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 S T OKIES 
 
 
 FRONTIER ADYENTUEE 
 
 SOUTH AND WEST. 
 
 WILLIAM T. COGGESHALL, 
 AUTHOR or "HOME HITS AND HINTS," POETS Axn POETRY OF THE WEST," ETC. ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 FOLLETT, FOSTER AND COMPANY. 
 
 - ,T. BRADBURN (SUCCESSOR TO M. DOOLADT), 
 49 "\VALKER STREET. 
 
 1863.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S63, by 
 
 WILLIAM T. COGGE3IULL, 
 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of Ohio.
 
 DEDICATORY LETTER. 
 
 To WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER : 
 
 When I went to Cincinnati, in the Spring of 1847, 
 seeking the humblest place in the editorial corps of 
 a daily newspaper, indulging, at the same time, slight 
 hope that, one clay, I might see my name over articles 
 in literary periodicals, I was anxious to see and know 
 yon, because I had been informed that, holding an 
 humble post in an influential journal, you had risen 
 to the chief post, and had, meantime, added wealth 
 to the literary store of the West. 
 
 Because, when, afterward, I was a worker with 
 you, in the same office,* I found, contrary to what 
 had been told me, that you were a friend to striving 
 young men ; and because you were the first literary 
 man who encouraged me, by just criticism and good 
 advice, to write something more pretending than 
 " items," I dedicate to you this volume of Tales and 
 Sketches, designed to illustrate frontier life and char- 
 
 * Daily Cincinnati Gazette.
 
 iv Dedicatory Letter. 
 
 acter to you, who, in my judgment, have written 
 about, and for the West, from just impulse, with just 
 purpose to you, who have made no small sacrifice 
 for Ah, me ! Western Literature. 
 
 However justly those terrible fellows, the critics, 
 may find fault with my unpretending romances, you 
 will have charity for them, because you know they 
 were written when "local" matters of fact com 
 manded a large share of my days and nights ; and 
 you know, too, that they are now republished from 
 the columns of the newspapers and magazines in 
 which they first appeared, with only such revision as 
 could be made on proof-sheets. 
 
 Accept, then, this frank epistle, and its intention, 
 as an honest acknowledgment that, if there be any 
 merit in this volume, it was developed under your 
 encouragement. 
 
 With highest regards, 
 
 Your indebted friend, 
 
 WILLIAM T. COGGESHALL. 
 
 COLUMBUS, OHIO, ) 
 May, 1860. f
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE EVERGLADE HEROES A Tale of Florida . 1 
 
 FLEET FOOT A Legend of Kentucky .... 89 
 
 HUNTER BIRTY; OR, THE HALF-BREED COLONY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 113 
 
 GOLDEN BIRD OF MENOMINEE 211 
 
 THE COUNTERFEITERS OF THE CUYAHOGA A 
 
 Buckeye Romance . 217 
 
 THE BRIGHT EYE OF THE SETTLEMENT . . . 307
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 DESIGNED BY BILLINGS, AND ENQRAVED BT ANDREW. 
 
 FRONTISPIECE : Death of Major Bertram. 
 
 Page 
 
 ARREST OF BRIXTOX BY THE OUTLAWS, 70 
 
 FLEET FOOT, 104 
 
 HUNTER BIRTT, 160 
 
 THE GOLDEX BIRD OF THE MEXOMIXEE, 216 
 
 DISCOVERT OF THE COUNTERFEITERS, 236 
 
 TlCKEL 6HOT AT BT THE COUXTERFEITERS, 296
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 A TALE OF FLORIDA.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 AT the time General Jackson was Governor of Florida, 
 soon after the treaty of " amity, settlement and limits " had 
 been ratified between the United States and the Spanish 
 governments, an officer of the American army was on his 
 way from St. Augustine to Pensacola, with a large sum of 
 money in his charge, which was to be placed in the govern 
 ment coffers, over which Jackson had superintendence. 
 
 This officer had arrived within one day s journey of his 
 destination. It was an autumn afternoon. The atmosphere 
 of that southern clime was laden with those odors which the 
 famed trees and shrubs of West Florida exhale. The young 
 man, who had never enjoyed so agreeable a treat of that 
 character, was enchanted with the beautiful scenes on which 
 his eye rested, and the delicious sweets on which other 
 senses regaled. 
 
 He had traveled the King s road at that time the only 
 highway in Florida which deserved the title of road from 
 St. Augustine to St. Mary s river, and there, with an ac 
 cession to his escort, had taken the most direct trail for 
 Pensacola. The country having for some time been quiet, 
 
 (3)
 
 4 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 the company traveled -with little fear of molestation from 
 marauding Indians or other depredators. 
 
 To enjoy fully the delights which air and scenery afforded, 
 the officer had fallen behind his escort, and in the distance 
 gaining a view of a wide-spread lagoon, he diverged from 
 the trail to contemplate more immediately the wild fowl that 
 rested on its waters, the grasses that waved within it. and 
 the bright-colored flowers with varied hues that hung in fes 
 toons on its borders. Endeavoring to find his path back to 
 the trail, after riding a few miles, he entered a pine barren, 
 through which he had wound but a short time when it be 
 came evident to him that he had missed his reckoning, and 
 would be unable to direct his course towards his company. 
 
 Night was fast coming on. Already the last rays of the 
 sun, setting far away in the lagoon that the officer had been 
 viewing, were gilding the tops of the tall pines beneath 
 which he wandered ; yet he had no fears for his safety, 
 knowing that his men would encamp and wait for him. He 
 had often bivouaced in the forest, and, determining to await 
 the coming of morn to find the trail, he prepared to spend 
 the night among the pines. Fastening his horse to a limb 
 where he could conveniently browse for there was nothing 
 to graze he took from his back the portmanteau contain 
 ing the government funds, placed it upon the moss grow 
 ing around the trunk of a massive pine, then gathering an 
 armful of brush, struck a fire and prepared for repose. 
 
 When darkness enveloped the forest, he lay down to rest 
 as calmly as if he had been in his own tent, surrounded by 
 a numerous encampment. As he slept, the silver rays of a 
 waning moon fell tremblingly through the pine foliage and 
 revealed his form, wrapped in a hunter s blanket, stretched 
 on the green moss.
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 5 
 
 Had he known that his wanderings were that day fol 
 lowed, he had not slept so sweetly ; he had been standing 
 guard over his treasure, or he had hid himself in some 
 bushy glen or dale. 
 
 A few days previous, the "Everglade Heroes" had heard 
 of his passage through the country, had ascertained the 
 amount of treasure with which he had been entrusted, and 
 they had determined that Jackson should never possess it, if 
 a score of lives was the forfeit. The captain of these 
 " Heroes," as they styled themselves, was now on the track 
 of the officer. He was acquainted with Florida from the 
 keys of the south-east to the bogs and rivers of the north 
 west. His band had been following the government soldiers 
 for several days, and had a number of times meditated an 
 attack, but prudence bid them be cautious, for they wished 
 to commit the robbery without letting the robbed see by 
 whom it was done. They had been watching for a favor 
 able opportunity, until they knew that another day would 
 cut off their chances entirely, and the captain had decided 
 that the night following the day on which our story opens, 
 should be the time of attack, at all hazard. What was his 
 gratification when he sa\j the officer fall behind his company 
 then diverge from the trail ! Leaving his " Heroes " to 
 watch the escort, the captain followed the officer. 
 
 The hour had come when the captain s schemes were to 
 be put into execution, but he disdained to rob and murder a 
 sleeping man. Slipping to the place where the officer s 
 steed was fastened, he cut the cord that made him a pris 
 oner, and with a yell that rung among the pines, started the 
 affrighted animal at a swift gallop through the forest. The 
 officer was awakened and he sprang to his feet, expecting that
 
 6 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 Indians were upon him. He reached for his trusty rifle, but 
 it had been removed ; his sword was at his side, however, 
 and he quickly drew it. Before him appeared a man of 
 swarthy hue, dressed in the Indian fashion ; but he was 
 neither Seminole nor Creek, as the officer expected. 
 
 " Lieutenant Bertram," cried the outlaw, " I discovered 
 who you are this afternoon. We have met, as I have long 
 wished. I am the captain of the " Everglade Heroes " the 
 man you struck twelve years ago, for calling you a villain, 
 when he was orderly sergeant under you. His Spanish 
 passion then vowed revenge. He has since gratified it by 
 plundering the government that would not give him justice ; 
 and he ll now satisfy that revenge fully with your life and 
 the funds you have with you." 
 
 To this defiant speech the lieutenant made no reply. He 
 was a brave man and a skillful swordsman, and, determined 
 to die valiantly, he rushed upon his antagonist. The outlaw 
 was prepared to meet him, and for more than ten minutes 
 the clashing of their swords rang upon the night air. By 
 his desperation and skillful swordsmanship the lieutenant 
 was making the result of the contest doubtful, when by a 
 skillful movement, the outlaw threjrv him off his guard and 
 ran his sword through his body. He bent over him as he 
 fell to see that it was a fatal wound ; then tearing open his 
 garments, traced two letters in blood on his breast, and mut 
 tering between his teeth, " You ll insult no more women" 
 grasped the portmanteau that contained the treasure and 
 speedily fled. 
 
 Major Bertram (for, though the outlaw called him lieuten 
 ant, and we adopted the title, he was major, having risen 
 in rank during the twelve years to which his murderer re-
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 7 
 
 ferred,) survived but a few moments. He had not weltered 
 in his blood half an hour, before a scout from his company 
 found him. He had bivouaced within a mile of their en 
 campment, and though every means had been taken to find 
 him, his men had no suspicion that he was near them, until 
 his horse galloped through their camp a few minutes after 
 he had been liberated by the outlaw, chance or the instinct 
 of the animal having led him to this rendezvous. The 
 guards had raised the cry of Indians ; but when the com 
 pany was aroused, and it was found to be their major s steed 
 that had caused the alarm, the officer in command dis 
 patched scouts in every direction, fearing there had been 
 robbery and murder. This officer found the major s body, 
 and was startled by its appearance. He was a wicked man, 
 and he exclaimed furiously : 
 
 . " The torments of hell take them ! The Everglade He 
 roes have done this ! There are the characters traced in 
 
 
 blood on the poor major s breast. The devil will be to pay 
 
 when we get to Pensacola." 
 
 For two years previous to the date of this chapter, male 
 dictions of this kind had been frequent in Florida. The 
 ominous letters, " E. H." with the sign of a cross, had 
 been regarded with terror by many who had been robbed in 
 their camps and cabins, and upon more than a hundred 
 corpses had they been traced, along the trails which trav 
 ersed the wilds of the peninsula. They were a watch-word 
 of terror more dreadful than the title of the bloodiest Semi- 
 nole. It was not known whether the " Heroes " were 
 Americans, Spaniards or Indians, but they were supposed to 
 belong to a secret band of Spanish banditti. 
 
 When the scout who had discovered the major had called
 
 8 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 a couple of companions to his aid, a litter was prepared, 
 and the body was carried to the trail and buried in a spot 
 which, for many years, was marked by a rude stone. Wild 
 flowers grew on his grave, and birds built their nests in the 
 branches that hung over it ; but Major Bertram, though a 
 wicked man, had been a valuable officer, and he was not 
 forgotten. 
 
 On the evening of the day following the occurrence of 
 these events, the company arrived at Pensacola and re 
 ported the ill success of their expedition. 
 
 A liberal reward was immediately offered for the arrest 
 of any one of the "Everglade Heroes;" and the high of 
 fense of murdering a major in the United States Army, and 
 robbing the government of a large sum of money, was soon 
 told along all the trails between Pensacola bay and St. 
 John s river. But no officer, Indian or hunter, was able to 
 claim the handsome reward. The murderer was secure at 
 the retreat of his " Heroes," amid an extensive everglade 
 on the south-western slope, drained by the Coloosatchee 
 river. 
 
 Upon an island, approached by a strip of hard earth on 
 which the grass grew scantily, three men had for several 
 years hidden ill-gotten treasure, and retreated when danger 
 threatened them. They were all of Spanish descent. Their 
 leader, as we have intimated, had been a soldier in the 
 United States Army, and had deserted. He was a bold 
 and desperate man, and he had led his men on desperate 
 expeditions and bold exploits, which had yielded them an 
 immense amount of booty. They carried to their island re 
 treat nothing but gold and silver or valuable jewels, and they 
 had amassed enough to make three large fortunes. Every
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 9 
 
 possible means had been taken to ferret out their hiding 
 place ; but they understood the art of disguise the condition 
 of the country had been favorable to their exploits, and though 
 many times hotly pursued, they had eluded all search ; and 
 there was no suspicion of the true situation of their head 
 quarters among any of the people of the peninsula. 
 
 This band had been organized for two years. The period 
 of the wicked copartnership had expired, and, having be 
 come richer than they anticipated, they were about to sepa 
 rate. The captain had already calculated the division of 
 spoils, and they assembled to apportion the shares, before 
 their rude cypress hut on the everglade island, with the tall 
 grass waving about them, the fragrant wind rippling the 
 waters of a pond on which swam myriads of wild fowl amid 
 blossoms of the lily and lotus, bathing their varied plumage 
 in the bright sunshine that came down from an almost 
 Italian-clear sky. The chief counted out to each man the 
 share of blood-stained booty which had been accorded him, 
 and then the " Heroes " threw off their Indian dresses, 
 changed in many respects the savage appearance they bore, 
 packed their horses, and, in European costume, emerged 
 from their everglade haunt. They traveled for a couple of 
 days through secret paths, then boldly struck into a trail 
 leading towards the St. John s river, and pursued their way 
 to St. Augustine, determined, as their conversation seemed 
 to disclose, to separate as soon as they arrived at the city, 
 give up their wicked course of life, invest their money in the 
 purchase of lauds, and become agriculturists in name, at 
 least.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PATGOE PARTY. 
 
 TWELVE years have elapsed since the cession of Florida 
 to the United States. 
 
 The scene of our history now lies near the noble river St. 
 Johns, within a few miles of St. Augustine the oldest city 
 of the United States. 
 
 Embowered in a grove of orange, lime, guava. citron, fig 
 and palm trees, to which extended a wide avenue, lined on 
 either side with ancient live oaks, and ornamented with 
 bowers of roses, were, five years previous to the opening of 
 the Seminole war, the ruins of an English mansion that had 
 been the residence of a gentleman of the nobility, during 
 the time the British nation considered the peninsula among 
 its possessions. 
 
 It had been purchased by a wealthy Floridian, who, with 
 out heed of war, rumors of war, or Indian depredations, 
 repaired all the devastations time and negligence had made, 
 and added to its groves, gardens and walks, under the 
 direction of a skillful gardener, such improvements as had 
 rendered it the most enchanting residence of the St. John s 
 district. When the odorous trees were in blossom, the lux 
 uriant flowers in bloom, or the tropical fruits had ripened, it 
 
 (10)
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 11 
 
 was ii palace which vied in delightful associations with the 
 famed oriental villas that have been the " burden of song 
 and verse " ever since Persian descriptions first glowed on 
 the pages of traveled authors. 
 
 The owner of this place was Cabot Conere, a gentlemen 
 whose Spanish ancestors had been among the first emigrants 
 to Florida. lie had arrived at the meridian of an eventful 
 life, and, while the country about him was in commotion, 
 was settled peacefully with his family, consisting of his wife, 
 and a daughter verging into womanhood, at a home sur 
 rounded with all the sources of ease and enjoyment that 
 wealth, in that favorable clime, could command. 
 
 From a tributary to the St. John s that flowed across one 
 portion of his plantation, a number of small streams had 
 been led meandering among shade and ornamental trees, 
 and through flowery paths and fruit walks and from this 
 circumstance, with the approval of its master, the mistress 
 of the mansion had named it Rillwood. 
 
 Conere of Rillwood was a remarkable personage. He 
 had all the fire and impetuosity of a Spaniard, tempered 
 with the cool, calculating judgment of the plodding English 
 man. He was tall of stature, commanding in bearing, and 
 prepossessing in manner ; but there was always about him 
 an air of reserve, which chilled confidence, and his most in 
 timate associates knew nothing of his history previous to the 
 period when he made Rillwood his home. 
 
 His mansion, or villa, was celebrated the country round 
 as the residence of the most daring and skillful sportsman 
 of St. Augustine vicinage, the most accomplished woman of 
 north-cast Florida, and the loveliest girl that had visited the 
 gay assemblages of the ancient city for many years.
 
 12 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 Isabelle Conere was a Spanish beauty, with the vivacity 
 and energy of an American girl. She had the translucent 
 olive complexion, the full dark eye, fringed with languishing 
 lashes, belonging to the Castilian blood, with the lithe limbs 
 and roundly developed muscles that are the heritage of the 
 maiden of North America, who loves the rough gallop 
 before sunrise, and the hill-chase after sunset, better than 
 needle-work or sentimental reading. 
 
 Senora Conere as her husband persisted in calling her, 
 although she was a Virginia lady, of English descent was 
 one of those mild, excellent women, who are ministers of 
 goodness and charity, beloved by all the poverty-stricken 
 and sorrow-laden. She had never been what the world 
 would call beautiful ; indeed, at the period when we com 
 mence her history, although there was a matronly grace of 
 manner about her, a majority of persons, whose tastes are 
 formed on conventional principles, would have considered 
 her homely and homely she was, in the true sense of the 
 term. 
 
 Homely what an abused term, taken in connection with 
 the associations clustering around the first syllable ! Rich 
 ardson defines it, " Pertaining to home ; having the plain 
 ness and simplicity of home;" and Milton says in Comus : 
 
 "It is for homely features to keep at home; " 
 They had their name hence." 
 
 The most cherished pleasures of the mistress of Rillwood 
 sprang from the enjoyments of her own home, and the grat 
 ification of laboring to make other homes happy. Her pleas 
 ing, affectionate manner fitted her for charitable duties ; and 
 wherever there was poverty or suffering, she was the angel
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 13 
 
 of mercy and hope that brought relief and consolation. 
 She was the very antipode of Conere. What a contrast 
 between this calm-natured, fragile woman and the muscu 
 lar, strong-minded Spaniard a summer zephyr contrasted 
 with the northern blast of midwinter ; it was the mating of 
 the dove with the eagle. Yet she loved him truly, and he 
 appeared to return her affection ; but his was that love 
 which power may be expected to bestow upon a dependent 
 idol. , 
 
 The daughter had her father s wild and fitful spirit, with 
 her mother s good-heartedness. The two natures were 
 singularly blended in Isabelle. She appeared frank and 
 ingenuous ; she teas independent ; but when she had a 
 purpose to gain, she was crafty and secretive ; and she had 
 often wayward moods, over which her mother had long 
 ceased to attempt a control. 
 
 It is an evening in early autumn. Breathing a " hushed 
 and charmed air," an atmosphere redolent with the fra 
 grance of tropical fruits and the perfume of rare flowers, 
 upon the seat of an arbor, shaded by a pomegranate tree, 
 and overhung with clustering vines, Isabelle Conere reclined. 
 She awaits a trysting hour, when she expects to meet one 
 who will assist her to persuade her father to come home on 
 the morrow her eighteenth birth day which is to be com 
 memorated by a Patgoe Party. 
 
 She is becoming impatient, when upon her attentive ear 
 falls the melody of a familiar tune, sung sweetly in low 
 tones. She falls in with the singer and softly follows the 
 tune with a delicious voice, until the vocalist has approached 
 within a few steps, then springing from her reclining posi 
 tion, she accosted him :
 
 14 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 " Tis past the hour, and if something had not detained 
 father at the city, I should not have to thank you for aiding 
 me in getting his consent to be with us to-morrow." 
 
 " I was here an hour since, but knew your father had not 
 come, and failing to find you, I wandered to the orange 
 grove, and there I met Conere. I told him that you waited 
 for him. His brow was dark, and he bid me tell you that 
 he could not see you, and you must not expect him at the 
 festivities to-morrow. Before this time he has returned to 
 St. Augustine." 
 
 " He gave you no explanation no other message ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 " There has been something preying on his mind of late. 
 Does mother know that he will be absent to-morrow ? " 
 
 " I believe she does not." 
 
 " Let me seek her." 
 
 The young man who held this conversation with Isabelle 
 Conere was a native of trade-driving Connecticut a scion 
 of Puritan stock attracted to this southern land by a hand 
 some property bequeathed him by an uncle, who had been 
 one of the early English settlers on the St. John s river. 
 
 This property was situated within half a mile of Rill- 
 wood. Ledyard Brinton had lived at Windsor (thus named 
 by his loyal uncle) nearly four years. His household was 
 tgoverned by a widowed aunt, and his plantation was con 
 trolled by a Creole, who managed it in a manner that 
 yielded profitable returns to its owner. Brinton had " south 
 ern policy" enough not to meddle with other people s busi 
 ness, and he made no enemies among his neighbors, by 
 interfering with their "peculiar institutions." He had, 
 probably, not made Florida his permanent home, if an acci-
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 15 
 
 dental acquaintance with Isabelle Conerc, had not rendered 
 the country one of peculiar interest. He was a frequent 
 visitor at Rillwood, and, seemingly, a favored companion of 
 the proprietor, as well as of his daughter. 
 
 Conere was adverse to forming intimate associations, and 
 he did not cultivate Brinton s acquaintance without an object. 
 On the night in which they met in the orange grove, Conere 
 had applied to him for the loan of a large sum of money. 
 Brinton was unable to accommodate him at the hour, but 
 Conere attributing his refusal to unwillingness, abruptly bid 
 him a good night, telling him to inform Isabelle that he 
 should be absent on the morrow. 
 
 The mother arid daughter were not surprised at the de 
 cision brought them, for latterly Conere had made them 
 accustomed to sudden departures, and many times, when he 
 returned his moods were in no wise agreeable. For six 
 months he had been sadly in trouble about his pecuniary 
 affairs. He had engaged in numerous speculations the 
 country was in an unsettled state, and he found it difficult 
 to " keep up appearances " that would deceive his friends 
 and the acquaintances of his family. It was to keep from 
 foreclosure, mortgages which would have exposed his circum 
 stances, that he was obliged to absent himself from his 
 daughter s birth-day festival. She was grieved at his ab 
 sence, because she loved her father with a wild love, which 
 she had reason to think was sincerely returned and she 
 had given herself much pleasure in calculating upon his 
 enjoyment in the festivities that would commemorate her 
 majority. 
 
 The pleasures of the day were to spring from a Patgoe 
 party and what is a Patgoe party ?
 
 16 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 It was a festival common in Florida at the time of which 
 we write, as the introduction to a dance, the popular amuse 
 ment of the Floridians. A wooden bird, fixed upon a pole, 
 was carried through the neighborhood. Each lady, to whom 
 it was presented, made an offering of a piece of ribbon, 
 choosing the color and style. The bird is soon decked in 
 gaudy style, and at an hour appointed, gallanted by their 
 beaux, bearing their rifles, the fair patrons of the Patgoe 
 assemble at a spot selected. The bird is put up as a mark, 
 and the sportsman who buries the first ball in its novel plu 
 mage is proclaimed king of the entertainment. He presents 
 the Patgoe to the lady of his choice, and she is crowned 
 queen. On Isabelle Conere s birth day, Ledyard Brinton 
 was the fortunate marksman, and she was chosen his royal 
 consort. 
 
 A large company had assembled at Rillwood. Upon the 
 lawn, in front of the mansion, the festivities were proceeding 
 here a dancing party there a bevy of waltzers away, 
 beneath the shade of an orange or pomegranate tree, were 
 lovers engaged in "converse sweet;" and all was joy and 
 hilarity, befitting the occasion, conducted, as it was, with 
 regal splendor by the king and queen. 
 
 As the shades of evening began to gather, a horseman 
 was seen urging his steed at a swift gallop up the main 
 avenue towards the mansion. Isabelle, who had painful 
 forebodings, fled precipitately to the house. When she 
 arrived the messenger was already in her mother s room, and 
 she was obliged to await his reappearance in the hall, which 
 she no sooner perceived than she flew to him. 
 
 "Is father harmed? Where is he, Benjamin? You
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 17 
 
 must tell me ! " exclaimed the girl, with fearful energy and 
 startling wildness of manner. 
 
 "He is at St. Augustine, and unharmed," answered the 
 man. 
 
 " Why came you here then in such haste ?" 
 
 "To get papers which it is necessary for your father to 
 have immediately, for the settlement of some important 
 business." 
 
 "Will he be home to-day answer me fairly?" 
 
 " I will, Isabelle," said the messenger, trembling as she 
 laid her hand upon his shoulder, " Your father cannot come 
 home to-day, nor perhaps to-morrow ; but by that time I 
 hope all his difficulties will be settled. You must question 
 me no farther, for I am forbidden to tell you." 
 
 "Then mother shall" cried the excited girl, hastening in 
 quest of her parent. But she could obtain no satisfactory 
 information. Her mother did not know what detained 
 Conere ; but from the character of the documents the mes 
 senger had demanded, she feared that he had fallen into 
 serious trouble. 
 
 The festivities were now without the spirit of their queen 
 an army foraging for pleasure bereft of their commander and 
 the party broke up and the guests departed much earlier than 
 had been anticipated. 
 
 Isabelle sought Brinton, to ascertain if he could enlighten 
 her on the suspicious conduct of the messenger. He could 
 give her no assistance, but strange surmises were aroused, 
 and he determined to know whether these surmises were 
 well founded. 
 
 In an hour he was galloping towards St. Augustine. 
 
 2
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FATAL MEETING. 
 
 WHEN Conere parted from Brinton, at the orange grove, 
 he walked rapidly to a bye-path where his horse was fastened, 
 mounted and spurred him eagerly along the road towards St. 
 Augustine. Within a mile of the city, when it was near 
 dark, he turned off the main road into an obscure trail. 
 Along this he galloped speedily for several hours, and then 
 reined up at a low uninviting palmetto hut, and forthwith 
 entered without ceremony. He remained for more than an 
 hour, and when he came out, appeared anxious to get beyond 
 hearing before any one should follow him ; but as he was 
 about to mount his jaded steed, a torch-light flashed from 
 the hut and a voice hailed him. 
 
 " Remember, at two o clock to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 "I ll be there," replied Conere with evident impatience, 
 and the sound of his horse s hoofs soon died away at the hut. 
 
 We will not follow the Spaniard in his wanderings that 
 night. About noon of the following day, he slowly ap 
 proached St. Augustine. He paid no heed to the burning 
 sun, and though he was much oppressed, it was not on ac 
 count of the sultry air, that had covered his tired horse with 
 
 (18)
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 19 
 
 vrhite foam. He stopped at a mean looking house, in the 
 suburbs of the city, flung his bridle to a negro in attendance, 
 hastily turned a corner, and rapidly pursuld his way towards 
 the heart of the city. He proceeded to the public square, 
 which opens on Mantanzas Sound, and striding before the 
 monument dedicated to the constitution of the Spanish Cor- 
 tez, which rears its front in the center, struck directly to 
 what the French call a cafe, situated near one of the corners. 
 Addressing a few words to the swarthy-looking attendant at 
 the bar, Conere walked up a flight of narrow stairs. The 
 cafe was a two story building, erected of coquina, (a peculiar 
 sea-shell, employed extensively for building purposes some 
 years ago along the Florida coast,) and in the rear of the 
 second story was a low, dark room, to which Conere directed 
 his steps. He entered without knocking, and throwing his 
 sombrero on the table, surveyed the apartment. Upon a 
 bench near the window, he espied a rough-looking man, per 
 haps thirty-five years of age, who gazed upon his dark brow 
 a moment, and then very indifferently remarked : 
 
 "You re punctual, Cabot no doubt you re prepared. 
 
