of an hour and a half, Billings himself returned,
accompanied by some seven or eight stout hearts; among whom were young
Switcher, Stokes, Millbanks, and, lastly, Isaac Younker, who had been
roused from the nuptial bed to hear of the terrible calamity that had
befallen his friends. Isaac, on the present occasion, did not disgrace
his training, the land which gave him birth, nor the country he now
inhabited. When the messenger came with the direful news, although
somewhat late in the morning, Isaac had been found in his bed, closely
folded in the arms of the god of sleep. On being awakened and told of
what had taken place, he slowly rose up into a sitting posture, rubbed
his eyes, stared searchingly at his informant, gathered himself upon his
feet, threw on his wedding garments, and made all haste to descend
below; where he at once sought out his new wife, Peggy, who had risen
an hour before; and grasping her by the hand, in a voice slightly
tremulous, but with a firm, determined expression on his features, said:

"Peggy, dear, I 'spect you've heard the whole on't. Father, mother, Ella
and Reynolds--all gone, and our house in ashes, I'm going to follow,
Peggy. Good bye--God bless you! Ef I don't never come back, Peggy"--and
the tears started into his eyes--"you may jest put it down I've been
clean sarcumvented, skinned, and eat up by them thar ripscallious
Injens;" and turning upon his heel, as his tender-hearted spouse burst
into tears, he seized upon same provisions that had graced the last
night's entertainment, gave Black Betty a long and cordial salute with
his lips, shook hands with his wife's father and mother, kissed Peggy
once again, pulled his cap over his eyes, and, without another word, set
forth with rapid strides on the eastern path leading to the rendezvous
of Daniel Boone.

On the faces of those now assembled, who had lost their best and dearest
friends, could be seen the intense workings of the strong passions of
grief and revenge, while their fingers clutched their faithful rifles
with a nervous power. The greatest change was apparent in the features
of Henry Millbanks. He was a fine-favored, good-looking youth of
eighteen, with light hair and a florid complexion. The natural
expression of his handsome countenance was an easy, dignified smile,
which was rendered extremely fascinating by a broad, noble forehead, and
a clear, expressive, gray eye; but now the floridity had given place to
a pale, almost sallow hue, the forehead was wrinkled with grief, the
lips were compressed, and the smile had been succeeded by a look of
great fierceness, aided by the eye; which was more than usually sunken
and bloodshot.

But little was said by any of the party; for all felt the chilling
gloom of the present, so strongly contrasted with the bright hours and
merry jests which had so lately been apportioned to each. Boone called
to Cæsar and bade him seek the Indian trail; a task which the noble
brute flew to execute; and in a few minutes the whole company were on
their way; with the exception of Billings; who, by the unanimous request
of all, returned to Wilson's; to cheer, console and protect the females;
and, if thought advisable, to conduct them to Bryan's Station--a strong
fort a few miles distant--where they might remain in comparative
security.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE INDIANS AND THEIR PRISONERS.


While the events just chronicled were enacting in one part of the
country, others, of a different nature, but somewhat connected with
them, were taking place in another. In a dark, lonely pass or gorge of
the hills, some ten miles to the north of the scene of the preceding
chapter, where the surrounding trees grew so thick with branches and
leaves that they almost entirely excluded the sunlight from the waters
of a stream which there rolled foaming and roaring between the hills and
over and against the rocks of its precipitous bed, or, plunging down
some frightful precipice, lay as if stunned or exhausted by the fall in
the chasm below, mirroring in its still bosom with a gloomy reflection
the craggy steeps rising majestically above it--in this dark and lonely
pass, we say, was a party of human beings, to whom the proper
development of our story now calls us.