 " Have you the papers ? " returned Conere, with ill-feigned 
 annoyance, disdaining the seat to which his companion 
 pointed him. 
 
 With the most unconcerned manner, the rough man an 
 swered, "If I haven t, my pocket s been picked since I lay 
 down here. Ah! here they are, all right!" producing a 
 roll of documents from a large pocket in his coarse coat, and 
 throwing them on the table. 
 
 "What are the sums?" said Conere, still standing, with 
 a struggle to appear calm. 
 
 "Enough to play the devil with you, if you are not pre-
 
 2O The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 pared to cancel them. Conere, these are very different cir 
 cumstances from what you and I calculated on when we did 
 business together some years ago. You were master then 
 the tide s changed." 
 
 " You will not taunt me, Espard. You have reason to fear 
 me, if I am in your power just now. You know what I 
 have been I feel one of my old moods to-day." 
 
 " It will become- you, Conere, to keep cool. I am not 
 here unprepared, and you know what 1 have been," answered 
 Espard, with the most imperturbable coolness, still reclining 
 on the bench. 
 
 Conere, every moment falling into a deeper passion, looked 
 wickedly at his tormentor, and replied, " You must not taunt 
 me, or you shall know what I can be now but are you 
 ready to settle this business?" 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " All right, then," said Espard, slowly raising himself up 
 and drawing the bench towards the table, when Conere 
 arrested his movements. 
 
 "But I am here without a dollar. You must give me 
 more time, or do your best, and abide by the consequences." 
 
 " Threats, eh ? if I make you pay your honest debts, that 
 have been due these six months. I ll have the last picayune. 
 I ll not wait another day. Your property shall pay me, if it 
 takes the night-cap off your beauty, and your Virginia lady 
 has to accommodate herself to a cabin. We ll see who ll be 
 gentleman then." 
 
 Espard had thrown off his indifference, and these words 
 were uttered as if he gloated at the prospect of making 
 Conere a beggar. The Spaniard saw this, and felt that all
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 21 
 
 his calmness was requisite. In the mildest tone he had used 
 during their interview, almost in a whisper, he replied : 
 
 " No word of my family, Espard, or by heavens you die ! " 
 In a menacing attitude he approached his creditor, who sprang 
 to his feet and drew a pistol, crying, " Beware, Conere ; I 
 know what I say, and I mean it. If your pet has to take 
 the street, her beauty will be a good market, and you will 
 have no more need of money-lenders who take care of their 
 funds." 
 
 These words were uttered with a peculiar bitterness, which 
 Conere fully understood ; he was livid with rage, and ex 
 claiming, " The torments of hell take the wretch ! " he 
 dashed aside the table which stood between them, and sprang 
 upon his insulter. 
 
 Espard instantly fired his pistol, slightly wounding Conere 
 in his right side. The door of the room was broken open by 
 persons from below, who had been alarmed at the noise made 
 in the scuffle ; but before they reached the combatants, Es 
 pard fell heavily upon the floor, with Conere s dagger in his 
 breast. A portion of the party appeared to be friends of the 
 fallen man, for immediately they took him up and conveyed 
 him from the cafe, as Conere and all the inmates supposed, 
 dead. 
 
 Without the movement of a muscle, or an effort at con 
 cealment, Conere saw his victim borne away. He was 
 about to follow the company, when his eye fell upon the roll 
 of papers about which the difficulty had commenced, lying 
 near the upturned table. He hastily grasped them, and 
 hiding them beneath his coat, muttered, " The man who 
 would have conspired has gone to the devil, and Isabelle and 
 her mother are safe."
 
 22 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 By this time officers had arrived, and Conere was taken 
 into custody. His Secretary happened to be in the city, 
 and soon heard of the affray and hastened to the magistrate 
 who had Conere in durance. He would make no effort at a 
 release attempt no palliation he had calmly determined 
 to let matters take their course and meet his fate. But he 
 was glad to see his Secretary, because there were certain 
 papers at Rillwood of which the peace of his family might 
 require him to be possessed. 
 
 Of the Secretary s reception at Rillwood, during the Pat- 
 goe party, our history has made mention. When he returned 
 to St. Augustine he found Conere in a strange mood. He 
 would answer no questions satisfactorily, and had none to 
 ask about his family. The Secretary importuned him for 
 permission to tell his wife that night what was the cause of 
 his absence. At length, knowing the knowledge must soon 
 come to her, and wishing that she should communicate the 
 sad news to Isabelle, he consented. 
 
 The wound he received had been dressed and gave him 
 little annoyance. It was in no degree dangerous. He was 
 not confined in the common jail, but had been provided with 
 a room in an old fort fronting on the Mantanzas, and was 
 provided with all the conveniences he desired. Soon after 
 his Secretary departed for Rillwood, he called fur a cigar, 
 had it lighted, and throwing himself upon a couch, composedly 
 drew a cloud of thin smoke around him. When the guard 
 had retired to his place outside the door, taking from his 
 pocket two rolls of papers, he opened them, and after looking 
 at them a few minutes ignited them, piece by piece, and 
 watched them slowly burn, till every particle had been
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 23 
 
 
 
 reduced to ashes ; then, in the most determined manner, he 
 paced his room, muttering : 
 
 " Let them do their worst now let them hang me if they 
 can. I ought to die ; I ve lived long enough in this world. 
 They cannot expose me. Espard is dead, thank God, and 
 the only man whom I need fear is far away. Isabelle and 
 her mother are secure ; they have the richest plantation 
 about St. Augustine, and they can do without me. It is 
 best I should die now, for there s no telling what may hap 
 pen when the news that I killed Espard gets abroad. I ll 
 wait patiently for what does come, but I have lived too long 
 in this world not to know what will save me from an igno- 
 minous public death."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DAUGHTER S RESOLVE. 
 
 ISABELLE CONERE passed a restless night, and when the 
 soft air of early morn breathed into her apartment, she arose 
 from her couch and sat down by a window overlooking the 
 orange grove. The fragrance of those trees, exhaling de- 
 liciously from the dew drops which trembled on their leaves 
 and blossoms, hung in the pure air about her. Sometimes 
 she leaned her head on the window sill, as if in deep revery ; 
 then she watched the faint streaks of dawn appear in the 
 eastern sky, as the sun neared the verge of the horizon, and 
 again she cast her eyes confidently up to 
 
 " The blue eye of God, which is above us." 
 Near one of the rills that murmured around the mansion, 
 
 " A mocking bird, wildest of singers, 
 
 Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung over the water, 
 Shook from his little throat such floods of delicious music, 
 That the whole air, and the woods, and the waves, seemed silent to listen. 
 Plaintive at first were the tones, and sad ; then soaring to madness, 
 Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. 
 Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ; 
 Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision." 
 
 (24)
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 25 
 
 The restless girl listened, enraptured, feeling that, in the 
 natural eloquence of sympathy, the wild singer expressed her 
 emotions. 
 
 She had determined that the day should not pass without 
 bringing^ full knowledge to her of what had befallen her 
 father, and of the troubles she foreboded that were to fall 
 upon their house. 
 
 As soon as the servants were stirring, leaving untouched 
 the morning meal that her maid had brought her, she sent a 
 request that her mother would meet her in the parlor, and 
 walked out on the lawn. She had heard the Secretary 
 return to the mansion in the night, and knew that he had 
 called for her mother, and she hoped to meet him in some of 
 the walks ; but in this she was disappointed, and she returned 
 to the house with the fears of the night in no degree allayed. 
 When she entered the parlor, her mother awaited her. Her 
 first salutation was: 
 
 "Mother, will father be home to-day?" taking her 
 parent by the hands, and looking, through fast flowing tears, 
 into her face. Her mother was moved, and answered, with 
 much feeling: 
 
 "I fear, daughter, you will not see your father at home 
 for many days perhaps for years." 
 
 "What has happened to him?" said Isabelle, wildly. 
 
 " I cannot tell you now, child. I will see you when you 
 are more calm." 
 
 And the mother s overflowing heart revealed its deep emo 
 tion in scalding tears and suppressed sobs, for Conere did 
 not tell: the Secretary that he had not committed premeditated 
 murder. Under this impression his wife suffered, and she 
 ended this painful conference by abruptly withdrawing from
 
 26 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 the parlor, leaving Isabelle in an anxiety of mind which 
 impelled her to fathom the mystery at any hazard. 
 
 This mother, with all her good-heartedness, was one of 
 those women who never can freely communicate with their 
 children upon afflictions that may befall the family counsel 
 them on the stern duties of life, or instruct them fully upon 
 its cares and griefs and Isabelle had grown to womanhood 
 as unsophisticated in all these matters as the child of the 
 forest. 
 
 No sooner had the door closed behind her mother, than 
 i Isabelle was out on the lawn again. The fresh air was 
 pleasant upon her fevered brow, and she became somewhat 
 calmed in her ramble, before she found the Secretary : but 
 yet, with a profusion of dark ringlets hanging disheveled 
 about her fair neck her face pale with watching, and her 
 eyes sparkling with the lustre of anxiety, her appearance 
 startled him, when he met her in a garden path, back of the 
 mansion. With an arch grace of manner, she accosted him : 
 
 " You had a pleasant ride this morning ? " 
 
 " Rather," was the laconic reply. 
 
 " Is not the air sweet and pure ? " 
 
 The Secretary was embarrassed. He had expected a 
 a storm when he saw Isabelle approach him. She was now 
 so strangely calm, he feared she might have heard of her 
 father s arrest, and become partially deranged, and he was 
 considering how to answer her, when her expression changed, 
 and she drove his speculations all out of his head, by 
 inquiring: 
 
 " Did father send me anything ? " 
 
 " Nothing," replied the wondering servant. 
 
 " Where did you le^ve him, Benjamin ? " 
 
 "At the citv."
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 27 
 
 " I know that, Benjamin, and you cannot evade me. I 
 will know where he is, and you shall tell me ! " 
 
 " I dare not, Miss Isabelle." 
 
 " But I have said you shall" replied the girl, with a wild 
 energy which made the Secretary quake. 
 
 " It s dreadful, and you would curse me." 
 
 " I ll thank you I ll like you, Benjamin. If it s dread 
 ful, so much the more should I know all about it will you 
 tell me, Benjamin ?" 
 
 As if forced from him with a great effort, the Secretary 
 uttered the words: 
 
 " He s in prison." 
 
 " In prison ! " echoed Isabelle. As upon the wings of 
 the wind, she flew along the garden paths, and in a few 
 minutes burst into her mother s room. 
 
 " Why is my father imprisoned ? " were her first words. 
 
 " Imprisoned, daughter, who told you ? " 
 
 " Benjamin ; I forced it from him. But, mother, quick 
 I must know my brain s on fire !" 
 
 In broken sentences, and with frequent interruptions, by 
 the repressing of deep emotion, the mother revealed to her 
 daughter what the Secretary had related at their interview 
 during the night. When Isabelle had learned the dangerous 
 circumstances under which her father was placed, she walked 
 backwards and forwards for some minutes, with her hands 
 pressed on her brow, then stopping before her mother, she 
 cried: 
 
 " It is false it is a conspiracy. I don t believe a word 
 of it. The man who is dead was a bad man, and if father 
 killed him, he had cause for it. He shall not die. He shall 
 be liberated ! "
 
 28 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 " My daughter, be calm," interposed the weeping mother. 
 " You do not know what you are doing." 
 
 " But I do, mother I am in earnest it shall not be so ! " 
 And with impotent passion the afflicted daughter clasped her 
 hands and wept scalding tears upon her mother s neck ; then 
 in a moment sank by her side, and rested her head upon the 
 ottoman on which the mother sat. 
 
 Suddenly a violent storm had come up, and the rain began 
 to fall heavily upon the roof. Its dull, regular music seemed 
 to soothe the stricken mother and daughter. Isabelle raised 
 her head 
 
 " Mother, I read in that French history Benjamin lent me, 
 of a young girl, who left her home, in devotion to her coun 
 try, and went to Paris, determined to deliver the land of her 
 birth from the mad passions of a man who, she believed, was 
 the great cause of the social evils that oppressed the people. 
 She killed him, mother killed the bad man. It is nobler to 
 save a father. I shall never rest till my father is saved. I 
 know he is not a murderer I will never believe it." 
 
 The mother had no power to restrain her daughter ; she 
 had been unaccustomed to maternal restraint in her childish 
 sports ; what influence could the parent now have over the 
 wild frenzy which distracted the young girl s mind ? She 
 could only say, mildly: 
 
 " You must go to rest, Isabelle. You do not know what 
 you talk about. Sleep would compose you." 
 
 " Sleep, mother ! I ll go to my room, but not to rest." 
 
 Isabelle retired. She loved her mother, and would always 
 obey her implicitly, when her wild passions were not stirred. 
 She threw herself upon a couch, and lay with her eyes fixed
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 29 
 
 * 
 
 on the ceiling, as if she would count the rain-drops as they 
 pattered upon the roof. 
 
 Isabelle Conere had taste, if she had not meekness. She 
 loved flowers she loved the birds she loved nature in its 
 calmest as well as wildest aspects ; and, hanging about her 
 room, were representatives of all these tastes, that would not 
 have discredited a much more pretending boudoir. 
 
 In an hour, the mother called to see if her daughter rested. 
 She found her, as it were, in a trance ; but the parent s foot 
 fall aroused her, and springing to her feet, she exclaimed: 
 
 " The storm is past, mother. I shall see father this after 
 noon." 
 
 " Not calm jet, my child ? " 
 
 " Not calm ? No ! Mother, I wonder how you can be so 
 calm ; but you are older you have had more experience 
 you can control your feelings." 
 
 " And you must learn to do so, Isabelle, or you will find 
 this a sad world." 
 
 " It is a lesson I cannot learn now, mother. I know this 
 is a sad world. What a proof I now have my father in 
 prison! Mother, I will go with you to see him to-day." 
 
 The mother knew that it would be useless to deny Isabelle 
 this privilege, and perforce she answered: 
 
 " If you wish it." 
 
 " You know I do, mother. I made Benjamin promise, 
 this morning, if you would go, to take us to the city this 
 afternoon ; and if he had not consented, I should have sent 
 for Brinton." 
 
 Before five o clock that afternoon, under the escort of Ben 
 jamin, Isabelle and her mother applied for permission to see 
 Conere. Their request was cheerfully granted. Isabelle
 
 30 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 
 
 was pressed to her father s heart. She looked up fondly 
 into his face ; it was careworn. 
 
 " You grieve, father, that wicked men persecute you, but 
 you shall be liberated," she remarked, affectionately, half 
 soliloquizing. 
 
 " I fear not, my daughter," was his reply, in a tone which 
 chilled her. 
 
 Isabelle glanced around the dreary room, so different from 
 that to which she had been accustomed, and through dripping 
 eyelashes gazed at her father. 
 
 " But you are innocent, father. You must be rescued." 
 
 The father had practiced deception all his life, but he dare 
 not deceive Isabelle. He was thinking, and did not answer 
 her promptly. 
 
 k Tell me you are innocent, father. Say they have per 
 secuted you. What made them do it ? " 
 
 " I would not deceive you, Isabelle. I do not feel myself 
 guilty, but I did kill Espard." 
 
 " Was it premeditated ? Did you do it without cause ? " 
 eagerly asked the daughter, tightening her grasp on her 
 father s hand. 
 
 " Neither," he replied coolly. " He insulted me basely. 
 I threatened him he fired his pistol at me, and I stabbed 
 him." 
 
 " I knew it I knew it. Thank God, you shall be res- 
 eu*d." 
 
 " But this I cannot prove, my daughter. My dagger was 
 found in his breast." 
 
 " I care not," she answered thoughtfully. " A way will 
 come ; a way rmist come." 
 
 At this moment Benjamin entered, and told them that
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 31 
 
 the hour of their privilege had expired, and the guard de 
 manded his prisoner. Conere took a tender leave of his 
 wife and daughter, and Benjamin escorted them back to 
 Rill wood. 
 
 This Benjamin was a New England boy who had followed 
 Brinton to Florida. He had been a school-mate, and his 
 father having been an old friend of the Brinton family, Lecl- 
 yard took the boy south with him, to enable him to get a 
 " start in the world." At first he had a great " notion " of 
 fighting the Indians, but Brinton convinced him that this 
 business would be poor " pay," and he gave up the idea, to 
 become the secretary of Conere, and a sort of " general 
 help" about his family. He had determined on " making 
 his fortune " before he returned to New England. 
 
 He had not yet proceeded very far towards the " goal of 
 his ambition," but perhaps brighter days are in store for 
 him. He was working like a man who means to u rise in 
 the world." He had a respectable quantum of Yankee 
 economy, and every odd picayune he could spare, went to 
 wards the purchase of some rare book. Conere and Brinton 
 both had large libraries, but Benjamin had, long since, made 
 himself acquainted with all the congenial lore they contained ; 
 and with a carte blanche to all the lawyers and doctors of 
 fices of St. Augustine, as well as to a number of private 
 libraries, he was reaping all the advantages of book learn 
 ing, which the times and his circumstances allowed. He 
 was a fellow of rough manners, from early association, but 
 naturally quite a gentleman in his address. He took great 
 pains to give himself the air of a well bred citizen, and it 
 had begun to be apparent that communion with men and 
 books was giving his manners a polish and his conversation
 
 32 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 a point ; and about the time of which we write, it was whis 
 pered that Benjamin had enough of the genuine Yankee in 
 his composition to make a stir in the world some day. He 
 was now about twenty years of age, was tall and sinewy, 
 had dark hair that hung in graceful wavelets, and a bold 
 black eye that possessed a general-observation express 
 ion, which gave his countenance quite the look of a man 
 of the world. He had labored diligently and watchfully to 
 conquer New England mannerisms, but he could never so 
 remodel the outward character, stamped upon him by nature 
 and education, that he would not at first " guess " have been 
 "reckoned" a Yankee, by all who had the slightest famil 
 iarity with the habits, manners and peculiarities of that class 
 of the genus homo.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE POSET DANCE. 
 
 HAD Isabella Conere been called to follow to the grave 
 the remains of a father who had died in honor, though the 
 affliction had set heavily upon her, she could have borne up 
 against it without palor of cheek, dimming of eye, or decline 
 in the elasticity of her step; but to see him whom she had 
 loved, with that trusting aifection that believes its object can 
 do no wrong, buried within the thick walls of a dismal cell, 
 if she did feel that he deserved not the punishment which 
 the laws put upon him, was the germ of a grief that im 
 mediately began to sap the buoyant spirits that had blessed 
 her girlhood. She had not given up the strong determina 
 tion, taken hastily in an hour of violent passion, that her 
 father should be liberated. She had formed no idea how 
 this deliverance was to be effected she reflected not of the 
 means she determined, with all the power of an uncurbed 
 will, upon the end. 
 
 Conere had been a prisoner in the castle of St. Mark, 
 now called Fort Marion, nearly six months. This castle, 
 commanding the approach to St. Augustine, between Anas- 
 tasia Island and the main shore, was, at the time of which 
 we write, used as a civil and military prison. 
 3 (33)
 
 34 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 It is the oldest fort in the United States, having been 
 built in 1756. With its grass-grown walls, lofty turrets 
 and massive battlements, which give it an air of antique 
 romance, with the stories told of some of its dungeons, 
 that they were at one time used for the purposes of the 
 Spanish Inquisition, it forms a great attraction to the " sight 
 seekers " Avho visit the Peninsula. The casemate in which 
 Conere was confined was that from which, some years sub 
 sequently, the Indian Coacoochee, youngest son of the 
 renowned and subtile chief Philip, escaped through an em 
 brasure ; and many curiosity-lovers have walked over its 
 damp floors, who had no thought of the bitter tears shed 
 profusely upon them, by a devoted daughter. 
 
 The Spaniard had been arraigned before an inferior court, 
 and remanded to prison to await his trial, before the proper 
 tribunal, for the amazing crime of murder in the first degree. 
 He had employed no counsel ; he made no explanation, 
 attempted no palliation. Brinton had used every effort 
 possible, in his behalf, but Conere would second no scheme 
 for his release. 
 
 It is strange that he made no full confession of all his 
 circumstances to his family ; but when the thought was sug 
 gested, or it came up in his mind, his universal soliloquy 
 was, " Ashes are not mortgages." And when Brinton 
 urged him to make preparation for his approaching trial, he 
 answered : 
 
 " I cannot, would not tell you why ; but it is best they 
 should do their worst. I shall be prepared." 
 
 The people believed that Conere was a base murderer. 
 They knew him to be a man of dark passions, with a Span 
 iard s disregard of the life of an enemy ; and there were
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 35 
 
 those who, notwithstanding all that Madam Conere had done, 
 as an angel of mercy and charity, circulated base rumors, 
 and alienated many friends. 
 
 Though the blight of crime had fallen on the master of 
 Rillwood, in what were his wife and daughter changed ? 
 Nothing but devotion. But the purblind world cannot rec 
 ognize nice distinctions unless they happen to be in a desired 
 favor ; and there were few of Isabelle Conere s friends who 
 regarded her the more tenderly because she appeared pre 
 pared to sacrifice her life at her father s order, to save him 
 from his impending fate. 
 
 Madam Conere, tender-hearted, mild-natured, grieved 
 sorely at the coldness of former intimate acquaintances ; 
 and she was dying, as the tropical plant dies in a chill clime, 
 for the want of that life-giving nourishment necessary to 
 bind her closely to earth sympathy in the rendering of 
 good deeds that had made her life blessed. Isabelle said 
 of all who grew distant : 
 
 " Let them go, mother, they are not worth having." 
 
 But the mother could not find in her heart a shade of 
 feeling akin to her daughter s cynicism ; and every day her 
 cheek grew paler, her form became more attenuated, and at 
 the return from each sad visit to her imprisoned husband, it 
 was evident another of the ties that bound her to earth had 
 been broken. There were true friends among the poor and 
 lowly minded, who were welcomed to her household, and 
 their anxious concern did much to soothe her sorrows ; but 
 they could not bring back her waning strength, nor restore 
 the lustre to her listless eye. 
 
 But it must not be said that all the influential, who, in 
 prosperity, had been friends of the Rillwood family, now
 
 36 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 deserted them. There were those who did not vanish when 
 adversity fell upon Rillwood, as the early blossom vanishes 
 when the cold mountain air comes upon it, as, 
 
 "Winter still lingering on the verge of Spring, 
 Retires reluctant, and from time to time 
 Looks back." 
 
 Foremost among the true ones, should be mentioned Brin- 
 ton and Benjamin. 
 
 Isabelle had counseled with Brinton. She had declared 
 her determination that at all hazard her father should be 
 released from prison, before the threatening vengeance of 
 the law fell upon him, hoping to gain the aid of his strong 
 mind and worldly experience, in devising the means by 
 which her object was to be accomplished ; but when she had 
 revealed all to him, with amazement he exclaimed : 
 
 " It cannot be, Isabelle, honorably, except by means 
 of a pardon, and of that you know there can be no 
 hope." 
 
 " It shall be, Ledyard Brinton," returned Isabelle, in a 
 tone which made him shudder, " with or without a pardon ; 
 and if you now desert me, I must seek aid where I can 
 place my confidence." 
 
 " I will aid you, Isabelle will do all an honorable man 
 can do ; but my self-respect requires me to tell you that 
 your project is a mad one." 
 
 " I am resolved, Ledyard. I know you too well to be 
 lieve you could now give me your confidence ; and the 
 counsel I expected from you, I must seek from a stranger. 
 But do not plead with me ; it will avail nothing." 
 
 These words were uttered by Isabelle with deep emotion,
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 37 
 
 as she walked with Brinton along the avenue leading from 
 the Augustine road to Rillwood mansion. They were unan 
 swered for some moments. Brinton had absented himself 
 from festivities proceeding at his house, under the direction 
 of his aunt and her daughter, to spend half an hour with 
 Isabelle, and they had been walking some time when the 
 conversation we have detailed, occurred. We will not 
 describe their parting that night, but let the conduct of 
 Brinton reveal his feelings, when, an hour afterwards, he 
 returned to Windsor. 
 
 The Posey Dance had opened with spirit, and a " merrie 
 companie " were whirling its giddy mazes with general de 
 light. Benjamin appeared to be master of ceremonies. We 
 shall see how it happened. 
 
 The Posey Dance, not like the Patgoe, is a favorite, par 
 ticularly of west Florida. The ladies of a household, wish 
 ing to gather their friends, erect an altar, decorated with 
 bouquets and festoons of flowers, which is understood by the 
 gentlemen as an invitation to call and admire the taste and 
 skill of the fair architects. The lady of the house, culling 
 a rare bouquet, presents it to the gentleman of her choice, 
 and if he accept the honor, he becomes master of the fes 
 tivities, chooses the lady as queen of the ball, and then 
 follow Spanish dances and whirling waltzes. 
 
 Brinton s English cousin had chosen Benjamin as the 
 gentleman with whom she was best acquainted, and the 
 aspiring New Englander felt his consequence as much as if 
 he had been king of all the Spaniards, instead of super 
 intendent of Spanish dances for a few hours. 
 
 Brinton had. no heart to join the gay assemblage of 
 dancers, and he wandered towards a bower in the garden,
 
 38 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 from which, on the calm night air, floated sounds of delicious 
 music. 
 
 His aunt was a passionate lover of music, and she had in 
 spired him with much of her enthusiasm. She had an ex 
 quisite ear and a finely cultivated voice, and, from the fami 
 lies in the neighborhood, she had collected half a dozen 
 young girls and several gentlemen, who often, under her 
 direction, made vocal with enrapturing strains the "orange 
 groves about Windsor. Brinton delighted in these parties, 
 but he could have no pleasure in this one. Isabelle should 
 have been there to sing with him wild and melancholy songs. 
 He stood beside his friends in the arbor, and followed the 
 tunes they sang, but he could not sing with them. His aunt 
 observed his change of manner, and when the singers were 
 prepared to join the dancers in the mansion, she took his 
 arm, and they wandered along a garden walk. 
 
 The aunt wept over the nephew s growing attachment for 
 Isabelle Conere, because her notions of happiness, in married 
 life, were formed upon a much different standard from that 
 generally regarded in Florida, and feeling that Brinton s 
 impulses were with hers, she warned him, that if Isabelle 
 Conere became his wife, he would never have a home, and 
 counseled him tenderly, not to allow himself to be entrapped, 
 as she considered it. 
 
 Brinton felt that his aunt did not understand Isabelle, and 
 he did not heed her warnings, though he received her coun 
 sels kindly. On the night of which we now speak, she 
 knew from Brinton s manner, that something of no trivial 
 character had disturbed him, and she suspected that it con 
 cerned Isabelle. When they had walked where their con-
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 39 
 
 versation would not be overheard, after referring to Isabelle s 
 absence, and the sad cause, she inquired: 
 
 " But, Ledyard, is the girl as wild as ever ? " 
 
 " Wild ! " he returned, speaking as if his thoughts had 
 been echoed. " If you had seen her to-night, you had not 
 asked me ; but it is over now all over." 
 
 " What is over, Ledyard ? " 
 
 " Our intimacy we have separated." 
 
 " Then you have taken my counsel you believe that she 
 should never be your wife ? " said the aunt, eagerly. 
 
 " No, aunt. No. You do not understand Isabelle. I 
 am rejected." 
 
 "Rejected!" repeated the lady. 
 
 " Yes, rejected," said Briuton, bitterly. 
 
 " Has she been a coquette has she deceived you ?" 
 
 " Not deceived me, aunt, but she deceives herself. She 
 confessed that she loved me that were it not for her 
 father s ill fate, I would be her choice. But she is mad, 
 aunt. She says her father shall be liberated that his 
 prison doors shall be opened. I told her it was impossible, 
 except by force ; but she would not hear me, and when I 
 said she should have some one to counsel with her to be 
 her true friend, in the troubles that had fallen upon her 
 house, and begged her to let me be her protector, she an 
 swered wildly, You are not the man, Ledyard. I told her, 
 all that an honorable man could do I was ready to perform. 
 But it would not answer. She declared that marriage must 
 be subservient to the object, for the attainment of which she 
 had devoted her life, and she would have no man for a hus 
 band who would riot consecrate himself to that work, at all 
 risk. Oh, she is mad ! I pleaded with her a few minutes,
 
 4-O The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 then the expression of her dark eye grew terrible I shall 
 never forget it and she fiercely bid me never dare to men 
 tion marriage to her again. I cannot see her destroy her 
 self. What shall I do ? What a woman she would be, if 
 her powers were directed in the proper channel." 
 
 And the young man looked up confidently to his aunt, as 
 if expecting that she would propose a scheme that would 
 banish all his painful thoughts ; but if he had a thought of 
 this character, it vanished when the stern woman replied: 
 
 " I am sorry for her, Ledyard, but I rejoice for you. It 
 is strange you are not convinced that my counsel is for your 
 good." 
 
 " You do not know how I love her, aunt. I would do 
 anything but sacrifice my honor to her, and this she would 
 not have me do. She is mad. Hers is the purpose of a 
 crazy woman, and I must save her from it." Saying these 
 words, Brinton turned, as if to go back towards the mansion. 
 
 " You would not go to her again, Ledyard?" said the 
 aunt. 
 
 " I must walk alone," he returned, sadly. " I am half 
 distracted perhaps I have madly loved this girl, but I can 
 not see her madly destroy herself." With these words, as 
 they approached company, Brinton disappeared from his 
 aunt s side. She whispered as he left: 
 
 " Go not now, Brinton, or I shall think you as mad as 
 Isabelle." 
 
 But her words were unheeded. High in the heavens rode 
 the full moon, but Brinton knew not whether he walked in 
 sunlight or moonlight. He emerged from an orange grove 
 near Rillwood, just as a party of revelers, returning home 
 from Windsor, passed along a neighboring path, and not
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 41 
 
 wishing to be observed, and knowing that he would not now 
 be missed at home, he sat down beneath one of the trees and 
 endeavored to reflect ; but his thoughts were not at his com 
 mand, and he sat gazing towards the spot where he supposed 
 the object of his anxiety to be, when a dark form appeared 
 on the front steps, and was admitted by Isabelle. Feelings 
 which he could not explain, gave him an impulse to speak 
 one word to her, at least, before she reflected for the night, 
 on the strange conversation they had held together in the 
 early part of the evening. 
 
 He appeared at the entrance to the main hall. Isabelle 
 was in the parlor, and answered his summons alone. Her 
 manner startled him. 
 
 " To what," she said formally, "am I indebted, Mr. Brin- 
 ton, for this visit ? I thought we had parted." 
 
 " I come to talk to you, Isabelle." 
 
 " I ll listen to you here, then ; but our conference must 
 be brief." 
 
 " I have a great deal to say, Isabelle. You know not 
 what I have suffered in the last hour. Let me counsel you." 
 
 " You mistake me, Mr. Brinton. Did I not tell you that 
 I was resolved. The command of one from the grave could 
 not change me. Above us swings the cage of a parrot, 
 which you taught to speak four words it repeats them un 
 ceasingly, as long as the light of each day lasts. Go near 
 it when you will, it is crying Polly wants to fly ^ and it 
 has never uttered any other words. There is one confined, 
 for whose release I shall labor as unceasingly as that parrot 
 begs, and unless he fly from his prison, never, until the light 
 of life goes out, will I relinquish my task. When you would 
 talk to me, think of that parrot. You made your choice.
 
 42 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 Until you can tell me you would alter it, I command you, 
 speak to me no more of love. Good night." 
 
 Isabelle disappeared, leaving Brinton in a state of mind 
 which he alone could describe, who experienced its peculiar 
 perplexity and embarrassment. He walked slowly from the 
 mansion, and sat down in an arbor on the main avenue. He 
 continued with his thoughts for an hour or more, when voices 
 disturbed him. He looked towards the hall door, and by the 
 broad moonlight which streamed into it, he recognized two 
 persons whom he had little expected to see thus together. 
 He cursed himself for having stopped in that place ; then he 
 reflected: 
 
 "All is over it s no matter now." 
 
 In a moment, the gentleman had passed him ; he could 
 not be deceived. It was Benjamin, and he had kissed Isa- 
 belle s hand at parting. Conjecture and speculation were 
 at fault entirely, in divining the object of this meeting; and 
 Brinton was more in wonder than ever at the strangeness of 
 Isabelle s conduct. 
 
 A great change had come over this man Benjamin in the 
 period intervening between this time and his first introduction 
 in our history. He was no longer secretary to Conere. 
 He was regarded, at St. Augustine, as a shrewd Northerner, 
 who had recently taken the license to peddle pills and feel 
 pulses. Benjamin possessed that sly way of getting along 
 through this world which gives men the reputation of being 
 "smart fellows." It is not exactly on the principle by which 
 a miller or a chimney-sweep gets through a crowd, but it is 
 by making shrewd use of the faculty of reading other men s 
 characters and dispositions. It is a faculty of incalculable 
 advantage to the demagogue he knows all men truly,
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 43 
 
 while they think him anything but the man he really is. 
 This power enables the "wire-puller" to prosecute his "cun 
 ningly devised schemes;" it is, too, of great benefit, many 
 times, to the orator ; and by it the lawyer is enabled to 
 make out a "hard case" and let his client go "scot free." 
 In all business relations it is available, and, to a great ex 
 tent, is the secret of most men s success ; and although it 
 may not be always employed with a view to the maxim that 
 " honesty is the best policy," we have no doubt it is fre 
 quently the "policy" of dignitaries whose position should be 
 abcve trickery. The Scottish bard thought it of no incon 
 siderable importance, when he gave the following advice : 
 
 "Conceal yoursel as weel s ye can 
 
 Frae critical dissection, 
 But keek through ivery ither man 
 Wi sharpened slie inspection."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 RESULTS. 
 
 SPRING had departed that season when Florida puts 
 forth the vernal display, from which Ponce de Leon, the 
 Spanish adventurer, in 1512, gave it its name, when, pursu 
 ing the fiction of a Carib girl, he sought a fountain whose 
 waters would rejuvenate the man of hoary brow, and restore 
 the beauty of maidenhood to the careworn matron. 
 
 Ledyard Brinton was extensively popular among the young 
 and active men of the district. He was well versed in mat 
 ters of state polity, and though he did not often appear in 
 courts, was deeply learned in the law. He had entered the 
 arena of politics, to some extent, at the earnest solicitation 
 of influential friends, who admired his liberality and inde 
 pendence, and, consistent with his views, among the people 
 by whom he was surrounded, his course had been such as to 
 secure him the confidence of the mass. He was a reformer, 
 but he was not one of those Hotspurs, who cannot live but 
 in the heat of angry agitation ; and though he would have 
 had changed, in one day, many social evils which oppressed 
 a people in the State of his adoption, he knew that to hope 
 for such a revolution was vain, and he chose not to make 
 enemies by bitter upbraidings and ascetic censures upon his 
 
 (44)
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 45 
 
 neighbors. His object was to conciliate friends, and when 
 he had gained their confidence, cautiously put before them 
 such facts as would demonstrate what was practical and 
 profitable. 
 
 He had been selected as a candidate for a seat in the 
 Legislature, and the election was to be held in a few months. 
 
 Brinton was what may be properly termed an independent 
 man not one whose independence consists in a mulish 
 obstinacy, but one who thinks and acts for himself, as an 
 honest man should one who is not trammeled by prejudice 
 who does not travel in the beaten track because he was so 
 educated, but who has no fear of breaking from conventional 
 customs, when he would follow the right because of the 
 right. He is the independent man, who comports himself as 
 circumstances justify, according to the highest standard of 
 right and justice, whether before the world, or in his closet 
 
 " Whose armor is his honest thought, 
 And simple truth his utmost skill." 
 
 Conere had been tried. The testimony was positive, and 
 there was no escape, in the common course of events, from 
 the fate of a murderer. To his friends, Conere s conduct 
 was inexplicable. He met the verdict, condemning him to 
 death, with stolid indifference ; and, except that his manner 
 was reserved, nothing about him betokened the least concern 
 at the anxiety of his friends, the grief of his family, or the 
 dreadful end which awaited him. 
 
 Brinton had been a regular visitor at Rillwood since the 
 evening of the Posey dance, but, though Isabelle received 
 him kindly, her manner gave him to understand, unmistak 
 ably, that her determination was unchanged.
 
 46 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 Her conduct was an enigma to him, as much as that of her 
 father. He could not but feel that, to all outward sem 
 blance, for one who loved a parent wildly as she loved her 
 father, she bore bravely the troubles he had brought upon 
 his household, yet he could not consider hers that noble 
 struggle against adversity, which meets trials sternly, but 
 meekly, and prepares to profit by their lessons. She did not 
 give him her confidence, and he misunderstood her, while 
 her heart s emotions breathed, towards her father, Moore s 
 impassioned words 
 
 " Oh what was love made for if tis not the same 
 Thro joy and thro sorrow, thro glory and shame?" 
 
 It was the Sabbath following the conviction of Conere. 
 Gloom, like a pall, settled over Rillwood. Like the fading 
 away of a sweet odor, had gone out the life of its mistress, 
 sadly, but almost imperceptibly. She was buried with 
 simple ceremony, at the foot of a cypress tree in the garden, 
 beneath tfhich she had loved to sit. The spot was marked 
 only by flowers that " poured out their souls in odors," but 
 it was dear, as no sculptured urn could have made it, to the 
 sad hearts of those whose afflictions Madame Conere had 
 softened by her chanties, and whose griefs she had assuaged 
 by well-timed kindness. Her virtues had not been written 
 in water, and her good deeds did not die with her.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. 
 
 STNCE the death of Madame Conere, Benjamin, by his 
 cunning and intrigue, upon the profession of sincerest friend 
 ship, had become a confidential visitor at Rillwood. 
 
 After her mother s death, in looking over some papers in 
 R secret drawer of her father s escritoire, Isabelle found a 
 letter, the persual of which caused her to exclaim: 
 
 " My God ! Why had I not found this sooner ? Now my 
 father shall be liberated. I feel that there can be no doubt. 
 It is strange father had not told me something of this." 
 
 Rising, she rang for a servant. The summons was 
 promptly answered by a trusty negro, and she said to him: 
 
 " Go to St. Augustine immediately, and tell Doctor Benja 
 min that I wish to see him at Rillwood as soon as he can con 
 veniently come." 
 
 The servant hastened away, and in an hour had properly 
 delivered his message. Benjamin gladly received it. He 
 had that day been informed that the time of Conere s 
 execution had been fixed for the 20th of the following month ; 
 and suspecting that Isabelle had received the terrible news 
 and wished to counsel with him, hoping that something would 
 
 (47)
 
 48 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 occur to further the designs he entertained, before the hour 
 had come, when 
 
 " Twilight lets her curtain down 
 
 And pins it with a star," 
 
 he was on his way swiftly to Rillwood. He found Isabella 
 beneath an airy veranda extending east from the mansion, 
 rose-wreathed and vine-encircled. She received him rather 
 affectionately, remarking: 
 
 " We have good news, Doctor. The scheme which I 
 partly revealed to you, must succeed." 
 
 " Then you have not heard " 
 
 " What, Doctor ?" 
 
 " I had best be plain you must expect it. It has been 
 fixed that the execution shall take place on the 20th of next 
 month. ? 
 
 " Before that time, my father shall have a pardon. His 
 release will be honorable, and then we can show that he 
 stabbed Espard in self-defense. To consult you in the selec 
 tion of a legal adviser, I seat for you to-day." 
 
 " But how is this to be done ?" inquired Benjamin, with 
 a perplexed manner. 
 
 " We will walk into the house, and I ll show you," an 
 swered Isabelle. 
 
 When they were seated by a lamp, which threw a soft 
 light over the richly furnished apartment, Isabelle handed 
 the doctor a letter, remarking: 
 
 " You know that, for important reasons, the Government is 
 anxious to discover the man who murdered Major Bertram, 
 some years ago, near Pensacola, and carried off certain state
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 49 
 
 papers, which, in the prosecution of the Seminole war, have 
 become of much moment." 
 
 " Yes," answered Benjamin, " I read it all in the Augus 
 tine paper yesterday." 
 
 " That letter will tell you that Cabot Conere, in some way, 
 knows who this murderer was. It must be the man whose 
 name is signed there," returned Isabella. 
 
 Benjamin read the document, examined the name, and ex 
 claimed. 
 
 " Eureka ! This must be the fellow. He is fighting with 
 the Indians, against our forces. If Conere can give testi 
 mony that will convict him, I know the Governor will grant 
 him a pardon. Brinton has influence with the Governor 
 shall I not see him to-morrow?" 
 
 " Speak not to me of him, Benjamin him on whom I 
 depended he deceived me I would not now be beholden 
 to him." 
 
 A gle&m of light burst upon the doctor, as Isabelle spoke 
 these words, which almost made him utter an exclamation of 
 delight ; but suddenly his natural cunning came to his aid, 
 and he said, mildly: 
 
 " It can be done without him. I have influential friends." 
 
 Emotions had been awakened, which almost rendered Isa 
 belle forgetful of the immediate business with the doctor, 
 and she walked several times rapidly across the room, and 
 then, stopping at the window, pressed her hot brow on the 
 cold glass. 
 
 The doctor gazed at her strangely for a few moments, and 
 then approaching her, rested his arm on the window sill. 
 She did not know that he was so near her until he whispered, 
 
 " Isabelle." 
 4
 
 50 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 She turned her weeping eyes upon him, wondering what 
 brought him so near, and perplexed at the peculiarity of his 
 look. 
 
 " Isabelle, you have not been scornful lately ; you sent for 
 me to-day ; you have confided in me. I know your secret. 
 You would get your father from prison ; let me help you." 
 
 " I expect you to do so, Benjamin what mean you ?" 
 
 " Isabelle, I have dared to love you. I loved you when 
 you were a little girl. I kne\v it was madness then. I 
 have worked, Isabelle, to be worthy of you. I am not what 
 I once was. I ll devote my life to you." 
 
 The doctor s tones were eloquent his looks were impas 
 sioned. He endeavored to take Isabelle s hand, but she lifted 
 both to her forehead, and, as was her worrt when wild 
 thoughts surged in her brain, pressed them over her eyes, 
 and sinking upon a low seat, she said : 
 
 " Benjamin," in a tone that made him tremble, " are you 
 sincere, or would you only be lord of this mansion ? I know 
 you are ambitious. Have you considered that I am a con 
 vict s daughter that I have been exiled from society ?" 
 
 " All all," he answered, impetuously, " but you are not 
 the less beloved. I love you the more for your devotion to 
 your father, the man who first helped me. Were it not for 
 what you described, I should never have dared to address 
 you. As I expect to be judged, believe me honest." 
 
 Isabelle was silent for a few moments, while the tears 
 flowed fast from her downcast eyes, then she rose to her feet, 
 and presenting her hand to the doctor, said firmly: 
 
 " Give me a trial rescue my father, and this hand is 
 yours." 
 
 The doctor pressed her hand passionately between both 
 of his, and answered :
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 51 
 
 " Your father was a friend to me, for his sake I would 
 do much ; but for your sake, I swear that I am at your com 
 mand that I will be your slave." 
 
 Without attempting to release her hand, Isabelle looked 
 into Benjamin s eyes and answered: 
 
 " I have only to ask that you will shrink from nothing to 
 liberate my father from prison mind nothing. Can you 
 swear it ?" 
 
 " As I hope for Heaven, I can," said Benjamin. 
 
 " Then understand me. Remember, I have not loved you 
 I know not that I ever can love you; but if you rescue 
 my father, I will try to love you. I sacrifice my love and 
 fortune for that purpose. If you deceive me, it will be ter 
 rible for you." 
 
 The doctor quailed beneath the look Isabelle gave him, as 
 she spoke these words, but he answered instantly: 
 
 " May it be terrible for me if I deceive you." 
 
 " The work should commence to-night. I would be alone. 
 Go now, Benjamin, and to-morrow bring me word of whom 
 you have chosen for a legal adviser." 
 
 The doctor kissed her hand, and was in a few minutes on 
 the road to Augustine. He traveled it in such exultation as 
 he had never before experienced. 
 
 Isabelle Conere s emotions were the very antipode of her 
 lover s, in all except hope that her father s prison doors 
 would soon be opened, and the dread execution, thought of 
 which chilled her heart s blood, averted. 
 
 When the doctor reached the city, he proceeded to a ho 
 tel, where a political club met, and was soon breathing an 
 atmosphere redolent of liquors and tobacco fumes.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LEGAL ADVISER. 
 
 IT was the eve of an election, which, at this time, though 
 the country was filled with soldiers, and the Indians were 
 every day committing depredations, was an era in the history 
 of St. Augustine ; one, too, that contrasted strangely with 
 many customs that had been observed when the Spaniards 
 ruled over the ancient city. The happy constitution of our 
 government puts all men on a level at these periods, and 
 often those who have the least real consequence, feel the 
 most importance. 
 
 In a drinking saloon closely filled with such characters, 
 Benjamin appeared, when we parted from him in the last 
 chapter. It was not exactly a caucus, or a club, or a cabal, 
 but an irregular gathering, at which politics was the theme. 
 The discussion was on the candidates, and one of the 
 " crowd," whose face like that of Shakspeare s Bardolph, it 
 had cost many a copper to keep in color, was answering one 
 of his party, in this wise : 
 
 " You re right ; this feller as is up for the Legislator, aint 
 the chap what we wotes for. He d make us give up licker. 
 He can t stand among folks as likes liberty." 
 
 " That he can t, stand mong us," returned another of the 
 
 (52)
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 53 
 
 party, who was only able to keep his feet by leaning against 
 his friends, or holding by the tables. " We re goin to exer 
 cise the right of suffrage for independence ; if we can t, 
 what s the use in the Declaration ? " 
 
 " It s the doctor s treat," exclaimed a toper who then 
 had been treated till he scarcely knew anything but the way 
 to the bar. 
 
 " So it is," chimed in half a dozen voices, and the doctor 
 could do nothing else than make a sudden retreat, or attend 
 to the call on his "patriotism." A dozen or more arranged 
 themselves where they could be served with their drinks, and 
 the doctor addressed them : 
 
 " It s a fact, boys, Brinton aint just the chap we want for 
 a legislator. He s a clever fellow in some things, but I 
 don t think all his notions just agree with this country. 
 You re right on liberty, boys. Such notions whipped the 
 old British got this land from the Spanish and they will 
 put the Seminoles where they can t molest us any more. 
 Here s a health to Squire Lifty he ll beat Brinton, slick." 
 
 The party tossed off their glasses, when a man, sitting 
 at one end of the tables, who had yet taken no part in the 
 conversation or drinking, quietly observed: 
 
 " A d n pretty fellow you are, Doctor, to desert a 
 
 man who brought you here, and made you all you can boast 
 of. It s not a week since you were electioneering for him." 
 
 "Turn him out!" exclaimed several of the "voters" who 
 had drank the doctor s liquor ; but his shrewdness was not 
 at fault, and he very deliberately replied, although he was 
 much nettled: 
 
 " No, no, boys. Let him go it. Because I m indepen 
 dent, I expect to be abused. If I saw I was on the wrong
 
 54 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 side, I had a right to wheel about. In politics, a man can t 
 always be with his personal friends." 
 
 " Hight, Doctor right again. We honor you for your 
 independence. We ll stand by you, too, till you re a can 
 didate some day," said the spokesman of the drinking party. 
 In the meantime, the individual who had thrown " the fire 
 brand" disappeared, and Benjamin, finding it not necessary 
 to keep up further intercourse with the "sovereigns," said 
 to the man who sold them drink: 
 
 " Give the boys another round, at my expense. I have 
 an appointment in the next room, and you will excuse me 
 till I have seen Squire Lifty." 
 
 He stepped out as the party drank his health, and in a 
 moment was among a company that was concocting plans for 
 the defeat of Brinton s party on the morrow. 
 
 "Good evening, Doctor," said one of the schemers, "we 
 were just counting upon you." 
 
 At this, the nomin-ee of the company, Brinton s opponent, 
 came forward, and shaking the doctor s hand vigorously, 
 said : 
 
 " Your conversion to our cause, has given us great pleasure. 
 If it had been sooner, we had been surer of success. But 
 you know our plans ; are they right ? " 
 
 " I think they re the best you could invent," returned Ben 
 jamin, stepping aside. " But, mind you, Brinton lias con 
 ducted himself so carefully that people wont believe much 
 against him. They know, at least, he will do only what he 
 thinks best for them, all things considered ; and lie is popu 
 lar among the liberalists, and you know there arc plenty of 
 
 them. But, Squire, d n politics, to night I am here 
 
 on other business. I want to defeat Brinton in another way.
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 55 
 
 I have a chance for you to make a handsome fee. Excuse 
 yourself to the club, and meet me, in half an hour, at the 
 cafe, near the Barracks. I ll have things right there." 
 
 Benjamin hastened to prepare for the squire, and the 
 would-be legislator immediately excused himself to his fol 
 lowers present, on the plea that there were other friends to 
 counsel with, and he must be stirring about. He had drunk 
 deeply, but he could bear up against a big load, and he was 
 not yet too dull for a scheme, out of which there might come 
 a prospect of money. 
 
 Over a bottle of wine and a cigar, Benjamin revealed to 
 Squire Lifty, Isabelle s plan for the rescue of her father, and 
 telling him all about the important letter, and offering a 
 liberal fee if he would manage it successfully, inquired what 
 he thought the hope of success. 
 
 " It can be done as easily as I shall beat Brinton to-mor 
 row, and when I am elected, I ll have influence with the 
 Governor. I ll undertake it, any how," returned the lawyer. 
 
 "Then," said Benjamin, "you must see Isabelle as soon 
 as the election s over. I ll tell her, to-morrow morning, that 
 you are engaged. She ll give you all the documents." 
 
 The new friends separated, the squire pleased with the 
 prospect of a good office and a fat fee, Benjamin with the 
 prospect of an accomplished and beautiful wife, a large for 
 tune, and the getting of Brinton out of his way, in his design 
 of making a stir in the world some time. 
 
 The election took place, with many a dispute, many a 
 squabble, much drunkenness, intrigue arid misrepresentation ; 
 but the candidate popular among the dram-drinkers, one of 
 that class of politicians who can " wire in and wire out," 
 as expressed by a well known, homely couplet, was signally
 
 56 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 defeated, and Brinton received official notice that he had 
 been honored with a seat in the Legislative Council of his 
 adopted State. 
 
 The doctor, at the time appointed, duly advised Isabelle 
 of the selection of the squire, as legal adviser ; and knowing 
 nothing of the man, and having confidence that Benjamin 
 would exercise his best judgment, she had no reason to be 
 dissatisfied. 
 
 On the day after the result of the election had been an 
 nounced, the doctor conducted the squire to liillwood, and 
 introduced him to Isabelle. 
 
 He was not in quite as good spirits as he would have been, 
 had he been able to consider himself a law maker, as well as 
 a law mystifier ; but he had a little revenge to gratify, and 
 having been informed of Brinton s former relation to Isabelle, 
 and the doctor s hopes, his crafty nature was well pleased 
 with the scheme of -which he had been advised, and the 
 handsome reward its execution promised. 
 
 He had a long conference with Isabelle examined the 
 important letter, and, assuring her that there could be no 
 doubt of a pardon, on the ground she proposed asking it, 
 prepared the form of the necessary papers, and left her, with 
 the advice that she forthwith see her father, acquaint him 
 with her intentions, get what information he could give, visit 
 the Governor, and in person sue for the pardon.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE INTERVIEW AND THE PARDON. 
 
 IT was a refreshing morning in early winter, when Isa- 
 belle Conere left Rillwood, attended by Doctor Benjamin, 
 for the castle of St. Mark s. 
 
 The foliage of the orange groves, the majestic palms, the 
 lime, the pomegranate and the fig, deepened, not embrowned, 
 as the frosts of a Northern clime change the summer green, 
 gently stirred by breezes balmy as those that " blow soft o er 
 Ceylon s isle," almost burthened the atmosphere with de 
 licious fragrance. Flowers by the wayside, of varied hue 
 and conformation, with their leaves and petals drooping, 
 gave out, ere their decay, sweetest perfume ; and bright 
 plumaged birds twittered and sung in the branches of all the 
 trees ; but Isabelle was not awakened from the thoughtful 
 revery by the invigorating air, the prospect of the groves, 
 nor the charms of the fields. Winter was in her mind, and 
 its desolateness resembled more the condition of Northern 
 landscapes, bleak and drear, beneath chilling winds, than 
 the luxuriance of that Southern clime. But she did not des 
 pair, for hope presented a spring time, near at hand, in which 
 her joys would bloom afresh in the delights of home associa 
 tions. In all, there was but one object, around which did 
 
 (57)
 
 58 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 not gather affections in keeping with the scene, and that ob 
 ject presented itself whenever Doctor Benjamin, or his ser 
 vice, was suggested. 
 
 Conere was always glad to receive visits from Isabelle, 
 but he had seemed peculiarly so since the death of Madame 
 Conere. He welco*med her with more than wonted affection 
 on this morning. She had fear to open the object of her 
 visit, which she could not account for ; but the devotion of 
 a life was cast on this hour, and she must proceed. When 
 they were alone, without explanation, she presented Conere 
 the papers Squire Lifty had prepared. He read them with 
 evident emotion his breathing grew quick, his eyes flashed 
 strangely, and he exclaimed wildly, grasping her hand: 
 
 " My daughter, where, in the name of God, did you get 
 this information?" 
 