The company in question was composed of eight persons, five of whom were
Indians of the Seneca tribe;[5] the others--a thin-faced, gaunt,
stoop-shouldered man past the middle age--a rather corpulent, masculine
looking woman, a few years his junior--a little fair-haired, blue-eyed,
pretty-faced girl of six--were white captives. Four of the Indians were
seated or partly reclining on the ground, with their guns beside them,
ready for instant use if necessary, engaged in roasting slices of deer
meat before a fire that had been kindled for the purpose. The fifth
savage was pacing to and fro, with his rifle on his arm, performing the
double duty of sentinel and guard over the prisoners, who were kept in
durance by strong cords some ten paces distant. The old man was secured
by a stick passing across his back horizontally, to which both wrists
and arms were tightly bound with thongs of deer skin. To prevent the
possibility of escape, both legs were fastened together by the same
material, and a long, stout rope, encircling his neck, was attached to
a tree hard by. This latter precaution, and much of the former, seemed
unnecessary; for there was a mild look of resigned dejection on his
features, as they bent toward the earth, with his chin resting on his
bosom, that appeared strongly at variance with any thing like flight or
strife. His female companion was fastened in like manner to the tree,
but in other respects only bound by a stout thong around the wrists in
front. The third member of the white party, the little girl, was seated
at the feet of the old man, with her small wrists also bound until they
had swollen so as to pain her, looking up from time to time into his
face with a heart-rending expression of grief, fear and anxiety.

Of the Indians themselves, we presume it would be difficult to find,
among all the tribes of America, five more blood-thirsty, villainous
looking beings than the ones in question. They were only partially
dressed, after the manner of their tribe, with skins around their loins,
extending down to their knees, and moccasins on their feet, leaving the
rest of their bodies and limbs bare. Around their waists were belts, for
the tomahawk and scalping knife, at three of which now hung freshly
taken scalps. Their faces had been hideously painted for the war-path;
but heat and perspiration had since out done the artist, by running the
composition into streaks, in such a way as to give them the most
diabolical appearance imaginable. On each of their heads was a tuft of
feathers, some of which had the appearance of having recently been
scorched and blackened by fire, while their arms and bodies were here
and there besmeared with blood.

The four around the fire were in high glee, as they roasted and
devoured their meat, judging from their nods, and grins, and grunts
of approbation, whenever their eyes glanced in the direction of their
prisoners--the effect of which was far from consoling to the matron of
the latter; who, having eyed them for some time in indignant silence,
at length burst forth with angry vehemence:

"Well, now, jest grin, and jabber, and grin, like a pesky set o' natural
born monkeys, that's ten times better nor you is any day of your good
for nothing, sneaking lives. Goodness, gracious, marsy on me alive!"
continued the dame, whom the reader has doubtless recognized as Mrs.
Younker; "I only jest wish you had to change places with me and Ben here
for about five minutes; and ef I didn't make your old daubed, nasty,
villainous, unyarthly looking faces grin to another tune, I hope I may
never be blessed with liberty agin in creation, as long as I live on the
face o' this univarsal yarth!"

"Ugh!" ejaculated the sentinel, turning towards the speaker, as she
concluded her fierce tirade, at the same time placing his hand on the
tomahawk in his belt with an angry gesture: "Ugh! me squaw kill--she no
stop much talky!"

"You'd kill me, would ye? you mean, dirty, ripscallious looking varmint
of the woods you, that don't know a pin from a powder horn!" rejoined
the undaunted Mrs. Younker, in a vehement tone: "You'd kill me for using
the freedom of tongue, as these blessed Colonies is this moment fighting
for with the tarnal Britishers? You'd kill me, would ye? Well, it's jest
my first nateral come at opinion, as I tolled Ben here, not more'n a
quarter o' an hour ago, that you war jest mean enough for any thing, as
ever war invented, in the whole univarsal yarth o' creation--so ef you
do kill me, I won't be in the leastest grain disappinted, no how."

"Don't, Dorothy--don't irritate the savage for nothing at all!" said her
husband, who, raising his head at the first remark of the Indian, now
saw in his fierce, flashing eyes, angry gestures, and awful contortions
of visage, that which boded the sudden fulfillment of his threat: "Don't
irritate him, and git murdered for your pains, Dorothy! Why can't you be
more quiet?"