 " From this letter, father ; but why are you so agitated ? " 
 
 He snatched the letter she handed him (that found in his 
 escritoire), and after looking at it a moment, he became 
 more calm, and asked her: 
 
 " Do you know who this man is, and where he is ? " 
 
 " Benjamin says he is the Indian called Ilulkwa-nunto- 
 kay, who leads a party of Mickasukies in the cypress 
 swamp." 
 
 " How does Benjamin know this ?" 
 
 " He says an officer of the army told him that this chief 
 was a white man who was suspected of having been engaged 
 in depredations before the Americans possessed Florida. 
 He lived a short time in Augustine, and he was then known 
 as Ilerpez. Mr. Lifty says he has seen him, and knows that 
 he was a bad man," answered Isabelle, wondering why her 
 father put such questions ; but she had been accustomed to
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 59 
 
 moods that no present circumstances could explain, and she 
 dare not interrogate him in regard to them. 
 
 " He is a bad man, daughter that s what the Indian 
 name he has chosen means but I believed the man Herpez 
 was in another country. He told me he would go ; yet if 
 he is here, and finds that Espard is killed " 
 
 As Conere spoke these words, he stood before his 
 daughter, and taking both her hands, gazed intently upon 
 her a few moments, then thoughtfully continued : 
 
 " You can save me from an awful death, child. You can 
 make my life, which has been a burden for many years, from 
 constant fears, peaceful and happy, if, by love or money, you 
 3an have this Indian leader arrested." 
 
 Isabelle did not understand her father fully, but she an 
 swered with determination 
 
 I will save you, father, and I know the Indian can be 
 arrested. Benjamin will seek him, and he has the promised 
 aid of the Indian Agent." 
 
 " You have planned well. I ll sign these papers, and you 
 will hasten, to-morrow, in person, to present them to the 
 Governor. Let them be seen by no one else." With these 
 words, Conere was about to part from his daughter, when she 
 affectionately said : 
 
 " What had you to do with this Indian white man, father? 
 How came he to send you the letter ? He confesses a 
 knowledge of the crime of murdering Major Bertram, but 
 he does not confess himself the murderer." 
 
 " But he was the murderer," interrupted Conere. " Y T ou 
 must not now ask me what I had to do with him. You shall 
 know all, another time." 
 
 " There are many things I wish to know, father, and I
 
 60 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 have heard things which, when I think of them, frighten 
 me ; but this land is full of wicked men, and, when I have 
 saved you, we will leave it." 
 
 " Yes, daughter, we will leave it. But go now my guard 
 is coming." 
 
 "In a few days, Benjamin shall bring you word that I 
 have your pardon." Isabelle took tender leave of her father, 
 and, conducted by the guard, joined Benjamin in the outer 
 court. 
 
 When Conere was alone, he soliloquized 
 
 " Yes, we will leave this land. Oh, what a land it has 
 been to me. Why did I have a family ? I might defy them, 
 but all must be deceived now. The Americans would like 
 to get this Indian. What do I care whether he is Ilerpez 
 or not? Prejudice is against him. I can invent a story 
 that will fix him but I believe it is him if it is, how I shall 
 triumph ! Espard dead Ilerpez hung. It was lucky Isa 
 belle found that letter but when she showed me the papers, 
 I thought she might know too much. She s a brave girl, 
 and she ll get the pardon. I shall be free no fear of man s 
 tongue shall haunt me hereafter. Would that Brinton had 
 stood by us. I rather suspect secrets have been told to him ; 
 but Benjamin will work hard, and if he arrests that infernal 
 Indian, Isabelle and her fortune that fortune Espard would 
 have had shall be his. I ll wait patiently, if I can to 
 hear from him." 
 
 Isabelle Conere, escorted by the aspiring doctor, lost no 
 time in visiting Tallahassee. The Governor happened to be 
 at home. She waited upon him, and plead, as only a daugh 
 ter can, for the life of a father. Her papers had been judi 
 ciously prepared, and when she laid them before his Excel-
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 61 
 
 lency, after he had heard her story, he assured her that he 
 would take the matter into immediate consideration, and send 
 word of his determination, at her hotel, on the following 
 evening. 
 
 Tediously dragged the hours, until the period appointed 
 for the Governor s report. Isabelle was alone in her room 
 she paced it slowly, and as the dim shadows, thrown in gigan 
 tic shapes from her person by a flickering lamp that sat on a 
 low stool, flitted to and fro, she fixed her eyes upon them, 
 and exclaimed : 
 
 " Can it be that now my hopes are fleeting, unsubstantial 
 as these shadows that in a dim light I have been groping, 
 and all my visions, for the future, are but dreams, shadowy 
 dreams ? If it prove so. I shall go mad. But I did not 
 plead well with the Governor, perhaps. I told him my 
 father confessed that he had killed the man Espard, but I 
 knew he did it in self-defense. I did not ask a pardon out 
 of pity my father wants no man s pity but I asked it be 
 cause he could render the government valuable aid. I de 
 manded it as the price of service rendered. I have heard 
 that to great criminals pardons have been rendered, for tes 
 timony that would convict greater criminals. The Governor 
 said he would grant the pardon, if my father could do what 
 he promises I know he can the Governor was gracious to 
 me the pardon will come hark ! I hear a summons below 
 some one comes up the stairs. I know the step it is 
 Benjamin." 
 
 The almost frantic girl hastened to the door of her room, 
 hastily opened it, and met the doctor. He handed her a 
 package of papers. She said to him:
 
 62 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 " Leave me alone for an hour, Benjamin, and I will sum 
 mon you." 
 
 As he retired, she threw herself upon a lounge, and nerv 
 ously broke the seal of the papers. A letter bearing the 
 Governor s signet, met her view ; she opened it, and read : 
 
 " MY DEAR MADAME : I return you the papers which you entrusted to 
 me, with the assurance that it is consistent with my duty to the nation, and 
 a proper regard to the laws, to say to you, under my official seal, that your 
 1 riends shall have every aid I can render; and if the Indian Hulkwa-nun- 
 tokay can be arrested, and your father, Cabot Conere, shall present before 
 the proper tribunal, such evidence as will convict him of the murder of 
 Major Bertram, an unconditional pardon shall be granted him. 
 
 " I shall countermand the order fixing the execution for the 20th inst. 
 
 " I remain, with sentiments of high respect, your obedient servant, 
 
 " Governor of the Territory of Florida." 
 
 When Isabelle had read this letter, without stopping a mo 
 ment for reflection, she summoned Benjamin, acquainted him 
 with the purport of the Governor s communication, and said 
 to him: 
 
 "All rests with you now, Benjamin you have a danger 
 ous task, but you chose it without solicitation. The Governor 
 will order men to escort you. I will leave you here to-morrow. 
 Proceed immediately to arrest this Indian you must accom 
 plish it by stratagem. Take trusty guides and brave men. 
 Bring him to Tallahassee, and when the trial is had, this hand 
 is yours. I will carry the news of pardon to father, myself." 
 
 Benjamin kissed the hand she offered him, and vowed that 
 he would never return to St. Augustine alive without Ilulkwa- 
 nuntokay. 
 
 On the morrow, the doctor prepared to visit the cypress 
 swamps, and Isabelle returned to Eillwood in company with
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 63 
 
 a party of Augustine acquaintances. They little suspected 
 the object of her visit to Tallahassee. 
 
 At the earliest possible hour, Conere had the privilege of 
 reading the letter, securing him pardon, on the conditions we 
 have described. Loading his daughter with thanks and ca 
 resses, he assured her, that on the day of trial he should 
 vindicate himself. 
 
 lie was a dark minded and dangerously deceitful man. 
 His daughter loved him too blindly to understand his true 
 character.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE ARREST AND THE DISCOVERY. 
 
 DOCTOR BENJAMIN, -with a faithful escort and experienced 
 guides, had journeyed three days from Tallahassee. He be 
 gan seriously to reflect, that following Indian trails, through 
 swamps and thick woods, was not as pleasant as rolling pills 
 in St. Augustine. It was not the way he proposed walking 
 to distinction in this world. In his solitary hours he grew 
 desponding many times, but love and fortune cheered him 
 on, and before his men he maintained a brave exterior. 
 
 From a friendly Indian, the commander of the escort had 
 learned that Hulkwa-nuntokay, as the leader of a small party 
 of Mickasukie Indians, had a camp near the southern boun 
 dary of the Big Cypress swamp, which was subsequently the 
 rendezvous of many parties of hostile savages, who retreated 
 thither during the Seminole war, and defied the American 
 soldiers. 
 
 Hulkwa-nuntokay s band had been in the practice of ma 
 rauding on the weaker planters along the rivers, and in the 
 smaller towns ; and the chief, as he was considered, was 
 much feared as a daring and blood-thirsty savage. He had 
 no regular connection with any band of Indians, and it was 
 well understood that the only way to entrap him would be 
 
 (64)
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 65 
 
 by stratagem. The doctor was directed by a party of six 
 men, besides the guides and three friendly Indians, who 
 knew the country, and the dangers they might expect to en 
 counter. 
 
 Herpez was one of those singular, misanthropic men, who 
 appear to despise comfort, and delight in crime who exile 
 themselves from society, and seek the deep forest. He had 
 been in Florida, under different names, many years ; and, 
 from threats which he had thrown out, it was suspected that 
 he had been always a foe to the Americans ; and, from expres 
 sions that had escaped him while at one time in St. Augustine, 
 it was surmised that he had in his possession important secrets. 
 These things were known to the Governor, and for this rea 
 son he readily believed Cabot Conere s story, and promised 
 him pardon, on the conviction of the Indian Spaniard. There 
 was no Indian blood in his veins, but he had so long followed 
 the habits of the red man, and worn his costume, that, except 
 by the few who knew his history, he was supposed to be a 
 Seminole, as his name indicated, giving, at the same time, 
 his character, Hulkwa-nuntokay, as intimated by Conere, in 
 his conversation with Isabelle, signifying bad man. Herpez 
 was a man of great muscular power and agility, and a re 
 nowned marksman. His men were desperate Indians, who 
 had scattered from different parties of that tribe, who, ac 
 cording to Indian tradition, murdered the first white man 
 that was ever seen in Florida, believing him to have sprung 
 from the foam of the ocean, thrown upon the beach. They 
 discovered his trail on the shore of Lake Okeechobee, and, 
 struck by the peculiar print of his shoe, followed it until 
 they overtook him, and were led, by their natural thirst for 
 blood, to take his life, though he besought peace. 
 5
 
 66 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 When the party approached the swamp, they were very 
 nearly surprised by a band of Creek Indians, and this ad 
 monished them to proceed watchfully, taking every precau 
 tion not to alarm the enemy. 
 
 One night, when the escort was encamped on the border 
 of a pond covered with water-lilies, and from which pro 
 ceeded the bellowing of alligators, so loudly as to interfere, 
 very uncomfortably, with Doctor Benjamin s design of hav 
 ing a good night s rest, after a hard day s march, one of the 
 Indian scouts, who had been sent out in the afternoon, re 
 turned with a pony, which, he declared, belonged to the 
 Indians they were seeking. He had taken the animal near 
 a settlement, at which, he believed, the band was now 
 gathered. 
 
 On the following morning, various plans were proposed for 
 the capture, and much speculation was had on the most fea 
 sible methods ; but at length it was decided that they should 
 first ascertain if Hulkwa-nuntokay was at the settlement 
 if so, they would that night attack it from various quarters, 
 awe the Indians by surprise, disperse them, and so guard 
 Herpez s hut that escape would be impossible. Dr. Benja 
 min had command of the squad that was to be relied upon 
 to make the capture. There was but one man in the party 
 who could identify Herpez, or Hulkwa-nuntokay. In the 
 afternoon, he reported that he had seen the victim, and knew 
 which was his hut. 
 
 The settlement was hid by tenebrous boughs and trailing 
 mosses, in a dense cypress hammock. The attack was so 
 well planned, and so cautiously managed, that the Indians 
 were completely surprised, but they fought with desperation. 
 Three men belonging to the escort were killed, and several
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 67 
 
 received severe wounds. How many of the Mickasukies 
 were slain, could not be ascertained. One of the men be 
 longing to the escort was killed by a blow from the knife of 
 Hulkwa-nuntokay. When the war-cry was given, the chief 
 sprang to the door of his hut, and was met by the Indian 
 guide, who gave a concerted signal, and attacked him. 
 The chief was too skillful and muscular a warrior for his foe, 
 who fell at his feet before assistance reached him, but Ben 
 jamin and his men were near at hand, and closing around 
 the chief, they soon overmastered him, although he fought 
 desperately with his knife, wounding a number, and among 
 them the doctor. 
 
 As soon as the party could be rallied, after the defeat of 
 the Indians, it was decided that rapid flight from the scene 
 of the battle, was the policy they should adopt. They pro 
 ceeded through the swamp in hasty marches, without moles 
 tation, except from a small band of Spanish Indians, who 
 were soon routed. The second day they struck the trail 
 for Tallahassee. About the time they began to fear pursuit, 
 fortunately they fell in with a party of friendly Indians, who 
 had been at war with the Mickasukies, and rejoiced to see 
 their terror, Hulkawa-nuntokay, a prisoner. They now ad 
 vanced in more easy marches, and allowed the men to re 
 cruit. 
 
 Herpez had maintained a dogged silence, and did not yet 
 know that he had been taken prisoner on a particular charge. 
 He supposed his numerous depredations on the whites, to 
 have instigated the attack on his men. He knew his fate 
 under such circumstances, and was prepared to meet it with 
 Indian fortitude. Benjamin endeavored, several times, to
 
 68 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 engage him in conversation, without success, until one even 
 ing, when he stood by him in the camp, he said: 
 
 "Herpez!" 
 
 And at this sound, one which he had not heard for years, 
 and which sent a torrent of wild thoughts through his brain, 
 the disguised Indian started to his feet, and gave the doctor 
 a look that caused him to step back a pace, but he continued, 
 
 " Did you ever know or hear of a Major Bertram, mur 
 dered some years ago, near Pensacola?" 
 
 " Who are you, that calls me this name, and asks me these 
 questions ? " demanded Herpez authoritatively. 
 
 " I am known as Doctor Benjamin, of St. Augustine but 
 you have not answered me." 
 
 " You have no business to question me. It s none of your 
 business what I know, but I ll answer you. I did know Ma 
 jor or Lieutenant Bertram, and I know who murdered him, 
 but the United States shall never know. The inquisitors 
 could not make me tell." 
 
 " It is not expected that you will tell but I am surprised 
 to hear an Indian speak so good English," returned the doc 
 tor, provokingly. He could not move the Spaniard, who 
 said, coolly : 
 
 " I followed another life than this, once but what has my 
 arrest to do with Major Bertram ? " 
 
 " You shall know when we reach Tallahassee," answered 
 the doctor, and the conversation was closed by the appear 
 ance of the commander of the escort, who had a duty for 
 the doctor to perform, in the care of one of the wounded 
 men, who had not yet recovered. Herpez held no more 
 conversation with any of the party during the journey. 
 When he was lodged safely at the capital, he was fully ac-
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 69 
 
 quainted with the charge against him, and was ordered to 
 prepare for his trial, which had been set for the following 
 week. When inquired of if he desired counsel, he asked: 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " To defend you," was the reply. 
 
 " Defend me ? The devil could only do that. I ll have 
 no defense. The Americans are determined to kill me let 
 them do it by hanging. A hundred lives shall pay the forfeit 
 of mine. My Indians will avenge their chief they will 
 burn dwellings and pillage towns. But who is my accuser?" 
 
 " Cabot Conere, of Rillwood, who is in the fort at St. 
 Augustine, for the murder of one Espard," answered the 
 civil officer, who had visited him to learn his wishes in regard 
 to counsel, for it had become known that he was far from 
 being an Indian in early, if he had been in late education. 
 " Cabot Conere, of Rillwood," said Herpez " I knew 
 him once by a name not quite as high sounding. He killed 
 Espard ; to get his neck out of a halter, he would kill me. 
 Well, if he chooses, he can do so I shall be legally mur 
 dered, for if he could not make me guilty of this murder, he 
 could tell enough against me besides to hang a small army 
 but my men shall have word, and they shall avenge my blood 
 terribly." 
 
 The day appointed for the trial of Herpez would dawn on 
 jihe morrow. Cabot Conere, released from his casemate at 
 Castle Marco, but under a watchful guard, was at Tallahas 
 see, with his daughter, in quarters where he was less con 
 strained than he had been for a few months past. Squire 
 Lifty was his adviser, and was to aid the Government in the 
 prosecution of Herpez. Conere had so prepared himself, 
 that he had no fear of the result of the trial.
 
 70 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 In company with a number of friends, Ledyard Brinton 
 journeyed from Augustine to Tallahassee. They expected 
 to reach the capital on the evening before the trial. It was 
 late in the afternoon. Brinton, reflecting on the causes 
 which had led him to Tallahassee on the probable result of 
 Conere s release on Doctor Benjamin s hopes was in no 
 mood for gay company, and had fallen some rods behind his 
 party. He knew that Isabelle did not love the doctor 
 knew that she was sacrificing herself for his aid in the rescue 
 of her father, because her old lover had disappointed her in 
 his honest expression that there was no hope of honorable 
 release for Conere. Had Brinton entertained a suspicion of 
 the course events had taken, no man could or would eagerly 
 have done more than he to bring to justice the murderer of 
 Bertram, and rescue Conere ; but the accident, that gave 
 Isabelle the knowledge upon which she had acted, came 
 when he was estranged, and no opportunity had been given 
 him to lend his aid or influence. Such reflections engaging 
 him, he rode without perceiving how far his companions were 
 in advance, when, as he passed a grove of undergrowth 
 orange trees, a man in Indian garb, "armed to the teeth," 
 sprang from a cluinp of bushes at the road-side, and, before 
 Brinton saw his intention, grasped his horse by the bridle- 
 bits, and exclaimed in good English: 
 
 " Ledyard Brinton, I have business with you." 
 Brinton was unarmed, excepting a brace of pocket pistols, 
 and he knew resistance at this time would be vain. Though 
 
 O 
 
 staggered at the man s strange and violent salutation, he did 
 not lose his presence of mind, but answered promptly: 
 
 " You have chosen a novel manner of introducing your 
 self. Perhaps your business is with my purse."
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 71 
 
 " D n your money," answered the outlaw. " I have 
 
 a bigger scheme than taking money, on hand, and you must 
 help me work it." 
 
 " Must "said. Brinton, " then you possess more power than 
 I think you do ; but I have no time to bandy words. What 
 is your business ? " 
 
 " You are going to Tallahassee to see one Herpez tried for 
 a murder that took place some years ago." 
 
 " How do you know this ? " 
 
 " No matter. This Herpez was taken on the information 
 of Cabot Conere, who would get his neck out of a halter for 
 the murder of one Espard. Conere has a daughter you 
 love her." 
 
 " Are you a wizard ? " thought Brinton, aloud. 
 
 u Not quite nor an Indian, as you may be convinced, but 
 a Spaniard, who knows all about both these murders who 
 knows that Herpez did not kill Major Bertram, and that 
 Conere stabbed Espard in self-defense." 
 
 " And what do you propose doing with this information?" 
 said Brinton. 
 
 " If you will help me, I mean to show who the murderer 
 of Major Bertram was, and clear Conere and Herpez from 
 the charges against them." 
 
 " Can I trust you ? " 
 
 " It can do no harm to try me." 
 
 " And what do you expect me to do ? " 
 
 " Take this piece of coin," answered the Spaniard, giving 
 Brinton an old Spanish dollar, on which were stamped the 
 letters " E. H." "Go to the place where Herpez is confined, 
 give it to him, tell him you got it from Don B., -who will be
 
 72 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 in court to-morrow, and you must be his counsel you are a 
 lawyer." 
 
 " I cannot appear against Conere." 
 
 " Not to save him, and rescue his name from infamy ? " 
 
 " But I have my suspicions that all is not right. Why do 
 you tell these things to me ? Why do you not let the Gov 
 ernment know them ? " 
 
 " Because I do not choose to. I alone have the informa 
 tion that will make all right. I chose to make it known in 
 court to-morrow, through you. If you will not aid me, Iler- 
 pez will suffer for a crime he is not guilty of, and Conere 
 will be forever cursed as a murderer." 
 
 " Does not Conere think Herpez the murderer ? " 
 
 " How can I tell what Conere thinks ? But will you aid 
 me?" 
 
 " What do you wish me to do in court ? " 
 
 " The trial must not be had," answered the Spaniard. 
 " When all is ready for the witnesses, I want you to say to 
 the court that there is a man present who can clear up all 
 the mystery about these murders, and give positive testimony 
 as to who the murderer of Bertram was, as well as show that 
 Conere is not a murderer. Will you do it ? " 
 
 " I fear it is a mad proceeding, but I will take the risk." 
 
 " You are a man of honor, Ledyard Brinton. You will 
 see me beside the prisoner to-morrow." 
 
 The Spaniard darted into the bushes, and was out of sight 
 in a moment. 
 
 Brinton, called to himself by the deepening twilight that 
 had began to gather while he parleyed with the Spaniard, 
 spurred his horse, and, with indescribable emotions, galloped 
 swiftly towards the capital. When he had proceeded a few
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 73 
 
 miles, he met two of his traveling companions returning to 
 seek him, having become alarmed at his absence. They in 
 quired anxiously as to the cause of his detention, but he gave 
 them no satisfactory answers. 
 
 When he reached Tallahassee, after calling on Isabella to 
 congratulate her on the expected happy events of the morrow, 
 he lost no time in seeking Herpez s place of confinement. 
 When he announced himself as counsel for the prisoner, he 
 was admitted without delay, and the guard informed Herpez 
 that his lawyer wished to see him. 
 
 " I want no lawyer," was his dogged answer ; but Brinton, 
 not to be daunted, walked into the cell, when the wicked 
 man looked up and exclaimed: 
 
 " Damnation take the man who would force himself on me, 
 to learn my secrets ! " 
 
 "You mistake me, sir," said Brinton, mildly; "I had 
 that from a man who wished me to see you to-night," hand 
 ing him the stamped dollar. 
 
 " Great God ! Where is he ? " cried the prisoner, wildly, 
 " and who are you? " 
 
 " My name is Ledyard Brinton. I promised Don B., as 
 he called himself, that I would appear in your behalf to 
 morrow." 
 
 " I don t want you without him. Will he be there ? " 
 
 " He declared that he would." 
 
 " He ll do it he ll do it. We may die, but not unaveng 
 ed," said Herpez, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. 
 
 " Why this rage? " said Brinton. 
 
 " You look like an honest man, but my experience has 
 taught me to trust no man. I could tell you secrets you 
 would then understand my rage ; but I won t tell you.
 
 74 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 You ll hear them at the trial. You will give Don B. a 
 chance, at court, in my behalf." 
 
 " I have so promised, but I fear it was done rashly." 
 " Not so you will expose great villains. But I would 
 think alone. My thoughts must be spoken, and no man shall 
 hear them." 
 
 Brinton retired, and walked to his hotel in great perplex 
 ity, but determined, at all hazard, to fulfill the promises he 
 had made, and wait patiently for the morrow to solve the 
 singular mystery which seemed to hang around the prisoner, 
 arid the man who had stopped him on the Augustine road.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 AT the opening of the Seminole war, Tallahassee had be 
 come a town of considerable importance, although the first 
 house was erected as late as the spring of 1824. A hand 
 some building for the capitol was nearly completed various 
 religious societies had been established, and other associa 
 tions, calculated to give the city importance, were rapidly 
 progressing. During the winter of which we write, a re 
 spectable body of troops was quartered near it, and as the 
 Legislative Council was to sit in a few days, the regular 
 population had been much increased about the time fixed for 
 the trial of Hulkwa-nuntokay. 
 
 Major Bertram had been generally respected in the army, 
 and a number of officers at Tallahassee remembered him as a 
 brave soldier and a true friend, although, in youth, he had 
 sustained an unenviable character for intrigue, as the French 
 use this word. His death and the Government robbery had 
 been talked about a great deal, and much speculation had 
 been indulged in regard to the Everglade Heroes. To fer 
 ret them out, had long been a strife among the civil as well 
 as military officers of the Territory ; but prior to Isabella 
 Conere s appeal before the Governor, no reliable information 
 
 (75)
 
 76 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 had ever been received in regard to any one of them. It 
 was generally supposed that Herpez must have been an im 
 portant man among the Heroes, and a general exposure of 
 the band, and their operations, being expected through the 
 investigations at his trial, it had awakened intense excitement 
 throughout the city and adjacent settlements. 
 
 On the morning appointed for the commencement of the 
 investigation, the building, in which the court, was held was 
 completely crowded with a body of men of varied grades 
 and stamp, all eager to hear the details of the secret and 
 terrible crimes. 
 
 Conere, with Isabelle by his side, sat within the bar, near 
 Squire Lifty. Brinton occupied an obscure seat at the foot 
 of a long table, on which lawyers books were so piled as to 
 exclude him entirely from Isabelle s view. He was not yet 
 prepared to be known in the case, and he did not wish to be 
 observed by Conere or his daughter until he knew surely 
 whether Don B. would make his appearance. 
 
 The prisoner bore himself like a man who had no concern 
 in what agitated the mass about him. Excepting a peculiar 
 compression of the lip, there was nothing to be remarked 
 upon in the expression of his countenance. He endeavored 
 many times to catch Conere s eye, but the witness had no 
 intention that he should do so, and his gaze was directed 
 everywhere but toward the prisoner. 
 
 Conere was not the same hale man who had left Rillwood 
 on the day of the fatal meeting. Reminiscence and reflec 
 tion, in confinement, had changed him much, but had served 
 only to increase that peculiarity of look, which seemed ever 
 to regard all on whom it rested, with suspicion. His bearing 
 was that of a man who fears that every gesture, each change
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 77 
 
 of position, every direction of his eye, or quiver of his lip, 
 may militate against him in a cause wherein he has deep 
 interest. 
 
 When the formalities of the court had been observed, 
 
 . Squire Lifty stated briefly what the prosecution expected to 
 
 accomplish through the witness Conere, with corroborating 
 
 testimony that he had directed, and proposed that the oath 
 
 be administered to him. 
 
 Ledyard Brinton now arose, and appearing from behind 
 the legal shield that had protected him as he desired, while 
 Isabelle was amazed and alarmed, and Conere fixed on him 
 a most crushing look, remarked : 
 
 " May it please the court, I appear as counsel for the 
 prisoner. I am prepared to show that he is not guilty of 
 the crime charged. It is a proceeding without precedent, 
 but as the circumstances are peculiar, and as there is now 
 within this court room a man who can not only clear the pris 
 oner at the bar, but show that Cabot Conere is not guilty of 
 the crime for which he has been condemned, and point out 
 also, clearly, the true murderer of Major Bertram, I move you 
 that he be now heard." 
 
 There was a sensation produced by this speech, throughout 
 the court room, that cannot be described. A strange fire 
 glowed in the prisoner s eye. Cabot Conere s countenance 
 was " ashen and sober " as the sky of a damp morning ere 
 sunrise, and Isabelle, from some unaccountable dread, was 
 as pallid as if her life had suddenly gone out. 
 
 The judge said : 
 
 " This is a remarkable announcement, Mr. Brinton. Let 
 the witness be called ; we shall then determine whether to 
 hear him at this stage of the trial."
 
 78 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 A tall man, painted and dressed as a Seminole Indian, 
 appeared on the witness stand. 
 
 " Is it an Indian you would thus informally introduce ? " 
 demanded Squire Lifty, prompted by Doctor Benjamin, who 
 sat trembling at his side. 
 
 " Ask him," replied Brinton, quietly. 
 
 "Your name, sir?" demanded the clerk of the court, 
 while the spectators were crowding, deeply excited, around 
 the bar and the prisoner s box. 
 
 " The Indians call me Chitta, or Snake but I was not 
 known by this title, when, many months ago, I was carried 
 out of St. Augustine to be buried." 
 
 " Explain, sir ! " cried the presiding judge. Conere start 
 ed to his feet, and would have advanced toward the Indian, 
 had not Isabelle clung to him. 
 
 " More than a year ago," said the Indian, speaking as 
 good English as most men do, " I was engaged in a fight in 
 a cafe in St. Augustine. I was stabbed, and left for dead. 
 Some friends conveyed me to a dwelling, and when all had 
 abandoned me, a trusty servant prepared to give me a burial. 
 He discovered signs of life, and using what restoratives he 
 could command, I became enabled to speak. I told him I 
 wished terrible revenge on my opponent begged him to re 
 move me secretly where he could take care of me, but let no 
 one know that I had not been buried. The plot succeeded. 
 I recovered. Tfie servant died a few days after 1 was able 
 to dispense with his care, and my secret was safe. My mur 
 derer was tried and condemned. I have been an Indian 
 since. Before, I was known as Manuel Espard, and Cabot 
 Conere was my murderer." 
 
 At these words, Isabelle uttered a piercing shriek, and
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 79 
 
 Conere sank powerless on the seat from which he had risen 
 when the witness began to speak. 
 
 " This has nothing to do with the cause in question," said 
 the prosecutor. 
 
 " I come to it," returned Espard. " The captain of the 
 Everglade Heroes murdered Major Bertram ; the band shared 
 the Government money. They are all now in this court 
 room. The hour has come -justice shall be done. That 
 band, terrible in all this country, consisted of but three men. 
 Here are the men the prisoner and the tvitness. There is 
 the CAPTAIN ! " He made a significant gesture. All eyes 
 were fixed in the direction Espard pointed. The report of 
 a pistol rang through the court room. Cabot Conere fell 
 dead upon the floor a groan of agony was heard, and Doc 
 tor Benjamin weltered in his blood. All was consternation 
 for a moment, and then the cry went up: 
 
 " The Indians have escaped? " 
 
 Espard had shot Conere Herpez had stabbed Benjamin ; 
 and then they sped like lightning, while attention was direct 
 ed to their victims. 
 
 Isabelle Conere had swooned attention was given her by 
 her immediate friends, while numbers went in pursuit of the 
 murderers. They had some distance the start, and were fleet 
 runners*. As they approached the stream that winds along 
 the eastern border of the city, many musket balls whistled 
 after them, but none reached the mark. The " Heroes " 
 soon disappeared where the stream leaps into a gulf, whence, 
 taking the woods, their pursuers were baffled. But " the 
 race is not always to the swift." A few hours after these 
 wicked men leaped from the court room at Tallahassee, as 
 tney skulked through the forest, a company of soldiers, re-
 
 80 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 turning from a hunting party, taking them to be marauding 
 Indians, fired upon them, and both fell mortally wounded. 
 Herpez never spoke, but Espard, as he writhed on the ground, 
 cried out: 
 
 " Tell the people of Tallahassee you have finished the Ev 
 erglade Heroes." 
 
 Thus perished three men, whose lives had been eventful 
 of terror and bloodshed who had been hardened in crime 
 who had amassed fortunes in the shedding of innocent 
 blood who had followed chosen pursuits many years unsus 
 pected, but upon whom, at length, as upon all the unrepent 
 ant wicked, sooner or later, it must come, fell retributive 
 justice ; and society was avenged, as far as their death could 
 atone for their infamous lives.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DESOLATION AT RILLWOOD. 
 
 THE season when " bursting buds look up " had returned 
 again, but it was that spring time succeeding the coldest 
 winter ever known in East Florida, and the vernal ray had 
 no power to call the groves or the gardens from gloom. In 
 the last winter month, a "withering frost" threw over the 
 rivers and lakes a thin curtain of ice affording a most novel 
 spectacle for that tropical clime and beneath the cutting 
 influence of a driving northwest wind, the fruit trees were 
 stripped of their foliage, and their life-currents so congealed 
 that a midsummer sun shone powerless on leafless branches. 
 The groves and gardens of Rillwood were as desolate as the 
 heart of its mistress drear as a Siberian forest. Where 
 beautiful flowers had attracted the humming-bird and the 
 bee, rising from terrace and lawn, were strewn withered 
 stalks and sere leaves ; and where had hung clustering boughs 
 of dark and golden fruit, beneath whose shade and from 
 whose fragrance lovers imbibed pleasure, and invalids drank 
 in strength, unsightly poles, with rugged bark, were seen. 
 Where the red-bird built his nest the mocking-bird sung 
 his ever changeful notes, and the gay-plumaged paraquet had 
 caroled and flitted, the melancholy owl " greeted the moon 
 6 (81)
 
 82 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 with demoniac laughter,* while sterile winds whistled around 
 him. 
 
 In keeping with the unusual season had been the life of 
 Isabelle Conere. For many weeks after the death of her 
 father, she raved in a delirious fever, and it was months be 
 fore she left her room. When, late in the spring, she walked 
 through the paths of Rillwood, saw the ravages of winter as 
 she had never before witnessed them, and thought of the 
 struggles nature was everywhere making to recover from her 
 forbidding aspect, a lesson of resignation was taught her ; 
 but she could not feel otherwise than that the snows of sor 
 row that had fallen on her heart, had left it as the frosts of 
 the winter had left the tenderest fruit trees, never to have 
 life and beauty again, that would be sweet to look in upon, 
 imparting joy to others. 
 
 She had but one token of her father, which, in connection 
 with his dreadful death, left her the slightest consolation. 
 That was a letter, found on his person by those who prepared 
 the body for the tomb : 
 
 " MY DEAR DAUGHTER: When you get this note, your father will be be 
 yond the reach of human laws or enemies. I formed a determination when 
 I was first arrested, that I should never go upon the gallows, let what would 
 be the result of my trial ; and when your project for my deliverance was 
 about to succeed, I had no reason to change a determination that would 
 quiet fears with which, to me, this world is filled. A fatal poison, known 
 to the Indians, I have long kept secretly upon my person, has done its 
 work. 
 
 " My life has been almost one continued deceit. I cannot die without 
 making a frank confession to you of all the circumstances which rendered 
 me a villain for when I was young I was not more wicked than other 
 men. 
 
 " I was the captain of the Everglade Heroes, and I murdered Major 
 Bertram. I was at one time a soldier under him. He became acquainted
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 83 
 
 with my sister made honorable proposals to her, and seduced her. I chal 
 lenged him to meet me. He spurned me struck me. I returned the blow, 
 and deserted, to escape court martial. I vowed revenge ; I took that re 
 venge ; but not until I had long been an outlaw, associated with men whom 
 I could only trust in villainy. But what led to the circumstances which 
 impelled me to revenge? what made me then associate with outlaws? I 
 answer with the deepest contrition love for a social glass of wine, which 
 grew to be a passion for strong drink. 
 
 "My acquaintance with Major Bertram was formed at drinking parties in 
 our camp. When intoxicated, I introduced him to my sister. I encouraged 
 :heir acquaintance, because I was indebted to him for money borrowed at 
 the gaming table, when I was not myself on account of wine. His intimacy 
 with my sister, and his friendship to me (as I then considered it), was flat 
 tering to my pride, because he was much my superior in rank. 
 
 " That friendship the friendship of the bottle has been the curse of my 
 lift, and not to your father as himself, but to your father under the influ 
 ence of strong drink, may you ascribe the sorrows which carried your 
 mother to a premature grave, and which will sadden the last months of 
 your life. When you remember your father, have charity for his wicked 
 ness. 
 
 When I joined the band of outlaws, which for so many years was the 
 terror of Florida, I was so deeply intoxicated I could not sign my name to 
 the compact, and was obliged to make my mark. I say it not to ex 
 tenuate, but in explanation. When the period of the compact had passed, 
 I broke up the band. Then I was sober. Long before would I have done 
 so 5 but by the fear of that which the law has now declared against me, I 
 was restrained. A review of the horrors of my dark career only showed 
 me how vain it would be to seek new society, and hope for peace and safety 
 and then, drinking deeply to drown remorse, I pursued my villainous 
 course, seeking by energy of purpose to quiet the clamors of a conscience 
 which, in sober hours, has always been active. Oh ! that I had hearkened 
 unto those clamors, and met whatever fate was in store for me. 
 
 If you have any influence in this world, exert it in behalf of the victims 
 of that vice which degraded me in my youth made my manhood a period 
 of crime, and has rendered my last days more bitter than the torments of 
 the damned, unless their punishment bears with it vivid recollections of 
 their ill-spent lives. 
 
 " I have been rich in gold, but poverty-stricken in all things else, except
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 yours and your mother s love and dovotion, which I did not merit. I had 
 been happy at Rillwood, but for the recollections of deep guilt. 
 
 Who will forgive me for abusing your mother s confidence for entailing 
 upon you the curse of being the daughter of the captain of the Everglade 
 Heroes ? 
 
 " God forbid that you should curse me, my daughter. May God bless 
 you. I can write no more. Your mother taught you to pray pray for 
 your wicked father. CONERE."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE LAST SCENE AT RILLWOOD. 
 
 LEDYARD BRINTON had come back from legislative labors 
 at the capital, to his quiet English home, with " blushing 
 honors thick upon him." He had been a " progressive " in 
 the councils and debates, but so adroitly had he managed his 
 movements, that, though the rigid conservatists opposed him, 
 they admired his tact, and honored his devotion. He laid 
 the foundation for a number of educational and internal im 
 provement enterprises, which have since done much towards 
 giving character and wealth to the Peninsular State. His 
 prospects were flattering for the highest office within the gift 
 of that people, but it was not his destiny to receive the re 
 ward of his well-earned popularity, through political honors. 
 
 His love for Isabellc Conere had suffered no abatement 
 during the trials through which she passed, and he was now 
 ready to offer his heart and his fortune. His visits to Rill- 
 wood while she was confined to her room, and ever since 
 she had become able to see company, had afforded him little 
 encouragement that she still reciprocated the affection which 
 had once been his pride. After a critical review of her 
 whole conduct since the period of her father s arrest, the 
 numerous lectures of his considerate aunt had no influence 
 
 (85)
 
 86 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 upon him, and he determined to ascertain, definitely, if Isa- 
 belle had changed in her regards toward him as much as she 
 had in appearance, and in estimation of the world around 
 her. 
 
 Brushing from his feet the dews that had gathered, on a 
 bright morning, along the avenue leading from the Augus 
 tine road to the front porch of Rill wood mansion, we see 
 him proceeding, with determined step, to learn, surely, from 
 the mistress of the fair grounds about him, whether he shall 
 ever be their master. He was received by Isabelle, in a 
 manner that gave him encouragement, and he soon brought 
 about a conversation which called up scenes in happier days. 
 They sat near a window commanding a view of a grove of 
 orange trees, which, one year previous, were loaded with the 
 promise of golden fruit, and were the haunt of beautiful and 
 sweetly singing birds, but in which were now to be seen only 
 a few stunted blossoms and meager clusters of leaves, 
 attractive neither to the humming-bird nor to the " house 
 wife-bee." In reply to a remark by Brinton, Isabelle said : 
 
 " You remember that grove, when we walked through it 
 last spring. Its desolation is not more striking than that of 
 my heart. I am changed, Brinton, as words cannot tell." 
 
 " Not to me, Isabelle. It needs but one word from you 
 to make you all to me, yea, even more than you were on the 
 evening we danced together, when your birth day was cele 
 brated by that Patgoe party, about which so irany painful 
 recollections cluster." 
 
 " You forget that my name is a reproach that we were 
 separated. What a volume of painful thoughts crowds upon 
 my mind ! " And Isabelle walked away from the window, 
 to a sofa at the opposite side of the room. Hot tears
 
 The Everglade Heroes. 87 
 
 fell upon her attenuated fingers, as she pressed them over 
 her eyes, as if to shut out the visions that Brinton s reference 
 had called up. He followed her, and answered: 
 
 " Yes, Isabelle, I have forgotten all these things would 
 that you could." 
 
 " Would that I could," she repeated, when he continued, 
 
 " But I have not forgotten vows breathed in yonder grove, 
 at a season like this, when all was bursting to bloom about 
 us. Can Isabelle think of the luxuriance of that time, and 
 in its recollections forget the winter of sorrows she has pass 
 ed, and believe that to her mind a spring-time will come, 
 crowned with joys and beauties, as surely as one day, these 
 drear groves around the mansion will blossom and bear fruit 
 in due season ? " 
 
 " I cannot answer you, Brinton, for I know not what the 
 future has in store for me. But can you command forgive 
 ness as well as forgetfulness ? It becomes me to ask it of you." 
 
 " Most freely most freely. You will be mine, Isabelle." 
 
 " I am desolate hearted and poverty stricken unworthy 
 of you," she answered. 
 
 " What mean you, Isabelle ? " 
 
 " That the property on which I live will never be improved 
 under my hand. It was bought with crime and blood. I 
 must go far from it it has a curse upon it." 
 
 " Leave it, then, Isabelle. Have not I a fortune, ample, 
 and without incumbrance of any kind? " 
 
 " And Rillwood must be like it, let my fate be what it 
 may. It was purchased by wrong doing it shall be spent 
 in doing good. It is my design that the negroes upon it 
 shall all be manumitted, and it shall be sold to provide homes 
 for them, as they choose in Africa or America and if
 
 88 The Everglade Heroes. 
 
 then there is a dollar left, it shall go to endow an Orphans 
 Institute in St. Augustine." 
 
 " Nobly spoken like your beloved mother," cried Erin- 
 ton. " Let me be your agent for this pleasant business." 
 
 Isabelle placed her hand within that of her suitor, and he 
 said to himself 
 
 " We are betrothed." 
 
 When the summer was ended, a noble ship crossed Man- 
 tanzas bar, bound for " the classic shores of Italic." Its 
 most richly furnished and most commodious state-room was 
 occupied by Ledyard and Isabelle Brinton.
 
 Fleet Foot. 
 
 A LEGEND OF KENTUCKY.
 
 FLEET EOOT: 
 
 A LEQEND OF KENTUCKY, 
 
 IN 1778 Kentucky was the home of remarkable men. 
 They were men who exceeded the Indian in cunning who 
 had more enduring powers of resistance to fatigue, and who 
 were as relentless in pursuit of their red foes, as were ever 
 the most savage red men in pursuit of white intruders upon 
 the ancient hunting grounds of their tribes. 
 
 There are Indian wigwams now toward the Rocky Moun 
 tains, and on the plains sloping from the Sierra Nevada, and 
 there are white men, who dare wrap themselves in their 
 blankets and go to sleep alone in the forest who are brave 
 and hardy, and who know, from severe experience, the trials 
 and fatigues of a hunter s life, but there are none who may 
 be selected as fair representatives of the Hunters of Ken 
 tucky. The fatigues, the dangers and perils of Rocky Moun 
 tain life, now-a-days, do not equal those which surrounded 
 the pioneer from Virginia, in 1778. 
 
 Among the most exciting traditions of the times of trials 
 to the pioneers in the great valley of the West, those belong 
 ing to Kentucky have preeminent interest. Her pioneers 
 were compelled to teach a horde of desperate Indians (not 
 
 (91)
 
 92 Fleet Foot 
 
 before disturbed) that they must retreat from the valley or 
 the hill-side where the white man chose to build his cabin. 
 
 Bold and brave, stout and determined men alone, were fit 
 ted to carry the rifle and swing the axe in the forests to be 
 felled, for the cabin and the corn field in "old Kaintuck." 
 
 Our legend is about such men. Two of them were in the 
 depths of a dense forest on an autumn morning, when, though 
 the earlier harbingers of dawn had given place to roseate 
 tints, which glowed upon hill-tops touching the eastern hori 
 zon, it was so dark in the wooded valleys that the hunters 
 with difficulty groped their way. They had not traveled all 
 night, but they had gathered up their blankets, when it was 
 yet an hour before day-break, and were picking their way 
 along slowly knowing that soon the morning light would 
 break through the thick foliage over them. They had been 
 absent from the Fort, at Harrodsburg, several days ; they 
 knew there was anxiety about their fate and they were impa 
 tient to relieve it. 
 
 It was not light enough for them to see distinctly, when 
 their quick ears detected a footstep stealthily approaching. 
 In an instant each had chosen his ambush and was keenly 
 watchful. 
 
 " By powder, its old Martin," cried one of the hunters, 
 and springing from his ambush, he drew his rifle to his shoul 
 der and leveled it at the person thus indicated, who gave a 
 sudden yell, and then in a rough tone said : 
 
 " Put down your shootin iron. I aint fond of such mo 
 tions, ef they are in fun. Whar s Mac ? " 
 
 "Ready to pop you ef you d ben a red skin," answered 
 the individual inquired for, showing himself. 
 
 " Well I ve got a leetle news for you in partic lar, but may
 
 Fleet Foot. 93 
 
 be Fleet Foot ll take a sort o notion to it too. Sit down on 
 this ere log till I tell you, for its a leetle serious, and I m 
 kinder worked up about it." 
 
 The three hunters sat together in earnest conversation un 
 til the sun shone broadly on the tree tops, and checkered 
 shadows lay all around them on the fallen leaves. 
 
 Old Martin, after reminding the others that he had gone 
 away from the fort at Harrodsburg the day before they left, 
 informed them that he had been working about ten miles dis 
 tant, where some friends were making a settlement. Mac s 
 sister had gone with him as company for his wife. Four men 
 were at work in the woods, when they heard screams at the 
 cabin. They rushed toward it. Martin s son, one of the 
 four, was shot by an Indian, whom old Martin saw and at 
 tacked, while the others continued toward the cabin. 
 
 " I put a ball in that red skin who shot Bob," said old 
 Martin, talking to Mac and Fleet Foot, " and then I run for 
 the cabin too. I didn t hear or see any sign of any more 
 Ingins, and when I got to the cabin I found the other boys a 
 debatin what was to be done. They hadn t seen a red skin, 
 but both the women were gone. I swore a leetle and cussed 
 the Ingins right smart, but poor Bob was in the woods and 
 we had to look arter him. So we went, sneakin , and found 
 him dead enough and we carried him to the cabin and then 
 held a council. I swore I d go to the fort and git a party, 
 and follow them red skins till we had our women and their 
 scalps ef it took us till snow come. We discussed awhile, 
 and the other boys agreed to get on the Ingins trail and 
 make signs, and I started for the fort. It was jist about 
 sundown, and soon it got dark and I was a leetle excited, and 
 I got a leetle wrong, and I ve been a wanderin and was just
 
 94 Fleet Foot. 
 
 beginnin to get the right bearins when I saw Fleet Foot a 
 draw-in a sight on me. It was tarnal lucky." 
 
 Fleet Foot and his companion had listened attentively while 
 Martin related the particulars of the attack, and when he had 
 concluded, Fleet Foot said : 
 
 " Did you notice what sort of a varmint that was you did 
 the bisness for?" 
 
 " J couldn t jist exactly tell, cause I hadn t time, but I 
 b lieve he was a Blackfish," answered Martin. 
 
 " We can catch em then," said Fleet Foot, " I know them 
 varmints. You know what the old chief told Boone that 
 I beat all his warriors on a fair race last summer, and he was 
 the old un who give me my nickname. Ef I could beat his 
 fastest red devils then, and as I did when I had to creep in 
 to the fort, when Mac s brother was shot this summer, Mac 
 and I kin overtake the varmints now, and we will. We ve 
 got a lot of accounts to settle with em and now s the time. 
 We d chase em ef they had nt no women ; but, by powder, 
 we ll have them women ef they havn t scalped em, and ef 
 they have there shan t be one of old Blackfish s varmints left 
 in old Kaintuck. Now, old man, you go right on straight to 
 the fort and get five or six hunters and send em on arter us, 
 and we ll go right off to your cabin, and before night we ll over 
 take them Ingins, and may-be afore your boys get up with us 
 we ll do the bisness. Tell em at the fort that our blood is 
 up, and the sights on our rifles are itchin to be drawn on 
 them Blackfish." 
 
 " That s a fact," cried Mac, "they know us and they can 
 jist calculate that we ll stretch a few of the rascals ef we 
 get a chance, or they ll do our bisness for us right quick. 
 They got one of my folks and that s as many as we mean to
 
 Fleet Foot. 95 
 
 let em have Kate shall be rescued or avenged, anyhow 
 we ll give ein ten to one for cutting off Harry and Bob." 
 
 The hunters separated without formality ; old Martin 
 hastening with all his energy to execute his mission, and Mac 
 and Fleet Foot striking a bee-line for the cabin. 
 
 Fleet Foot had an interest in the success of the enterprise, 
 about which he did not speak. It was venturesome for two 
 hunters to start from the cabin on the night previous, to fol 
 low, they knew not how many Indians, but they went only as 
 spies. It was much more venturesome heroic if not des 
 perate, for Fleet Foot and his companion to undertake what 
 they threatened. They went not only as spies ; unless the 
 party of Indians was very large they determined to rescue 
 the women, if they were alive if not, to avenge their mas 
 sacre terribly. Both were daring and experienced hunters. 
 Fleet Foot was one of the bravest and shrewdest of Kentucky 
 pioneers. He was young, but athletic, watchful and quick 
 at expedients, besides he possessed extraordinary fleetness. 
 No Indian could out-run him. He had several opportunities 
 of testing his powers as a runner in saving his own and others 
 lives. He alluded to some of them in his conversation with 
 old Martin. 
 
 On one occasion he was chopping with his brother and 
 another pioneer, about four miles from the fort, when a large 
 party of Indians, led by the renowned chief Blackfish, sud 
 denly attacked them, shot Fleet Foot s brother, and took 
 the other chopper prisoner. Fleet Foot dashed through the 
 woods, at the top of his speed, with half a dozen warriors 
 straining every muscle to overtake him. It was their design 
 to attack the fort. They were earnestly anxious to prevent 
 an alarm being given, but the young hunter was too fleet for
 
 96 Fleet Foot. 
 
 them all. He reached the fort in safety, and the garrison 
 prepared at once to meet the foe. When the Indians made 
 the attack they were repelled with considerable loss. 
 
 On another occasion Fleet Foot was shooting at a mark, 
 near the fort, with a brother of his present companion. 
 They were suddenly surrounded by Indians. The other 
 marksman was shot. Balls aimed at Fleet Foot missed him. 
 He ran with all his energy toward the fort, several Indians 
 in full chase after him others firing at him. He was with 
 in seven paces of the fort when he saw that the door was 
 not open. In an instant the thought struck him that it dare 
 not be opened for fear the Indians would rush in. He threw 
 himself flat on the ground between a large stump and the 
 fort. There were numerous guns aimed at the Indians from 
 the fort, and they dare not come within reach of the balls. 
 They amused themselves by firing at Fleet Foot. There he 
 lay, his mother looking down upon him and praying that he 
 might be saved his friends urging him to lie close and not 
 lose courage while the balls of the savage warriors, thirst 
 ing for his blood, were striking close to him, often throwing 
 upon him the dirt which they plowed up. It was a most peril 
 ous and painful position. He conversed with his friends 
 about opening the door of the fort. He said he could rush 
 through it in an instant. They answered him that they dare 
 not risk the lives of the women and children. 1 " The Indians 
 might reach the door before it could be securely fastened 
 again. There were not men enough in the fort to fight the 
 large body of Indians in close combat. 
 
 The balls from the rifles of the Indians continued to strike 
 around him. A moment the young hunter was engaged in 
 deep thought then he cried :
 
 Fleet Foot. 97 
 
 " For God s sake dig a hole under the fort, and I ll creep 
 through it." 
 
 Immediately his request was complied with, and the brave 
 hunter reached this curious avenue to safety without injury, 
 and was caught in his mother s arms, and wept over as one 
 rescued who had been given up as lost. The baffled Indians 
 retired with savage yells. 
 
 When Fleet Foot and companion reached the cabin, they 
 had no difficulty in finding the " signs " made by the hunters 
 who had followed the Indians as spies. They pushed forward 
 on the trail with a speed which only experienced hunters 
 could attain. 
 
 It was yet early in the day when old Martin showed a par 
 ty of five hunters where he had killed the Indian who shot 
 his son Bob. This party immediately followed in pursuit of 
 Fleet Foot and Mac. 
 
 It was between mid-day and sun-down when Fleet Foot 
 declared that the Indians could not be much in advance, and 
 he and Mac began to consider what they should do when the 
 savages were overtaken. They conversed a few minutes 
 when Fleet Foot said : 
 
 "It s no use we don t know how we ll find em. It ll 
 be time to fix how we shall give it to em when we ve got a 
 sight of the varmints." 
 
 Again the hunters pushed forward zealously. They had 
 not yet met the two hunters who left the cabin the night pre 
 vious. They began to have serious surmises about their fate. 
 As they hastened on they frequently conversed in low tones 
 about their forerunners. Lengthened shadows were creep 
 ing in the forest, indicating that soon it would be impossible 
 for the hunters to keep trace of the signs which had led them 
 1
 
 98 Fleet Foot. 
 
 on during the day. Fleet Foot observed a small piece of 
 linen on a bush. He grasped it eagerly, and showing it to 
 Mac, said : 
 
 " That s a leetle encouraging. It shows the women are 
 yet alive, anyhow, but its tarnal strange we hav nt ketched 
 them other boys ; I bleeve they ve been a leetle careless and 
 the Ingins have got em." 
 
 He had gone but a few steps, after he made these remarks, 
 when Fleet Foot cried : 
 
 " Jist as I expected. Here s one on em anyhow. Them 
 Ingins 11 roast the other, by powder, if we don t get him out 
 of their hands." 
 
 " That they will," answered Mac. who looked upon the 
 dead body of a hunter, with whom he had been well ac 
 quainted, lying directly in their path. He had been shot and 
 his scalp taken. 
 
 " Last year old Blackfish said he d roast the first hunter 
 he could get into his camp, and if they ve got the other fel 
 low a prisoner, I ll bet they mean to give him a taste of what 
 we give young pigs on Christmas, but we won t let em, by 
 powder, as you say, Fleet Foot." 
 
 " No, by powder, we won t," cried Fleet Foot. 
 
 The hunters did not stand over the body of their dead 
 friend even long enough for this conversation. Their duties 
 to the living were too pressing. They talked cautiously as 
 they proceeded. Experienced as they were in detecting In 
 dian " signs," they knew that the savages could not be far in 
 advance, and they hoped to overtake them before it was dark. 
 