"Don't talk to me about being quiet, Benjamin Younker, away out here in
the woods, a captive to such imps an them thar, with our house all burnt
to nothing like, and our cows and sheeps and hosses destructed, and--"

Here the speech of the good woman was suddenly cut short by the whizzing
of a tomahawk past her head, which slightly grazed her cheek, and lodged
in the tree a few feet beyond. Whether it was aimed at her life and
missed its mark, or whether it was merely done to frighten her, does not
appear; though the manner of the savage, after the weapon was thrown,
inclines us to the latter supposition; for instead of rushing upon her
with his knife, he walked deliberately to the tree, withdrew the
tomahawk, and then turning to her, and brandishing it over her head,
said:

"Squaw, still be! Speak much, me killum!"

Be the design of the Indian what it might, the whole proceeding
certainly produced one result, which nothing had ever been known to do
before--it awed to silence the tongue of Mrs. Younker, just at a moment
when talking would have been such a relief to her overcharged spirit;
and merely muttering, in an under tone, "I do jest believe the
ripscallious varmint is in arnest, sure enough!" she held her speech for
the extraordinary space of half an hour.

Meantime the other savages finished their repast; and having offered a
portion of it to the prisoners, which the latter refused, they proceeded
to destroy their fire, by casting the burning brands into the rushing
waters of the stream below. This done, they extended their circle
somewhat--each placing himself by a tree or rock--and then in the most
profound silence stood like bronzed statuary, apparently awaiting the
arrival of another party. At last--and just as the sun was beginning to
peep over the brow of the steep above them, and let his rays struggle
with the matted foliage of the trees, for a glimpse of the roaring
waters underneath--one of the Indians started, looked cautiously around,
dropped flat upon the earth; and then rising, and motioning with his
hand for all to be silent, glided noiselessly away, like the shadow of
some evil spirit, into the surrounding thicket. He had scarcely been
absent three minutes, when a slight crackling among the brush was heard
near at hand; and immediately after he rejoined his companions, followed
by a party of eight Indian warriors, and two white prisoners, headed by
a low browed, sinister, blood-thirsty looking white man, in a garb
resembling that worn by a subordinate British officer. His coat was red,
with facings of another color, underneath which was partially displayed
a handsome vest and ruffled shirt. About his waist passed a broad wampum
belt, in which were confined a brace of silver mounted pistols, another
pair of less finish and value, a silver handled dirk, a scalping knife
and tomahawk, on whose blades could be seen traces of blood. Around his
neck was a neatly tied cravat, and dangling in front of his vest a gold
chain, which connected with a watch hid in a pocket of his breeches,
whence depended a larger chain of steel, supporting in turn three
splendid gold seals and two keys. His nether garments were breeches,
leggins, and moccasins, all of deer skin, and without ornament. His hat,
not unlike those of the present day, was on this occasion graced with a
red feather, which protruded above the crown, and corresponded well with
his general appearance.

The Indian companions of this individual were not remarkable for any
thing, unless it might be ferocity of expression. They were habited,
with but one exception, like those previously described, and evidently
belonged to the same tribe. This exception was a large, athletic,
powerful Indian, rather rising of six feet, around whose waist was a
finely worked wampum belt, over whose right shoulder, in a transverse
direction, extended a red scarf, carelessly tied under the left arm,
and in whose nose and ears were large, heavy rings, denoting him to be
either a chief or one in command. His age was about thirty; and his
features, though perhaps less ferocious than some of his companions,
were still enough so to make him an object of dread and fear. His
forehead was low, his eye black and piercing, and his nose rather flat
and widely distended at the nostrils. He was called Peshewa: Anglice,
Wild cat.

As the prisoners of the latter party came in sight of those of the
former, there was a general start and exclamation of surprise; while the
sad faces of each showed how little pleasure they felt in meeting each
other under such painful

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/15424