 "While the hunters were hastening in the pursuit under 
 this impression, the Indians were encamped upon a small
 
 Fleet Foot. 99 
 
 , in a spot which afforded no particular advantages to 
 them in case of an attack. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the female prisoners, 
 from over-fatigue, began to grow tardy in their march. Both 
 fell behind the main party of savages and were guarded by 
 a brawny warrior who delighted in torturing them. The spies 
 on their trail came in sight of the women and this warrior, 
 who, except an Indian boy, was, at the moment, the only sav 
 age in sight. Supposing this to be the whole of the party, 
 the young men, with a reckless impulse, rushed to the attack. 
 They saw their error too late. The brawny warrior was se 
 verely wounded by a ball from the rifle of one of the spies, 
 but no sooner had the report of his gun rang through the 
 woods, than the white men were surrounded. One was shot 
 and scalped ; the other taken prisoner. 
 
 While Fleet Foot and his companion were groping their 
 way by starlight, the Indians were holding a council upon 
 the fate of their prisoners. 
 
 The spies had found much difficulty in tracing the path of 
 the Indians, but they left behind them signs which clearly 
 indicated to their followers the path to be pursued. The 
 savages had pushed forward with much speed and caution 
 till they had been attacked , when, supposing that all danger 
 from immediate watch over their movements had been averted, 
 they relaxed their speed, and soon encamped. 
 
 Losing the aid of their forerunners, from the time they 
 left the corpse of their unfortunate friend, Fleet Foot and 
 Mac were obliged to exercise their keenest powers, in order 
 to keep the Indian trail. 
 
 Twilight was gone, and though the hunters could clearly 
 see the leaves on the tree tops, it had become quite dark
 
 loo Fleet Foot. 
 
 around their path. They were about to seek a camping 
 place, and give over the pursuit till another day dawned, 
 when Fleet Foot, stooping forward, looked for several mo 
 ments intently through the thickening gloom, then he whis 
 pered to Mac: 
 
 " Somebody s makin a little fire out yonder about a mile, 
 and I ll bet my ammunition it s them tarnal varmints." 
 
 The fire grew brighter ; Mac saw it distinctly. The hunt 
 ers slowly and stealthily turned their footsteps toward the 
 feeble flame. It became more and more distinct, till at length 
 they could see its smoke curling among the leaves of the trees 
 nnder which it snapped and glowed. A dark form stood be 
 tween the fire and the hunters ; they recognized the outline 
 to be that of an Indian ; creeping onward with cat-like cau 
 tion, both grasped their rifles closer, and put their left hands 
 on their hunting knives. They were impatient to know where 
 were the prisoners, and what was the strength of the Indian 
 party. Presently the fire blazed so brightly that it illumi 
 nated three forms which the hunters, with great joy, recog 
 nized as those of the women and the captured spy ; but with 
 all their skill and all their caution the hunters could not as 
 certain the number of savages. An old Indian came to the 
 fire and lit his pipe ; another roasted a piece of meat, and 
 both joined a party at such a distance from the fire that Fleet 
 Foot was puzzled to tell how many foes he must fight before 
 the prisoners could be rescued. He longed to shoot the " var 
 mints," who exposed themselves at the fire, but prudence for 
 bade him. He instructed Mac to keep his place, and watch 
 closely while he went around the camp and reconnoitered. 
 
 Watchfully and noiselessly he stole through the woods, till 
 the Indian council was between him and the fire ; then he
 
 Fleet Foot. 101 
 
 could count the number of Indians, but he was not satisfied ; 
 he desired to communicate to the prisoners the cheering news, 
 that they had friends as well as foes, around them. With 
 this intention, he continued his noiseless course until he stood 
 within a few feet of the prisoners. The young woman was 
 nearest him. He whispered her name. She did not hear 
 him, or if she heard, conceived the voice to be one her active 
 imagination had conjured. Again Fleet Foot whispered that 
 name which was dear to him, and fell sweetly from his lips. 
 The young woman started and looked about her. An Indian 
 on the watch, saw her startled movement, and came near her. 
 The fire shone brightly on him ; Fleet Foot was sorely tempt 
 ed to shoot him, but the risk was too great. The bold hunt 
 er s position was one of great trial. Another word from him 
 might alarm the young woman, and her agitation defeat the 
 whole scheme of rescue. Shielded from the view of the In 
 dians by a large tree, Fleet Foot crept nearer the prisoners. 
 He was rejoiced to see the Indian whose suspicions had been 
 excited, return among his companions, and take his seat in 
 the council. Fleet Foot was now within a few feet of the 
 prisoners he saw them as distinctly as if it were daylight, 
 and he could see, seated upon the ground not many yards be 
 yond the prisoners, a little body of desperate savages, appar 
 ently consulting about the fate of three pale-faces, toward 
 whom, the full light of a bright fire blazing on them, more 
 than one Indian eye was continually cast. Again Fleet Foot 
 whispered. To his great joy he saw that the young woman 
 heard and recognized a friendly voice, but having been warned 
 by the conduct of the savage watching her, was shrewd 
 enough to make no movement that would again rouse his sus 
 picions. She dare not answer the voice, and Fleet Foot was
 
 102 Fleet Foot 
 
 left to conjecture whether she knew it was he so near her 
 He would have run many risks to have known how wildly hei 
 heart beat, for it told her that he who was risking so much 
 for her sake could be none other than Fleet Foot. 
 
 The hunter was determined not to be in doubt as to whether 
 she knew him, and he whispered : 
 
 " I m Fleet Foot, and Mac s not far off; and old Martin s 
 a comin with a party of sharp shooters, and afore morning 
 we ll give them varmints what ll keep em from killin anymore 
 white folks, or stealin any more wimen. When you git a 
 chance, whisper to the old woman, and tell her not to go to 
 sleep, and to tell that chap tied up near her to be on the look 
 out for a fight." 
 
 The young woman dropped her head as if it had fallen up 
 on her breast with a nod in sleep, and Fleet Foot understood 
 that his message and warning were distinctly known. 
 
 A considerable length of time had elapsed while the hunter 
 was engaged in his dangerous enterprise of reconnoitering, 
 and of communicating glad tidings to the prisoners, and the 
 night was far advanced. He had for more than an hour ex 
 pected that the Indians would appoint a watch for the pris 
 oners, and break up their council. It must have been near 
 midnight when he was gratified with a sight of preparations 
 on the part of the savages, for a couple of hour s repose be 
 fore they started on the march of the coming day. Th? 
 hunter cautiously retreated from his proximity to the camp 
 Two savages left the main body, and approached tbeir pris 
 oners the others wrapped themselves in their blankets, and 
 stretched themselves upon the ground to sleep. The savages 
 had secured their prisoners by tying their hands tightly be 
 hind large trees. They stood in this painful position several
 
 Fleet Foot. 103 
 
 yards distant from each other. The two warriors left to 
 guard them, manifested no disposition to allow them any po 
 sition more favorable to rest or repose. Fleet Foot was a 
 thoughtful observer of this neglect, and it did not auger well 
 in his mind for the safety of the prisoners on the morrow. 
 He was impressed that the council which had just broken up, 
 had decided on bloody deeds. He dare not act alone under 
 such trying circumstances, and he determined to see Mac. It 
 would have been no easy task for an inexperienced woodsman 
 to find his companion under such circumstances, but Fleet Foot 
 had calculated well what were his chances of return to his 
 friend, and he found but little difficulty in tracing his way to 
 the vicinity where he left Mac. A signal, well understood 
 between the hunters, and not calculated to alarm the savages, 
 had they heard it, was given and answered, and in a few mo 
 ments the brother and lover were earnestly consulting what 
 was to be done to rescue Kate and her fellow prisoners. 
 
 " There are ten or a dozen of em," said Fleet Foot, " I 
 can t exactly tell which, but any how, there s too many of 
 em for us to fight ; but, by powder, Ingins or no Ingins, them 
 wimen shall be out of their clutches afore the varmints leave 
 this camp, or I m a dead hunter." 
 
 " That s my mind to a har," answered Mac, grasping Fleet 
 Foot s hand. 
 
 " It s tarnal queer old Martin haint come up, but may be 
 he has seen this fire, jist as we did, and there s half a dozen 
 other fellows sr.eakin about here now." 
 
 " May be," said Mac, " but we can t find em, and daresn t 
 make any signal or we ll have all them Ingins up in a minit, 
 and no tellin what might happen. We must calculate with-
 
 104 Fleet Foot. 
 
 out em, and ef we git into a fight and old Martin s about 
 here, we ll have him on our side quick enough." 
 
 "Well," returned Fleet Foot, "there s only one way to 
 do it that fire s gittin low it wouldn t be queer if them 
 Ingins on the watch went to sleep, cause they know the pris 
 oners can t get away ; and I m certain they don t suspect any 
 body s on the track of em. Ef they did they wouldn t a 
 kept up sich a fire. Now, you follow me, and we ll go over 
 there and watch the varmints, and whenever they shut their 
 eyes, you take one and I ll take the other so quick he shant 
 give even an Ingin grunt, and then it ll be an easy matter to 
 cut the prisoners loose." 
 
 Mac agreed to this arrangement. Daylight was now draw 
 ing near. Whatever plans were calculated on, must be ex 
 ecuted without delay. The hunters knew that if they suc 
 ceeded in releasing the prisoners, as soon as the Indians 
 discovered their loss, they would put forth every exertion, and 
 exercise all their cunning to retake them ; but with all this 
 hazard before them, they were resolved to release them if it 
 was in their power, and trust to luck, shrewdness, and the 
 probability of assistance from Martin s party. They were 
 convinced that one or more of the prisoners would be killed 
 on the morrow, and bravely and generously they thought it 
 was worth while to risk their two lives to save three, one of 
 which was particularly valuable to both hunters, but peculi 
 arly so to one. 
 
 While the two Indian guards were growing weary and 
 sleepy, they had no suspicion that two hunters, with drawn 
 knives, were ready, if they slumbered, to make that their last 
 sleep. 
 
 Fleet Foot began to fear that daylight would dawn before
 
 Fleet Foot. 105 
 
 the savages nodded, and that the others would awaken and 
 all would be lost. Every moment increased the danger and 
 narrowed the probabilities of rescue and escape. At length 
 he brought himself to believe that the moment for action had 
 arrived. He gave the concerted signal, and approached his 
 victim, who stood erect against a tree. He was successful, 
 and drove his knife to the heart of the savage, who may 
 have been dreaming, perhaps, of a wigwam far away, where 
 children, of whom he was proud, awaited his return. The 
 savage fell in his last sleep, heavily to the ground. That 
 one which Mac was to have attacked, was startled by the 
 fall. He was sitting upon the ground, nodding, but was not 
 sound asleep. He sprang to his feet when Mac was not yet 
 near enough to strike him. In an instant he would have 
 been away from the dim light of the fire and out of sight of 
 the hunter, but Mac rushed upon and grappled with him. 
 Fleet Foot sprang to cut the bands which confined the pris 
 oners. Meantime Mac struggled with the savage ; both 
 were powerful men for a moment the savage was confused, 
 and did not employ his strength and agility as he might have 
 done under ordinary circumstances of this confusion, the 
 hunter took advantage, and was quick enough to plunge his 
 knife into the red man s breast he fell with a cry which 
 aroused his fellow-warriors, who had slumbered in confidence 
 that his watchfulness protected them. 
 
 Ten Indians were on their feet, with their rifles in their 
 hands, before the death cry of their guard had died in the 
 woods. The fire, which they had left brightly burning, had 
 nearly gone out. The brands were scattered. They could 
 neither see their prisoners nor any foes. They did not rush 
 forward to ascertain the fate of their sentinels, nor did they
 
 106 Fleet Foot. 
 
 flee hastily from the spot where they had been sleeping. 
 Each individual quietly skulked around a tree. No foe 
 could see them. Not one of them could either see or hear 
 a foe, but nevertheless there were very dangerous foes quite 
 near them. 
 
 When Fleet Foot rushed to release the prisoners, he found 
 the good work accomplished. A rough hand grasped his 
 arm, and a voice which he knew well, said : 
 
 " We ve been watchin the varmints most all night. They re 
 skeered now, but they won t run nor show themselves yet 
 awhile ; our boys understand. We must lay low with our 
 guns cocked till it s day, and we ll all git a blaze at em. 
 How many ? " 
 
 " Ten, I guess," said Fleet Foot. 
 
 " Take care o this woman," said old Martin. 
 
 It was Kate. Fleet Foot said not a word, but put his 
 arm around the girl as if he had a special right to protect her. 
 
 There was no wind stirring. It was as quiet in the deep 
 woods, as if there had been no Indian camp no desperate 
 adventure no struggle no scene of death. Softly the 
 morning light began to steal through the dense foliage it 
 searched its way among the green leaves, and slowly dissipa 
 ted the gloom which hung tenaciously around the trunks of 
 the trees among the low bushes, and in the wooded ravines. 
 The fox went snuffing to his hole the rabbit hopped timidly 
 from one moss bed or grass tuft to another the birds left 
 their nests and sang sweetly on twigs, which overhung fallen 
 leaves stained with blood the squirrel left its nest, and sat 
 securely chirping on boughs that bent toward ashes, which 
 were the result of a flame that had given light for the plan 
 ning and executing of bold and daring designs.
 
 Fleet Foot. 107 
 
 Many an animal was, no doubt, watching in that fresh 
 light of morning for an opportunity to secure such prey as 
 he was wont to satisfy his hunger upon ; and there were 
 other eyes watching an opportunity to satisfy a passion 
 which will lead men often to more desperate deeds than or 
 dinary hunger suggests. The quiet, beautiful scene, a lover 
 of nature would have rejoiced in, was to be disturbed by 
 other conflicts than those between cruel animals and their 
 victims. 
 
 It was scarcely broad day light, when one of the Indian 
 warriors thought he saw a movement in a clump of bushes, 
 a dozen rods or more distant from him. He watched 
 intently. He was not mistaken ; other Indians had their 
 suspicions excited ; knowing glances were exchanged. The 
 suspicious bush became more attractive to the savages. Pres 
 ently, what was apparently a woman s bonnet, was to be seen 
 cautiously elevated nearly to the top of the bushes ; slowly 
 it turned around as if there were eyes within, sharply look 
 ing out to ascertain if there were foes, or suspicious signs of 
 foes, in view. A rifle report rang through the forest, and the 
 exposed bonnet disappeared. Again the forest was free 
 from unusual sounds. It was not long before Indians skulk 
 ed from one tree to another. They were at first very cau 
 tious, but they saw nothing to awaken suspicion, and they 
 became more bold. Now, one left his ambuscade, then an 
 other. It was not long before eight warriors stood near the 
 spot where the fire of the night previous had gleamed on 
 both exulting and hopeless faces. They talked rapidly, and 
 seemed desciding upon the course they should pursue ; sud 
 denly their council was brought to a violent conclusion, by 
 the unerring aim of half a dozen invisible rifles, and as many
 
 io8 Fleet Foot. 
 
 savages springing into the air, fell dead ; four others two 
 of them from the council, and two others from an ambush, 
 they were about leaving to join the council bounded away 
 through the woods with an energy which indicated that each 
 knew he who was the fleetest, stood the first chance of 
 escape. The hindmost Indian had not gone many rods be 
 fore a ball arrested his career. 
 
 Fleet Foot had his eye upon one who distanced all the 
 others. He recognized him by peculiar marks as the savage 
 who had well nigh overtaken him on the two trying occasions 
 previously mentioned, when his fleetness saved his life. The 
 Indian had no weapon but his hunting-knife. Fleet Foot 
 dropped his unloaded rifle, and bounded swiftly in pursuit. 
 Shouts rang after him as he sped on his way. The Indian, 
 glancing behind him, saw what danger threatened. He re 
 doubled his energies, yet Fleet Foot gained on him, cheered 
 as he was in the daring race by Mac, who followed with all 
 his speed, but was barely able to keep in sight. 
 
 Away went the savage, bounding over logs, leaping ravines, 
 and climbing steep banks ; and after him came Fleet Foot, 
 straining every muscle to its utmost tension. The hunters 
 were all excited about the chase, and several were endeavor 
 ing to keep in sight of those who had already lost sight of 
 Fleet Foot. There was one person who could not join in the 
 chase, who had deeper interest in his fate than all the hun 
 ters an interest which was confessed in soft whispers, when 
 Fleet Foot was taking care of her, as old Martin had directed 
 him, in that hour of great suspense both to the hunters and 
 to the Indians, which they had passed before daylight. She 
 would have endeavored to restrain Fleet Foot from his mad
 
 Fleet Foot. 109 
 
 chase, but she did not know that such a race was to be run, 
 until her lover was nearly out of her sight. 
 
 Fleet Foot was gaining faster and faster on the savage, 
 who redoubled his energies ; he took wild leaps and sudden 
 turns, but the white man was equal to him in agility, and, at 
 length, when there was a clear piece of woods before him, 
 the savage found that he must soon be overtaken. Too 
 brave to allow himself to be struck or taken prisoner when in 
 flight, he turned and awaited his pursuer. Nothing daunted, 
 Fleet Foot pressed forward. The Indian had the advantage, 
 should he rush upon him, and the hunter checked his career 
 when within a few paces of the savage. A moment the foes 
 glanced at each other. Three times had Fleet Foot distanced 
 this Indian : thrice to save his own life the last time the 
 present one, to take the life of the red man. Each knew 
 the other. Now was to come a struggle severer than any 
 previously decided between them. The Indian was the 
 larger man, and he was, perhaps, better skilled in the use of 
 the knife. 
 
 The savage did not wait for his foe to recover from his 
 long chase, but when his eye had run over the frame of his 
 antagonist and taken in the distance between them, he sprang 
 toward him fiercely, aiming a violent blow with his knife. 
 Fleet Foot dexterously parried it, almost at the same 
 moment giving the savage a left-handed blow which stag 
 gered him. Following up his advantage, Fleet Foot made a 
 thrust at the Indian s breast ; the red man caught the arm 
 which bore a knife swiftly toward his heart, and then followed 
 a tight wrestle a moment, two knives gleamed in the air 
 then both fell upon the ground, and the Indian and the 
 hunter were each struggling to escape the other s grasp.
 
 110 Fleet Foot. 
 
 Fleet Foot was borne to the earth, and the Indian, striving to 
 keep him there, exerted himself also to the utmost to reach 
 one of the knives. He was a stronger man than the hunter 
 he had a great advantage over him, yet the hunter held 
 him so firmly, he could not reach a knife. He dare not re 
 lease his hold the slightest, lest the hunter should spring to 
 his feet. 
 
 His powerful knees were crushing the hunter s breast 
 his brawny hands were clenched around Fleet Foot s neck 
 a gleam of triumph danced in his savage eyes, which glared 
 upon Fleet Foot s blackening face. The savage felt sure of 
 his victim his fleet and daring foe : this wicked joy express 
 ed itself in every feature of his tawny countenance, and 
 broke upon the air in a wild, fiendish laugh. That laugh was 
 meant to be a knell for the hunter, but it nerved him to one 
 great struggle a struggle in which all his energy was concen 
 trated in which every muscle was strained every nerve 
 stretched ; he rose partly from the ground, bearing up the 
 athletic savage, who lost the dangerous grasp by which he 
 had for a few moments been almost forcing the hunter s eyes 
 from their sockets ; but Fleet Foot only wasted his strength in 
 that struggle he fell back upon the earth completely in the 
 power of the infuriated savage, who was swift to perceive 
 the surest and quickest mode of wreaking his passion. He 
 clenched in his right hand one of the knives which had fall 
 en in the early part of the affray he brandished it over his 
 head and from its polished blade bright reflections were a 
 moment cast, as it hung in the air. 
 
 A low, shrill whistle might have been heard near the sav 
 age ; the gleaming knife fell, but the savage fell with it, his
 
 Fleet Foot. in 
 
 features fixed in death, with that fiendish exultation stamped 
 upon them, which had nerved Fleet Foot to his last effort. 
 That whistle was from the swift passage of a rifle ball that 
 lodged in the Indian s breast. With the report which rang 
 after the ball, there came a shout that lifted Fleet Foot from 
 his prostrated position. 
 
 Mac had come within rifle shot, just in time to save his 
 friend s life. 
 
 Fleet Foot had been nearly strangled, and was much ex 
 hausted ; but he soon rallied, and looking at the form of his 
 foe, which was lying beside him, he said : 
 
 " It was a tight scuffle, Mac, by powder, and I d been in 
 kingdom come now, ef it hadn t been for you." 
 
 That s oncomfortable true," answered Mac. " You brag 
 about runnin , but it liked to lost your scalp for you this 
 time. That fellow was enough for you on a race, and a leetle 
 too much in a fight." 
 
 Fleet Foot and Mac, on retracing their steps, were met 
 by the other hunters ; then were joyful meetings which need 
 not be described nor scarcely need it be told, that when the 
 party reached the fort (which it did early the following day), 
 there were immediate preparations for a backwoods wedding, 
 which was not long afterward celebrated in a rude, but for 
 the period, distinguished style. 
 
 Fleet Foot figured prominently in the later annals of 
 
 Kentucky, and was subsequently known as General . 
 
 He left a posterity which has been engaged in modern poli 
 tics as warmly as was ever their brave ancestor in pioneer 
 enterprise.
 
 Hunter Birty; 
 
 OR THE 
 
 HALF-BREED COLONY OF ILLINOIS.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN HOME. 
 
 FROM the eastern bank of one of those swiftly flowing 
 streams that water the mountains of Western Virginia, there 
 stretched, many years ago, a narrow path, that had once 
 been a highway for the deer, the bear and the Indian, but 
 which, at the time of the opening of our story, was the trail 
 leading to a hunter s cabin, from which, rising with the sun 
 every morning, might be faintly seen, far up on the moun 
 tain, a thin column of blue smoke. 
 
 I would not assert that neither the moccasin of the Indian, 
 the hoof of the deer, nor the ponderous paw of the bear, 
 tracked this path at the period of which I write ; but I record 
 the fact, that upon the haunts, where perhaps they had 
 ranged for centuries, unmolested except by each other, 
 there was now a watchfulness exercised, which led, almost 
 every day, to the thinning of their numbers. To the hunter 
 they were all "varmin." 
 
 The cabin was built partly in the rocks, the situation hav 
 ing been selected for its advantages, in the event of an attack 
 upon it by Indians, because there was treasure in it which 
 the hunter knew needed strong defense, and to protect 
 which he would sacrifice his life. 
 
 (115)
 
 ll6 Hunter Birty. 
 
 He was a man whose hair had been thinned and whitened 
 by long exposure and severe hardship ; and he was a woods 
 man practiced in all the arts of watchfuloess, dexterity and 
 intrigue, by which his forest foes were to be detected, at 
 tacked, or retreated from. 
 
 His cabin treasure was an Indian wife, whom he had 
 stolen from a powerful tribe that occupied a district of coun 
 try south-west from his retreat, in what is now geographically 
 defined as the State of Kentucky. For nearly ten years, 
 hunted from fortress to fortress, he eluded the pursuit of his 
 enemies the relatives of his captive. The love of the 
 hunter and his wild-wood wife was romantic in its origin, 
 but was true, and time only served to increase their mutual 
 trust and confidence. 
 
 The hunter, upon an expedition of observation and discov 
 ery, had been captured by a party of Indians, after a desper 
 ate resistance. He was taken to their camp severely wound 
 ed, and placed under the care of the chief s daughter, that 
 he might be restored to health and strength, as a victim of 
 torture at their annual war-dance. 
 
 The incantations of the " medicine man " of the tribe 
 served only to annoy the hunter ; but the kind attentions of 
 his tawny hostess were not bestowed in vain. He endeav 
 ored to learn her language, and soon they were able to con 
 verse otherwise than by signs. Then he was informed of his 
 impending fate, and then he learned that the care bestowed 
 upon him by the chief s daughter sprang more from the in 
 clinations of her heart than from the commands of the war 
 riors, who had confided their expected victim of triumph to 
 her skill in the use and knowledge of the virtues of roots and 
 herbs.
 
 Hunter Birty. 117 
 
 The hunter encouraged the Indian maiden s love, and 
 when he was confident that the ties which bound her to him 
 were strong enough, he planned an escape. The plan was 
 successfully executed. 
 
 No marriage ceremonies united the hunter and the young 
 squaw. He simply gave her his word that she should dwell 
 in his wigwam ; and he would be her protector. She was 
 content, believing herself what civilized society understands 
 by the term wife ; and as a wife she should be regarded, for 
 the hunter s promise was to him law. 
 
 Three children had been born in the hunter s cabin, yet at 
 the period I have introduced it, it had but two inmates the 
 father and mother. 
 
 The hunter had visited a settlement lying eastward of the 
 retreat he then occupied, about one hundred miles. The 
 mother was, one afternoon during his absence, gathering 
 mountain berries with her children. Two of them happened 
 to stray a short distance from her, when she was startled by 
 violent screams. With a mother s instinct and energy, she 
 rushed in the direction whence proceeded the sounds, and 
 saw her two children her two youngest children borne into 
 the dark forest from an opening where they had been gather 
 ing fruit. She knew pursuit would be idle, and she em 
 ployed her knowledge of Indian habits in endeavoring to 
 protect her remaining child, the eldest son, who had observed 
 the stealthy approach of his enemies, and was shrewd enough 
 to elude them. 
 
 For many days the disconsolate mother sat trembling in 
 her wigwam, fearing to build a fire, lest the ascending smoke 
 might guide some foe to her retreat, and thus be the means 
 of depriving her of the only solace left her. She had recog-
 
 li8 Hunter Birty. 
 
 nized the Indians that had stolen the children for whom she 
 mourned ; they belonged to the tribe she had deserted, and 
 she presumed them to be agents of her father, who would 
 not destroy her life, but would rob her of her children, in 
 hopes of recalling her to his campfire and wigwam. She 
 had therefore no fears for her own safety, but she had lively 
 fears for the safety of her husband and the child that wept 
 with her in her desolate home. Every unusual sound that 
 reached her in her solitude, she feared might be the stealthy 
 step of some foe, or she hoped might prove the signal of the 
 hunter s near approach. Yet with this hope was mingled 
 chilling fear, for the hunter loved his children, and she knew 
 his burst of passion, at finding two of them gone, would be 
 terrible. 
 
 He returned at an hour when the wife least expected him. 
 It was early morn. He had traveled all night, in his eager 
 ness to reach home, as if, by some mysterious agency, he 
 had been informed of the misfortune that had befallen him. 
 But the backwoodsman of that day knew the dangers to 
 which his home was always exposed, and whenever long ab 
 sent, his heart beat with thrilling emotion on his return, in 
 dread that he should find, where had been his cabin or his 
 wigwam, but smouldering embers, in which whitened the 
 bones of all who were dear to him on earth. 
 
 The hunter gave a signal as he approached within a few 
 yards of his cabin. It was unanswered. It had never be 
 fore failed to bring forth his wife and children to bid him 
 welcome. They could not be in the woods, beyond hearing, 
 at that early hour. His steps quickened and his breath 
 grew shorter ; he felt that the fears which almost unmanned 
 him were well grounded. He burst open the cabin doo:
 
 Hunter Birty. 119 
 
 there sat his wife crouching from view, with her child be 
 side her the very picture of dread and despair. She had 
 not heard the hunter s signal, and little expecting him at 
 that hour, had been surprised ; she knew his footstep, but 
 dared not meet his glance. 
 
 The hunter seemed to comprehend, from his wife s appear 
 ance, that his children had been torn from their home, for 
 well knew he that thus would his Indian foes wreak ven 
 geance upon him at the first opportunity. Demanding, in 
 mingled backwoods English and mongrel Indian, an explana 
 tion from the mother, he rushed into the forest, with a ter 
 rible oath of vengeance upon his lip. He struck off through 
 the pathless woods, in the direction which he supposed would 
 lead him to the principal camp of the tribe of which his 
 squaw s father was chief. It was distant several day s jour 
 ney. He took no rest, and partook of no food but some 
 dried meat, which he carried in a pouch by his side. 
 
 He reached a camp the second day, near nightfall. An 
 inexperienced woodsman would have supposed it deserted, 
 but the practiced hunter knew better. He discovered evi 
 dences of recent occupation, and he believed it to be the 
 rendezvous of a small party of Indians perhaps the party 
 that had stolen his children. He determined to watch. 
 
 When gloom began to gather thickly in the forest, the 
 hunter was secreted where, with his rifle, he commanded a 
 complete view of the Indian camp. The night had advanced 
 several hours, and yet the hunter watched without token of 
 the return of the savages. 
 
 The anxious father was about to take up his eager march 
 through the woods, when the snapping of a twig arrested his 
 attention. Presently he discovered objects moving, and in
 
 12O Hunter Birty. 
 
 a few minutes he was satisfied that the camp was that night 
 to he occupied. A fire was built, and by its light he saw 
 four Indians, who belonged to the tribe of which he was in 
 pursuit. He could not restrain manifestations of passion and 
 impatience, but he was too old a hunter to attack four In 
 dians single-handed, let his passion be ever so intense, when 
 there was hope of overcoming them by stratagem. 
 
 Nursing his passion for revenge, the hunter waited until 
 the Indians slumbered. When their camp fire burned low, 
 he crept near the Indians, with footsteps as noiseless as those 
 with which the wily panther approaches its destined victim. 
 He was armed in Indian style. With his tomahawk he 
 launched two of his foes into eternity, without waking either 
 from his slumber ; the third one made a sudden movement 
 as the hunter aimed a blow at his head, and was only slightly 
 wounded with a fierce yell he sprang to his feet, but the 
 hunter was prepared for his movement, and dispatched him 
 with his knife before he could discover the number or char 
 acter of his assailants. The fourth savage, aroused by the 
 yell of his companion, would have fled precipitately, but the 
 hunter confronted him, and a desperate struggle ensued. 
 He was an athletic savage in ordinary circumstances more 
 than the hunter s equal, but now he was confused and unable 
 to employ his strength to the best advantage, while every 
 nerve and muscle in the hunter s body was at its highest 
 tension, and he hurled his antagonist to the ground as if he 
 had been a child. 
 
 The savage knew his fate. He was too proud to plead for 
 mercy, even had he thought such a plea would avail him 
 anything but the hunter, with his tomahawk suspended over 
 him, offered him his life if he would tell what had become of
 
 Hunter Birty. 121 
 
 the children his tribe had stolen a few days previous. At 
 first the savage denied all knowledge of the children, but, at 
 length, informed the hunter that one of the Indians he had 
 murdered stole them that they had been taken to the camp 
 of the chief, near the mouth of the Ohio, and that it was the 
 design of the party he had that night vanquished, assisted 
 by his wife s brother and a warrior who had aspired to the 
 possession of her master s wigwam, to watch around his cabin 
 until they had an opportunity to carry away with them the 
 hunter s wife and remaining child ; or, if not able to accom 
 plish all this, at least get possession of the boy, and join the 
 main body of the tribe at a southern camp, whence they 
 would cross the great river, beyond the pursuit of the hunter 
 or any party he might rally. 
 
 Every threat or process of torture the hunter could de 
 vise failed to wrest from the Indian any information in 
 regard to the foes the hunter had not met. Knowing the 
 cunning and desperation of the warriors, he had reason to 
 tremble with fear that, during his absence from home, both 
 his wife and child might be wrested from him. He dare not 
 give the Indian, in his power, his liberty, lest he might be 
 pursued by him and treacherously shot ; but he had promised 
 to spare his life, and could not violate his word. 
 
 With strips of deer-skin, prepared for thongs always a 
 part of the hunter s equipment he bound the " red varmint, 
 as he termed him, hand and foot, and leaving him to his 
 fate, retraced his steps towards his cabin with as much 
 eagerness as he had traveled from it. 
 
 When he approached within a few miles of his home, such 
 was the fury which seemed to possess him, that he was reck 
 less of consequences, and rushed madly forward, heedless of
 
 122 Hunter Birty. 
 
 all those nice observations which would have protected him 
 from savage intrigue. Then would he have fallen an easy 
 prey to a wily redskin, but none crossed his path. Once 
 more he stood before his cabin, impressed with a dreadful 
 sense of outrage and misfortune. The door was fastened 
 his impatience could brook no restraint he burst it open 
 he found his cabin uninhabited. 
 
 With one mad yell he rushed back into the forest. 
 Whither he would have gone, what fate would have befallen 
 him, the imagination may not conceive, had not a piercing 
 scream arrested his furious career. The mother at least was 
 not a victim or a captive. The father and mother, tender 
 only in their own love and in the love of their children, met, 
 mingling their tears ; with the hunter they were tears of 
 agony rather than tears of simple grief agony that he had 
 not been able to glut his revenge that he had not met the 
 relentless savages who had desolated his home. 
 
 His suspicions had been realized. The mother s savage 
 brother, and more than savage lover, in his absence had 
 dragged away, to their hidden haunts, his eldest born, and 
 would have dragged the mother with them, but they feared 
 pursuit. They did not murder her, for part of their scheme 
 was to glut revenge by inflicting torment. She had endeav 
 ored to follow the ruthless invaders, but dreadful agony and 
 thought of the husband who would return from pursuit of 
 other foes for ought she knew, with the children first torn 
 from her, and find his home deserted, chained her to the 
 scene of her sufferings. 
 
 From that hour the hunter was a man of silence and sor 
 row. He nursed a revenge that was consuming his vitality, 
 yet he never seemed more capable of the endurance of hard-
 
 Hunter Birty. 123 
 
 ship more successful in the taking of valuable game. He 
 dare not absent himself a single night from his cabin, for fear 
 the companion of his deep grief would be torn from him, and 
 he resolved to change the location of his retreat. 
 
 His intimate acquaintance "with the country enabled him 
 to select a spot advantageously. He chose the site I have 
 described in the opening of this chapter. Thither he imme 
 diately emigrated, and labored diligently to construct winter 
 quarters out of bark, poles, and the skins of wild beasts. 
 
 His cabin stood at the mouth of a shallow cave, into which, 
 when pursuing a bear, the hunter had once been driven by 
 a violent storm a storm which bowed the ancient trees on 
 the mountain, and filled the air with branches twisted from 
 their massive trunks. 
 
 Hidden by thick foliage and overhanging rocks, the hunt 
 er s retreat was one not easily discovered, while it com 
 manded a widely extended view of valleys, rivers and 
 mountains. 
 
 Here the hunter, with some assurance of safety, could 
 leave his wife, for he never would consent that she should 
 accompany him on any of his lengthy hunting expeditions. 
 He .was absent sometimes many weeks, and he did not often 
 return without numerous scalps at his belt, but he never 
 brought to the mother any satisfactory tidings of her lost 
 children. 
 
 Several winters had left their snows on the secret path 
 that led to his retreat, and summer had come again, when, 
 one sultry evening, the hunter toiled up the mountain, after 
 an absence from home of more than a month. He was weary 
 of limb and weary of heart. He had wandered farther than 
 usual, in the hope that he might find some Indian or white
 
 124 Hunter Birty. 
 
 man, who could give him tidings of his lost treasure ; that 
 hope was not realized, and the wretched man felt that his 
 hold on the things of earth was growing weaker every day 
 hope alone had thus far sustained him, and hope was dying. 
 
 His footsteps that evening were not unobserved. For 
 several days, as he wandered listlessly through the forest, 
 his course had been tracked by a skulking enemy now the 
 eagle eyes of that enemy were upon his movements. 
 
 As the hunter approached his home, his forest instincts be 
 came acute again, and he exercised his usual caution in con 
 cealing traces of his progress, that no foe might find easy 
 access to his hiding place. The shades of night gathered 
 on the mountain, ere the Indian lost sight of the hunter, but 
 then the gloom gave the hunter opportunities of conceal 
 ment, which he never failed to embrace when near home ; 
 and he was lost to his pursuer. 
 
 The hunter reached his cabin, to sit down with a disconso 
 late companion, and mourn in silence ; and the Indian 
 stealthily and swiftly descended the mountain, attended 
 by the doleful howl of numerous wolves, answering each other 
 from thicket to thicket and from rock to rock.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN EXPECTED ATTACK. 
 
 THE glories of autumn were on the forest. The valley 
 was in deep shadow, but the rays of the setting sun illumi 
 nated the mountain s crest. Light clouds of smoke, which 
 had risen from the hunter s cabin, hung in the tops of the 
 trees, among whose withering foliage the evening wind 
 moved, with a sound like the mournful music of thickly fall 
 ing rain- drops. The hunter, with his sad wife beside him, 
 looked upon the valley until night stretched her "sable 
 mantle" over it, and far away, where the firmament seemed 
 to hang on a level with his vision, he could see nothing but 
 the bright stars. They led his thoughts to the " hunting 
 grounds " that, according to Indian tradition, are prepared 
 for good Spirits ; and there, he knew, if never again on 
 earth, he should surely meet the dear ones that had been so 
 cruelly torn from their home. The father and mother had 
 that night calculated the respective ages of their children. 
 The father said, had the oldest been spared him, he would 
 have been able to chase the bear and the deer ; and the 
 mother had dwelt upon the comfort her younger children 
 would have been to her, while assisting her to prepare for 
 winter their clothing of skins and furs. With such thoughts 
 
 (125)
 
 126 Hunter Birty. 
 
 in their minds, both had seated themselves near the hearth 
 stone, on which were a few fading embers, apparently listen 
 ing to the pensive wailing that seemed to float among the 
 boughs, which, in summer, drooped with clustering leaves 
 over the front of their cabin. 
 
 Suddenly the hunter started to his feet, and all his senses 
 seemed to be absorbed in an effort to hear every sound that 
 might be produced within half a mile. 
 
 His wife knew that he suspected his Indian foes had dis 
 covered his hiding place, and were about to attack it. Tak 
 ing his rifle from its accustomed place, and examining the 
 priming, he stepped softly across the cabin, in the direction 
 opposite that whence the sounds that alarmed him had pro 
 ceeded ; then he climbed a rude ladder, which he had con 
 structed in a fissure in the rock behind his cabin, and in a 
 few moments he stood, himself shielded from view, even in 
 daylight, where he could look down upon the path leading to 
 his cabin, and upon the very spot where he imagined his 
 supposed enemy had been. The sky was clear and the stars 
 shone brightly ; the hunter discovered an object near the 
 cabin door, but whether it was a savage Indian or a savage 
 beast, he could not decide. Cautiously he crept near the 
 object, and, at length, he satisfied himself that it was a 
 human being. Whether friend or foe it was now his task to 
 ascertain. He presumed it a foe, as a matter of course, and 
 with all his backwoods shrewdness he watched and waited to 
 see whether any signals were conveyed to or from the spy. 
 Several hours elapsed, and the hunter had detected nothing. 
 He dare not explore the woods or rocks around his cabin, for 
 fear he might fall a victim to some foe in ambush ; but he 
 determined, at all hazard, to know the character of the indi-
 
 Hunter Birty. 127 
 
 vidual at his door. Returning into the cabin, he described 
 the state of affairs to his wife, armed her with his tomahawk, 
 and taking his unsheathed hunter s knife in his hand, he 
 suddenly drew open the cabin door, grasped the object lying 
 before it, and dragged it within the enclosure, re-fastening 
 the door as he did so. Then arousing his captive from deep 
 slumber, he saw before him, what at first appearance he took 
 for an Indian boy, about twelve years of age ; but no sooner 
 did the youth fairly recover from the surprise consequent 
 upon the manner in which he had been treated, than he 
 cried, in the Indian tongue, " You won t kill me, I am not 
 Indian." 
 
 The hunter astonished the boy by straining him to his 
 breast, and he cried 
 
 " It is the first one, the biggest boy." 
 
 The mother falling upon her knees, beside the father and 
 son, poured forth, in incoherent sentences, a torrent of thanks 
 to the Great Spirit, who had thus mysteriously, and, as she 
 supposed, supernaturally restored her first-born to her. 
 
 The first paroxysm of joy over, the hunter s forest instincts 
 became active again, and he demanded the manner in which 
 the youth had reached the cabin. The conversation between 
 father and son was a dramatic one. I cannot give it in the 
 language I write, and must content myself with stating its 
 substance. 
 
 The hunter learned that his son, after he was torn from 
 his mother, was dragged many miles south-west, where he 
 was put under the charge of an Indian, whom, by the de 
 scription, the hunter knew to be the same individual he had 
 left at the camp, where he had killed those who stole his 
 children. The boy roamed with the tribe, but was never
 
 128 Hunter Birty. 
 
 allowed to be out of sight of this Indian and his squaw, until 
 a few weeks previous to the time at which he was restored 
 to his home, when the Indian left the camp and did not 
 return for many days. For the first time he then took the 
 boy on a long hunting excursion. They were absent from 
 the main body of the tribe a number of days. Again the 
 Indian commanded the boy to follow him, and he was brought 
 into the vicinity of the mountain on which he had found his 
 father s retreat. The Indian told him that he brought him 
 to this mountain that he might find his father that he should 
 leave him, return to the camp and report him dead. He 
 had wandered on the mountain many days, but saw no signs 
 of human life, until on the evening we have described ; 
 while seeking a place in \vhich to spend the night safely, he 
 discovered a thin wreath of sjpoke ascending from the tops 
 of the trees ; he traveled towards the point from which he 
 supposed it to proceed, until night overtook him, and with 
 out knowing that human beings were so near him, he had 
 lain down in the dark and had fallen into the sleep from 
 which his father aroused him. He had lately heard of the 
 children, who were torn from home before him, but he had 
 not seen them since the first week of his captivity. 
 
 A great burden was lifted from the hearts of the hunter 
 and his wife. He believed that the kindness shown him by 
 the Indian who had returned his son, was an example of In 
 dian gratitude for which he should be truly thankful, although 
 he could not regard the debt the Indian owed him as a very 
 heavy one, for he left him but a slim chance for life. He 
 could construe the return of his boy in no other manner, 
 however, and he lived in hope that his other children would
 
 Hunter Birty. 129 
 
 some day be returned, yet he was determined to relax no 
 effort to recover them. Father and son could now hunt to 
 gether he had a companion whom he could take with him 
 in his long marches, or leave to guard his cabin. 
 
 The hunter thought often of what his boy had said about 
 the smoke that had served as the beacon to direct him, and 
 he never allowed an evening to pass without kindling fire 
 where its smoke might ascend as it did on the night the boy 
 returned. Summer and winter there was always smoke over 
 the hunter s cabin at sunrise and sunset, for he knew that if 
 he had a friend in the Indian camp, who ever came in the 
 vicinity of the mountain, he would observe this peculiarity, 
 and understand it as a land-mark. 
 
 The hunter did not know the true character of this Indian. 
 He was not aware of his reputation as a cunning fellow whose 
 delight was intrigue. 
 
 Some reader may think, for a man of wandering life in a 
 country infested with treacherous Indians and savage beasts, 
 in whose blood his hands were often imbued, the hunter mani 
 fested unusual affection for his offspring. Not greater for 
 them was his tenderness or concern, than the tenderness or 
 concern of the panther for her cubs. 
 
 The keen observer of human motive, well knows, that be 
 neath a cold and rough exterior often beats a warm heart, 
 and it is a matter of reliable history, that many of the early 
 Western Pioneers the men who drove back the wild beast 
 and the skulking Indian, and turned the wilderness into cul 
 tivated fields, were men of the kindest nature, and most be 
 nevolent impulses. 
 
 While they were valiant in defense of their homes and 
 9
 
 130 Hunter Birty. 
 
 relentless in their vengeance upon those who injured their 
 families, they were ever ready to succor the needy assist 
 the unfortunate and sympathize with the suffering.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE VOW. 
 
 SNOWS that had fallen lightly in the valleys, but were deep 
 enough in the mountain glens to afford the hunter paths by 
 vrhich he tracked to their hiding places the animals necessary 
 to his support, had long since melted, and small streams were 
 rushing in mad currents, roaring among the ravines. Birds, 
 as Lamartine says, " the poetry of song the hymn of air," 
 were picking soft buds from low bushes, while they looked 
 up to the spreading branches above them, and rejoiced in the 
 promise of green leaves and bright flowers. Throughout all 
 nature there was 
 
 " A sense of renovation 
 Of freshness aiid of health." 
 
 The hunter, reviewing a season of comparative quiet, 
 cherished a fierce determination to shrink from neither ex 
 posure nor toil in his dreary search for tidings of his lost ones. 
 For the first time since the return of his boy, he went upon 
 an expedition which, if pursued according to his plan, would 
 keep him from home several weeks. He had instructed the 
 youth in the mysteries of forest life, and warning him to be 
 watchful, he felt confident that the boy would not unwarily 
 fall into serious difficulty. It was one of the hunter s most 
 
 (131)
 
 132 Hunter Birty. 
 
 impressive injunctions, that he should not wander far from the 
 cabin. The boy had his father s restless disposition, and this 
 was the most difficult command for him to obey, yet such 
 was the spirit the father had infused into him toward the 
 Indians, who at the first opportunity would drag his mother 
 back to the wigwam she had deserted for his father s love, 
 that even this command he seldom disobeyed ; indeed such 
 was the mother s anxiety in regard to him, that he was sel 
 dom allowed to be out of her sight for many hours in suc 
 cession. One day he detected traces of a bear near the 
 cabin. They led down the mountain he followed the track, 
 in hopes of overtaking the animal, but more in the hope of 
 meeting his father, whose return was now daily expected. 
 He lost the track which he had followed, and late in the af 
 ternoon sat down near a path he supposed his father would 
 travel on his return. He had watched a short time, when 
 his quick ear detected the approach of some being, but not 
 along the path. Seeking a hiding place he looked anxiously 
 for the friend or foe that was drawing near. Presently he 
 was able to discover that it was an Indian, and soon he saw 
 that it was the Indian who had restored him to his parents. 
 With an impulse of gratitude the boy stepped from his hiding 
 place, and boldly advanced to meet the savage, who sprang 
 behind a tree, as the youth came in sight, but, in a moment, 
 recognizing him, gave him apparently an honest, heartfelt 
 welcome. 
 
 Night was approaching, and the youth not forgetting his 
 mother s anxiety at his protracted absence, told his savage 
 companion that he must return home, and, as they wished to 
 converse together, the Indian accompanied him. They had 
 proceeded some distance when the Indian refused to go any
 
 Hunter Birty. 133 
 
 farther, for fear they might meet the hunter and a dreadful 
 fray ensue. The boy told the Indian then of his father s 
 absence, and of his feeling toward him, who had been the 
 means of restoring his child. At this information the sav 
 age s countenance contracted with a smile which expressed 
 the shrewd deceit of his character, and he walked on without 
 hesitancy until nearly sunset. The boy pointing to a column 
 of smoke rising among the trees around the cabin, related 
 the service it had rendered him in finding home, and told his 
 father s determination in regard to it, on account of that ser 
 vice. The Indian took leave of the boy, assigning as a 
 reason that he had already been too long absent from the 
 party that had accompanied him into the vicinity. 
 
 In a few minutes the boy made glad his mother s heart by 
 appearing before her unharmed. While he told his mother 
 about his afternoon adventure, the savage he had met stood 
 in sight of the cabin. He marked well its situation, and not 
 until he felt satisfied that he could approach it in the darkest 
 night, did he retrace his steps. When he had walked half 
 an hour, he stood before a fire, around which, wrapped in 
 their blankets, lay ten others of his tribe. They were im 
 mediately aroused. The new comer held an animated con 
 versation with one who was the leader of the band. With 
 the hunter s pretended friend as a guide, in Indian file, the 
 whole party then began to ascend the mountain. 
 
 The young hunter slumbered on his rude couch, while the 
 mother waited with sleepless eyes and attentive ears, for the 
 signal which should announce the return of the lord of the 
 cabin. She fancied she heard approaching footsteps, and she 
 arose and went to the door to listen. Immediately she was 
 alarmed by a violent knocking. The young hunter was
 
 134 Hunter Birty. 
 
 aroused, and he demanded who was at the door. He was 
 answered in the Indian tongue : 
 
 " The friend you left a little while ago in the forest. I 
 have lost my companions. I am faint and weary. You will 
 not refuse me food and rest I have been wounded by a fall 
 in the dark, and my strength fails me." 
 
 " You are alone," said the boy, u and would not deceive us. " 
 
 " Have I not too often befriended you to be now suspected ? 
 Why did I liberate you from captivity, and restore you to 
 your parents, at the risk of the vengeance of my tribe ?" 
 
 " Do not trust him," said the mother. " We know not 
 that it is the friendly Indian." 
 
 " Yes," answered the boy, " I know it is ; I know his 
 voice." 
 
 " By the Great Spirit I swear I would not deceive you," 
 replied the Indian, as he heard the conversation of the mother 
 and son. " You will not refuse a cup of water! I will sleep 
 at your door till morning you can see then I have told you 
 no lie." 
 
 .The youth had confidence in the Indian, and could not re 
 sist the benevolent impulse which dictated compliance with 
 the savage s request ; still he was determined to be watchful, 
 and arming himself with a huge knife, he removed a portion 
 of the fastenings of the cabin door ; instantly it was burst 
 open, and the treacherous red-skin, with his party, rushed 
 into the cabin. 
 
 " We have come," said the leader of the Indians, (who 
 was the brother of the hunter s wife, and now the chief of 
 the tribe, his father being dead,) " to take back the fugitive 
 squaw and her papoose to the wigwam she deserted for our
 
 Hunter Birty. 135 
 
 enemy. He has slain many of her kindred. His blood 
 shall yet stain the leaves of the forest. You must go." 
 
 " You are not my kindred. You are my foes. You may 
 take my body the Great Spirit will take my spirit ;" re 
 turned the hunter s wife, brandishing a tomahawk in a 
 manner which showed that she did not speak idle words. 
 
 " A squaw defies us !" said the brother of the hunter s 
 wife. " We have no time to waste." 
 
 The chief rushed towards the hunter s wife, and the false 
 friend grasped the boy. A struggle ensued. The squaw, 
 with uplifted tomahawk, for a moment kept her savage 
 brother at bay, while the other Indian endeavored to wrest 
 from the boy a large knife, with which he was armed. By 
 a glimmering light from the cabin fire, the dusky forms of 
 the leading Indians, with their allies, grouped at the cabin 
 door, were to be seen for an instant, in the position I have 
 described : in a second all was changed. 
 
 " Strike," cried a firm voice, in a language all understood ; 
 " kill him as quick as you would a wild-cat." 
 
 The hunter stood in his cabin. He had impetuously 
 dashed through the guards at the door. He saw the Indian 
 who menaced his wife, and before he had time fairly to rec 
 ognize the hunter, gave him a blow which caused him to reel 
 and fall helpless upon the ground ; but in that fall the Indian 
 expressed the accumulated savageness of his nature and his 
 passion for revenge. His knife drank the blood of his sister. 
 She fell, with a cry for help, upon the body of her brutal 
 relative. 
 
 With a full sense of his situation swelling his heart, quick 
 ening his pulses, bracing his nerves and contracting his 
 muscles, the hunter met those who rushed upon him to
 
 136 Hunter Birty. 
 
 avenge the death of their chief. He fought for his home, 
 for his children, and for the revenge that had been consum 
 ing his life for years, and he fought with remarkable power 
 and desperation. He saw not his boy he knew not what 
 had been his fate, but he knew that before him lay four In 
 dians whom his powerful arm had slain, and still, though los 
 ing blood from a number of severe wounds, he fought on. 
 The Indians, without their leader, without the animating spirit 
 that led them to the hunter s cabin, began to give way. 
 Furiously the hunter pressed upon them, and only two es 
 caped without serious injury. Among the dead were the 
 hunter s chief foes, the false friend and his wife s brother, 
 and among the dead also, as he believed, was that wife, for 
 whom he had fought so valiantly. 
 
 The hunter pursued the savages a few steps beyond the 
 cabin door, then staggered back, and, exhausted with the loss 
 of blood, fell across his threshold. He knew that he should 
 die he had not seen his boy in the fray how joyful was 
 the hope that he lived and might avenge the wrongs of his 
 father and mother, perhaps be the means of liberating the 
 children so long searched for. 
 
 The father, with an effort to collect his failing strength, 
 called his boy. His hopes fell when there was no answer, 
 but again he called, and then his hopes rose again, when 
 there came a firm response. Crawling from a hiding place, 
 where he had lain with a wound on his right arm, which had 
 disabled it, the boy crept towards his father. The dying 
 hunter took the youth s hand, and eloquent, even in the mea 
 gre language used between them, told the boy of all the 
 hardships he had suffered on account of his feud with the
 
 Hunter Birty. 137 
 
 tribe of Indians to which his mother had belonged, and then 
 he said to him : 
 
 " The pale faces are our friends. Soon the red varmints 
 will be driven from these vallies and mountains the pale 
 faces will dwell in them. Go among the pale faces join 
 those who would drive back the red-skins have no mercy for 
 them avenge your father s and your mother s death and 
 by the Great Spirit swear you will seek, and if alive, liberate 
 your kindred in bondage if dead, exterminate their de 
 stroyers. Never forget your father s dying command. Swear!" 
 
 The boy took the oath as his father administered it to him 
 and then the hunter said, 
 
 " Let me die in my cabin." 
 
 With his last energies, he dragged himself into his cabin, 
 near the spot where lay his wife s body. And there with a 
 convulsive clutch of his boy s hand the brave hunter took his 
 last breath. 
 
 Scenting blood, a band of wolves came to the cabin, and 
 dolefully howled while the young hunter watched. They 
 glutted their appetites upon the bodies of the Indians which 
 had fallen at the cabin door, yet the boy heeded them not. 
 
 When the grey mist of the morning began to gather upon 
 the mountain s summit, the young hunter had secured the 
 cabin, so that he knew the bodies of his parents were safe 
 from the ravages of the animals that would for many nights 
 howl their requiem, and when the sun began to dispel the 
 mists, with his father s rifle, knife and tomahawk and hunt 
 er s coat, the boy wound his way down the mountain, at the 
 foot of which he knew a path that would lead him to a set 
 tlement where his father had traded, and which had often 
 been described to him.
 
 138 Hunter Birty. 
 
 One of those whom the young hunter believed to have 
 been killed, arose from among the corpses in the ill-fated 
 cabin and sought anxiously for traces of his footsteps. The 
 youth had feared pursuit, and the " signs " of his progress 
 were ingeniously obliterated, until he felt himself safe.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NEW FRIENDS. 
 
 IT was a hazardous undertaking for that youth, then not 
 eighteen years of age, with no companions but his rifle, his 
 tomahawk and his knife, to plunge into the unbroken wilder 
 ness threatened at every step with foes seeking human blood; 
 but he had no alternative, and he was accustomed to hazard 
 ous enterprises the dangers of the forest were well under 
 stood by him, and he feared not to encounter them. 
 
 It has often been said that men s characters never devel 
 op till they are thrown upon their own resources. The young 
 hunter has yet to develop his character, and in the pathless 
 woods, with no counsellor, no companion, and a solemn vovr 
 to fulfill, he was indeed thrown upon his own resources. 
 
 He had often heard his father talk of a settlement of 
 whites northeast of their mountain retreat. Thitherward he 
 bent his steps. He had wandered many days along rushing 
 streams and through dense woods, when he rested one even 
 ing near a spring gushing from massive and towering rocks. 
 He prepared to render palatable portions of a deer he had 
 shot, and as he stood holding a piece of the meat, hunter 
 fashion, over a brisk fire, was startled by a slight noise behind 
 him. Before he could turn to ascertain its cause he was 
 
 139)
 
 140 Hunter Birty. 
 
 grasped by two powerful arms, and held in such a manner 
 that he was completely at the mercy of his captor. He 
 struggled violently. 
 
 "Keep quiet, little red-skin, I ain t a-goin to hurt you," 
 said a rough voice. Still the boy struggled, arid his captor 
 released him saying, 
 
 " You ve spilt your dinner, but never mind, I ve got a 
 plenty. You ain t all Ingin. What you doin here ? 
 Where d ye come from ?" 
 
 The boy felt that he would not be injured by the brawny 
 hunter who had surprised him, arid employing what few 
 English words he had picked up, he told truthfully how he 
 had lost his father and mother, and then stated his own 
 present purpose. 
 
 " You ll go with me," replied the backwoodsman. " We ll 
 take care o them red varmints. What d they call you, little 
 Ingin ?" 
 
 The youth gave the name he had borne among the Indians, 
 and pronounced it several times, but the hunter could not 
 catch the correct sound, and with a gesture of impatience, 
 he cried 
 
 " Taint no odds call me Clinker, and I ll call you Birty. 
 I know d a fellow o that name once, and a tarnal cunnin 
 creter he was too." 
 
 There was a frankness about this backwoodsman which 
 won the boy s confidence. After they had eaten together, 
 and Birty, as we shall hereafter designate him, had related 
 the principal incidents of his history, Clinker said, " You re 
 just the chap I wanted to scar up. Yer haint no body to 
 look after ye, and over these mountains here, I ve got a gal 
 bout your size as haint got nobody to take care o her ceptin
 
 Hunter Birty. 141 
 
 when she goes to another cabin bout ten miles off. Them 
 tarnal red-skins took her mother s scalp one day, when I was 
 a huntin , but I reckon since a few on em have paid for that 
 scalp. You an that gal can look out for the old cabin, an 
 she needn t trouble her nabors. Agreed, little Ingin ?" 
 
 Birty offered no objections, but expressed himself glad of 
 the opportunity ; provided it should not interfere with his 
 determination to seek out his brothers who were in Indian 
 bondage. 
 
 " Haint I got a spite, too, agin them varmints, and won t 
 we hunt em for each other," answered Clinker. 
 
 On the second day after this conversation, Birty was shown 
 his new home. Its garden spot broke the wilderness, near a 
 small stream which wound through a thickly timbered valley, 
 but which, from the distance he first viewed it, looked only 
 like a dark line stretched across the tops of the trees. 
 
 It was a cabin of more pretensions than his father s. It 
 had a chimney, in the solitary window there were a few panes 
 of glass, and it was surrounded by a small corn field. Here 
 Clinker left his adopted son until he should find the girl who 
 was to be his companion. Birty met her on the following 
 morning. She was a tall, athletic, but well formed maiden, 
 with a countenance frank and intelligent, though bronzed to 
 a shade that Kentucky girls of the present day would think 
 most fatal to matrimonial prospects. Her attire was not very 
 similar to that fashionable in our time. Her hair was con 
 fined carelessly by a large thorn her dress consisted of 
 home-made cloth and skins, which hung about her in a man 
 ner innocent of art. 
 
 Her name was Martha. Her father called her Mat, and 
 he told her she must consider Birty as a brother. He should
 
 142 Hunter Birty. 
 
 leave them hereafter to take care of his cabin. Between 
 these young persons, thus thrown together, there sprung up 
 naturally a mutual sympathy which ripened into a friendship 
 as pure as the friendship of a brother and a sister. They 
 were as brother and sister. 
 
 Birty was naturally a musician, and sitting at the cabin 
 door on a pleasant evening, he would sing the wild songs he 
 had heard his mother sing. Gradually he learned to whistle, 
 in imitation of the birds that built their nests, and swung in 
 the branches overhanging the cabin. He taught Martha to 
 sing his wild Indian songs, and he instructed her to imitate 
 the varying notes of the wild birds. She was a ready pupil, 
 and soon excelled her master. Many a pleasant hour 
 did the two children of the forest spend together thus em 
 ployed. 
 
 Those were rare concerts in the deep woods, by the glad 
 birds and the rude backwoodsman, with his untutored com 
 panion. Willful sportsmen did not then frighten the harmless 
 bird from its nest or from its leafy try sting place, and the 
 charmed songsters were not alarmed when Birty and Martha 
 joined them in their hymns of praise. 
 
 Would that more of those who now love music had such 
 respect for the wild songs of the wild birds that they dare 
 not level the murderous barrel at the songsters, and that those 
 who must have sport would all find it elsewhere than in shoot 
 ing the birds that would make their nests in farm yards, 
 or near our village dwellings. 
 
 Birty s life in this valley, for the time and circumstances, 
 was a quiet one, too quiet for his restless nature, and for the 
 fierce passion to revenge the grievous wrongs of his family, 
 which burned within him.
 
 Hunter Birty. 143 
 
 He had grown to be a man in strength and stature, and 
 he was eager to travel towards the Indian hunting-grounds 
 where he hoped to gain tidings of the playmates of his early 
 youth. Day after day his eagerness grew more exciting, 
 and when, by a settler, who spent a night at the cabin, he 
 learned that a party of hunters was about to explore the 
 wilds of the then entirely unsettled Kentucky Territory, he 
 resolved to be one of the number. This resolve he com 
 municated to Clinker. 
 
 " You don t do that alone," answered Clinker, to Birty s 
 astonishment. " I ll find them chaps myself. There s 
 nothin here to keep a feller." 
 
 " But ye don t consider," answered Birty, " who ll watch 
 the cabin and look arter Mat." 
 
 " She ll go to the settlement we shan t be gone more n 
 half the winter. We can lick enough o them red-skins in 
 that time." 
 
 So it was fixed Clinker and Birty joined the hunters, who 
 were to explore the wild lands of Kentucky, and Clinker s 
 daughter took up her abode in one of the cabins of a settle 
 ment about ten miles from the spot she had assisted to culti 
 vate in the wilderness. Birty and Martha parted like broth 
 er and sister. When they took leave of each other Clinker, 
 in his rough but honest way, said : 
 
 " Thar, I ll be licked by a red-skin, if I didn t know a 
 tarnal sight better, I d think, Birty, as how you and Mat 
 were some kin. It s astonishing how you ve tuck to each 
 other." 
 
 Clinker knew not the fate in store for his daughter, or he 
 might have manifested something of the feeling for which he 
 ridiculed Birty.
 
 144 Hunter Birty. 
 
 He had not been absent from the settlement ten days, 
 when a large party of Indians attacked it in the night, burned 
 several cabins, and took a number of women and children 
 prisoners, among whom was Martha.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 IT was late in the month of September, 1775, when Clink 
 er and Birty joined the party that was to explore the West 
 ern wilds. The place of rendezvous was Powell s valley. 
 The company consisted, in the language of the times, of 
 44 twenty-seven guns," or twenty-seven fighting men. Daniel 
 Boone, the renowned Pioneer, was one of that party, as was 
 also Hugh McGary and several other hardy hunters from the 
 backwoods of North Carolina. 
 
 The history of that expedition is a portion of the history 
 of Kentucky ; it is known not to have afforded much oppor 
 tunity for the ambitious to distinguish themselves, but Birty 
 so conducted himself that he elicited the admiration of Boone. 
 That old hunter separated from the rest of the party, at 
 Dick s creek, leaving them to pursue their way to Harrods- 
 burg, then a settlement of four cabins, while he bent his 
 course toward Boonesborough, the site of the first fort erect 
 ed by the white man in Kentucky. He invited Birty to ac 
 company him. Birty accepted the invitation. 
 
 " You re a tarnal fool," said Clinker, when Birty told him 
 of his determination. " Ye better stick to the other chaps." 
 
 " We didn t come here to plant corn. I m for fightin
 
 146 Hunter Birty. 
 
 Ingins. These fellers aint a goin to do no fightin Boone s 
 the chap what ll make the rascals scarcer." 
 
 " Them s facts, Birty and fightin Ingins is what we re 
 arter. If you leave this crowd so ll I." 
 
 Thus it was agreed upon, and Birty and Clinker, without 
 adventure of note, accompanied Boone and his party to 
 Boonesborough, and took up their abode in the fort. Mann 
 Butler, in his history of Kentucky, says: 
 
 " Well might the Indians, could they have anticipated the 
 faintest shadow of the ills in store for them, and their whole 
 race, from this foothold of the white man have contested the 
 fatal lodgement with the last drop of their blood. The 
 genius of their Pontiac, their Turtle and their Tecumseh,did 
 not display itself more gloriously at Detroit against St. Clair, 
 and on the Thames, than it might have done, in preventing 
 the white man from erecting his forts in the great hunting 
 grounds of their tribes. . 
 
 " A fort in those rude military times, consisted of pieces of 
 timber sharpened at the end, and fairly lodged in the ground ; 
 rows of pickets enclosed the desired space, which embraced 
 the cabins of the inhabitants. A block house, of superior 
 care and strength, commanding the sides of the fort, with or 
 without a ditch, completed the fortifications, or stations as 
 they were called ; generally the sides of the interior cabins 
 formed the sides of the fort. Slight as this advance was in 
 the art of war, it was more than sufficient against attacks of 
 small arms, in the hands of such desultory warriors, as their 
 irregularities of supplies necessarily rendered the Indians. 
 Such was the nature of the military structures of the Pio 
 neers against their enemies. They were even more formi-
 
 Hunter Birty. 147 
 
 dable in the cane brakes and in the woods than before these 
 imperfect fortifications." 
 
 There fairly began young Birty s career as a daring back 
 woodsman. There he had the first opportunity of associating 
 freely with men and women joining in their amusements or 
 taking part in their athletic sports. 
 
 A certain number of the most active men about the fort, 
 were selected as hunters for the families which there had 
 homes. One of the most fortunate of those hunters was 
 Birty. He was a young man of remarkable muscular devel 
 opment, and his power of endurance was astonishing even 
 to some of the old hunters, whom he met. He was in the 
 habit of making long excursions from the fort, and he would 
 not allow even Clinker to accompany him. On his return 
 from these exhibitions he told often of conflicts with Indians, 
 but he never appeared with a scalp at his belt. Once he 
 related an encounter with a brawny savage, to Clinker, who, 
 as if doubting Birty s word, said : 
 
 " Where s your trophy, boy ? Show us the critter s har." 
 
 " I never scalped an Ingin in my life, and never will. Ye 
 don t spose, Clinker, I haint no more respect for myself an 
 a bear cub, what you couldn t get to touch a dead carcass. 
 Taint in me, Clinker; I hate Ingiris,but when they re dead I 
 let ern alone." 
 
 Spring came. Clinker had returned to Virginia, to seek 
 in vain for his cherished Mat. Birty still made the Boones- 
 borough fort his rendezvous, though he was seldom there 
 many days in succession. 
 
 Early in the summer of 1776, unmistakable "signs" of 
 Indians, with warlike intentions, were discovered in the 
 neighborhood of the fort. Birty took it upon himself to be
 
 148 Hunter Birty. 
 
 a spy upon their movements. The unbroken forest was now 
 his dwelling place, but he often thought of his Virginia home. 
 Numerous birds sang in the branches of the trees forever over 
 hanging him in his wanderings, and his only recreation was 
 whistling such notes as most nearly imitated their varied 
 warblings. 
 
 He discovered one afternoon satisfactory evidences of the 
 close proximity of a considerable body of Indians. All of 
 his forest cunning, and his backwoods instincts were awake. 
 Night approached, and still he met none of the enemy ; 
 however, he knew a party of them must that night encamp 
 in the vicinity. He watched eagerly for signs of their camp, 
 believing that they intended to make an unexpected attack 
 upon the fort at Boonesborough or at Harrodsburg, and he 
 was determined to thwart their intentions by giving the in 
 habitants timely warning. 
 
 The full round moon rose behind the trees and shone 
 clearly upon the ancient woods. Birty looked up through 
 the foliage and saw distinctly broken patches of the blue sky, 
 but he could detect no curling smoke for which he watched 
 as a sign of the savage camp. 
 
 He prepared to take his evening meal and roll himself in 
 his blanket within the sheltering top of a fallen tree, when 
 he fancied he heard a familiar, but for that place and hour, 
 a very strange sound. It grew louder and appeared to come 
 nearer. Birty left his hiding place and cautiously took a 
 position where, without being observed, he could see any 
 object that might approach in the direction of the sounds. 
 
 Presently the hunter answered the sounds ; then thinking 
 of the exercises he had had at his Virginia home, he imita 
 ted those birdwarblings with which he had been familiar.
 
 Hunter Birty. 149 
 
 To his astonishment they were all answered perfectly. His 
 curiosity was now wrought to a pitch, that would have in 
 duced him to brave any danger in its gratification. Again 
 he imitated the song of a familiar bird again it was an 
 swered. Now he examined the priming of his rifle satisfied 
 himself that his knife and tomahawk were safe, and skulking 
 from tree to tree, approached the spot whence he imagined his 
 notes had been answered. Standing at the foot of a vener 
 able tree, he saw a young squaw, who appeared to be listen 
 ing eagerly for some sound by which she had been startled. 
 
 As the hunter watched her she poured forth a gush of 
 melody that could be likened only to the mocking bird s wild 
 music. Birty, when the squaw s voice ceased, echoed those 
 sounds, and the squaw s attention was fixed upon the hunter, 
 as he stood with his rifle leaning against his arm, and his 
 polished knife gleaming from his belt in the moon-light. 
 
 Cries of recognition escaped both the hunter and the 
 squaw Birty and Martha Clinker had again met. Expla 
 nations were mutually demanded, and conversing in the In 
 dian tongue, which Birty learned in his youth, and which 
 Martha had learned in her captivity, Birty told how it hap 
 pened that he was there, and what had befallen him since 
 they parted. Martha related the circumstances of her cap 
 tivity, arid Birty desired she should that night flee with him 
 to Boonesborough, whence she could return to Virginia in 
 quest of her father. Martha refused. Birty urged her to 
 give the reasons. She answered : 
 
 " My heart leaped to see you as does the heart of the doe 
 for a lost fatfn, and I would greet my father as the fawn 
 would greet the long absent doe, but I cannot go back with 
 you now. Among the Indians at yonder camp is one Birty,
 
 Hunter Birty. 
 
 as much like you as one fawn is like another, and did I not 
 know that you are not an Indian I should think you were 
 brothers. He took me to his wigwam, when the party that 
 captured me joined the rest of the tribe. At first he was 
 repugnant to me then I received his attentions because he 
 reminded me of you, and he was so different from what I 
 had been told Indian warriors are like, that I began to love 
 him, and I dare not desert him, if for no other reason, for 
 the sake of a pledge of our love which sleeps in our wigwam, 
 and is yet dependent upon its mother for the life it enjoys." 
 
 " Is that Indian older than I am ?" inquired Birty eager 
 ly, still speaking in the Indian tongue. 
 
 " Many moons younger, I should judge," answered Martha. 
 
 Then a hope which had long since died, revived in Birty s 
 breast. 
 
 " Can you bring this Indian to meet me to-morrow night ?" 
 he said. 
 
 " I dare trust you, Birty, but I dare not ask him," she 
 replied. 
 
 " Tell me then whither the tribe is traveling." 
 
 " Toward the great river, to meet friends. They talk of 
 white foes collecting to drive them from their hunting grounds 
 they are preparing to meet them." 
 
 " I am watching their movements, and have been for several 
 days. You will give me your word that they do not design 
 to attack any of the settlements in this neighborhood ?" 
 
 " I overheard the warriors in the council last night. I 
 know their march will be secretly continued to a point on the 
 Ohio, where they expect to meet other warrio*rs, who are de 
 termined to fight for their hunting grounds. I must go back 
 to the camp farewell, Birty."
 
 Hunter Birty. 151 
 
 " We shall meet again," said the hunter. 
 
 " You will tell my father I am not unhappy in my Indian 
 home," answered Martha. 
 
 Birty watched her till she disappeared among the trees. 
 She had forbidden him to follow her, and he obeyed. He 
 resolved to be among those whom the Indians, gathering their 
 forces together, had determined to expel from the cane brakes 
 and forests of Kentucky, but he was not satisfied to leave 
 the party so near him, till he knew more of their numbers 
 and character than Martha had communicated. 
 
 On the morrow he stood near the Indian camp when prep 
 arations were made for marching, and he saw Martha with 
 the squaws, her papoose in Indian fashion fastened upon her 
 back ; but he could see no one whom he could identify as 
 her husband. To look at the Indian that, as Martha said, 
 resembled him, was to Birty an enjoyment for which he was 
 ready to brave dangers that would appall hearts unaccustomed 
 to forest life ; and he resolved to follow the Indians until he 
 had satisfied his curiosity in this particular. 
 
 When the savages gathered around their camp at night, 
 four of their number were missing. They were vainly looked 
 for. Birty could have told where their bodies were lying. 
 Following the Indian trail he had overtaken these stragglers, 
 and when he had satisfied himself that neither was that one for 
 whom he looked, thoughts of the last scene witnessed in his 
 mountain home, nerved his arm, and the savages fell, and 
 neither could have told what manner of foe was near him. 
 Birty had seen others that day who might as easily have been 
 his victims, but he was not satisfied that they did not answer 
 the description that Martha had given ; and they joined their 
 companions unharmed.
 
 152 Hunter Birty. 
 
 The Indians had not suspected foes until the absence of 
 their warriors on the night of which we write. While sav 
 ages smoked their pipes, Martha heard the wild notes of the 
 forest bird far back in the woods ; and then she could have 
 told those around her the fate of the absent, but she dare 
 not ; nor dare she go to Birty and warn him of the danger 
 that, on the following day, might threaten him. 
 
 Again and again Birty called in bird-like music, that he 
 knew Martha would understand, but he received no answer. 
 Stealthily he crept nearer the camp. He could see the 
 dusky forms of the Indians passing to and fro, but he was 
 not satisfied with the utmost caution he crept so near that 
 he could almost hear the conversation of a group of warriors 
 in council. He understood their language, and he deter 
 mined to know the subject of their consultation. 
 
 With the shrewdest exercise of his knowledge of Indian 
 habits, he skulked from tree to tree. Moonlight had thus 
 for aided his movements now it retarded them. Heavy 
 clouds hung in the sky, and he waited for the moon to be ob 
 scured by them then he crept very near the council. 
 
 Now he could distinctly hear every word that was uttered, 
 and the report that Martha had given him was confirmed. 
 He suspected that her husband must be one of the warriors 
 in the group before him, and he resolved to run a greater 
 risk in order to satisfy his curiosity. Again he cautiously 
 skylked toward the Indian camp. The risk of detection was 
 great. Birty was full aware of that risk. He had de 
 termined to brave it, and he crept on. 
 
 There was a deep shadow on the woods, and Birty had 
 reached a clump of bushes so near the council that he was 
 confident, when the moon shown again, he could see the face
 
 Hunter Birty. 153 
 
 of every warrior. He had been so intent on watching the 
 difficulties to be overcome immediately around him, that he 
 had not kept himself correctly informed concerning the period 
 when the cloud which obscured the moon would pass from 
 before it, and while he stood exposed to view, its mellow ra 
 diance fell on the thin woods where the Indian council sat. 
 
 An Indian on guard caught a glimpse of Birty as he 
 dashed into the bushes. That Indian gave the alarm. In 
 stantly the hunter was surrounded. 
 
 He sprang from the bushes into the open woods, and, re 
 markably fleet on foot, would have escaped comparatively 
 unharmed, but his foes were numerous. His first impulse 
 was to fight, reckless of consequences, but in an instant he 
 saw that it was scarcely possible he could escape with his life 
 then he thought of Martha of his curiosity in reference 
 to the Indian Martha had described as her husband, and he 
 surrendered. He was securely bound and carefully watched. 
 When day dawned he saw with bitter disappointment that 
 there was no one among the Indians who bore the slightest 
 resemblance to himself.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A SKIRMISH. 
 
 THE Indians held a council, and Birty, closely guarded, 
 was confined to a tree near the centre of the camp. The In 
 dians had no suspicion that he understood their language, and 
 they talked freely in his hearing. He learned that they had 
 resolved to make him run the gauntlet, and then torture him 
 to death. They believed him to have been the rxurderer of 
 those who had recently disappeared from their ranks, and 
 they regarded him with true Indian vengeance. All this 
 must be done within two days at which time it was expected 
 this party would overtake another, that had gone forward ear 
 ly the night previous as a scouting company. The leader 
 of the scouting party was Martha s husband, as Birty judged 
 from the talk in regard to him. 
 
 Birty looked upon the Indian warriors as they sat in coun 
 cil or stood near him, keeping watch, and he had ample op 
 portunity to calculate the dangers of his situation and spec 
 ulate upon the chances of escape. He knew th at he should 
 riot be harmed, unless some accident occurred, until another 
 night had passed, and he resolved to conduct himself as if he 
 had no anxiety about his fate. He would be watchful, but 
 submissive, lie was watched suspiciously by several of the 
 
 (154)
 
 Hunter Birty. 155 
 
 Indians, as if they half believed him to be a warrior from 
 some other tribe, who had joined the whites. His half In 
 dian extraction and the peculiar associations of his life, had 
 indeed rendered him very much, in many respects, like orig 
 inal sons of the forest, yet in bearing and intelligence, he 
 was very different from those who no\v had him in their pow 
 er. He only asked that the watchfulness of his guard would 
 be withdrawn long enough to allow him a few moment s con 
 versation with Martha. He saw her several times, but she 
 had no opportunity to come near him. 
 
 Birty rejoiced when the Indians began to make busy prep 
 arations for departure. They had smoked their pipes and 
 taken their hasty morning meal, when they held another coun 
 cil within ear-shot of Birty s position. One who seemed to 
 be a man of authority, said to his fellow savages : 
 
 " The pale-faces came to drive us from our ancient hunt 
 ing grounds. We go to join Indians who will drive back 
 the pale-faces. Our captive can tell us whether the pale 
 faces are like the leaves of the forest in number, in summer 
 or in winter. He can guide us to their wigwams. We shall 
 offer him his liberty if he will tell us their number, and show 
 us their wigwams. The white squaw can talk with the cap 
 tive." 
 
 The warriors agreed to this speech, and Martha was sent 
 for to interrogate Birty. 
 
 The prisoner saw her approach him with no slight emotion. 
 She asked him the questions which the warrior who had been 
 spokesman propounded, and he answered : 
 
 " Tell em to do their ugliest. I shan t show em the first 
 pale-face but let em know the whites are mighty plenty 
 over East, and give em to understand that I m a friend of
 
 156 Hunter Birty. 
 
 Ban Boone s, and if they come any of their Ingin sprees 
 over me they ll have the old chap arter em. For yourself, 
 now Martha, I ll tell ye that I m goin to leave this place 
 afore another day, and you ve got to cut me loose to-night if 
 I don t get a chance to kick over some of them red devils to- 
 day." 
 
 Martha dare make no reply to Birty for fear of exciting 
 suspicion, but her face assured him that he would have her 
 aid, if she could give it. When she told the warriors how 
 sternly the captive rejected their proposition, and what he 
 threatened them, the big fellow who had spoken, uttered a 
 significant " Ugh ! " Several followed his example, and then 
 in a few minutes the order was given for a march. In a 
 short time the whole party was under way. A heavy bur 
 den was fastened upon Birty s back, and with his hands tied 
 behind him, he was driven before two stout warriors. Bir 
 ty s proud heart beat indignantly, as he marched that day, a 
 slave to the " varmints " that had so deeply wronged his fam 
 ily. His vows of revenge were deep and earnest. 
 
 Night was coming on, and Birty had seen no opportunity 
 of escape. His hopes of freedom were centred on Martha s 
 aid, and the character of the weather. The day had been 
 lowering, and there were tokens of rain. About noon the 
 clouds broke away and the sky became clear ; then Birty s 
 hope of liberty was a feeble one, but as afternoon advanced 
 the sky was again overcast. At sunset it was darker in the 
 forest than it was on the previous night, when Birty stood 
 as a spy upon the Indian camp. Birty watched the gather 
 ing gloom with most intense interest it was to aid him in 
 making the escape he had planned. He had been so obedi 
 ent to the commands laid upon him by the Indians, that his
 
 Hunter Birty. 157 
 
 guards had relaxed much of the vigilance they had exercised 
 at the commencement of their march ; and the prisoner 
 thought this augured well for the future. 
 
 The warriors selected a resting place upon the bank of a 
 small stream ; Birty saw that there were low bushes along 
 this bank, and thick woods on the opposite side he was sat 
 isfied with the choice his captors had made. An immense 
 fire was built, whose light flashed up among the ancient trees, 
 revealing the Indians seated upon the ground with their pris 
 oner securely bound in their midst. The previous night he 
 had not been permitted to lie down. He was now ingenious 
 ly bound to two warriors who lay on either side of him. 
 They were confident he could not stir without awaking them. 
 The captors slept, but the captive did not. Nearly half the 
 night had passed the fire gave out fitful flashes as a gentle 
 wind swept through the forest, and Birty felt most painfully 
 that his chance of deliverance was every hour growing 
 narrower. 
 
 As he speculated upon his gloomy prospects he felt the cords 
 tighten upon his swollen limbs he began to grow listless from 
 fatigue and despair he thought he heard a light foot-fall 
 presently some one bent over him it was Martha. She 
 cautiously cut the cords which bound Birty to his guards, and 
 he stood upon his feet. In a moment his limbs were free 
 he stretched them out as if to ascertain whether the 
 muscles would obey his will then he looked upon his slum 
 bering foes to find where the one was lying who had taken 
 possession of his rifle, tomahawk and knife. 
 
 The apparent leader of the party, the spokesman qf the 
 previous morning, had Birty s weapons the knife and tom 
 ahawk were in his belt.
 
 158 Hunter Birty. 
 
 Birtj would have felt himself unarmed without the knife, 
 tomahawk and rifle of his father he knew their metal. 
 
 He crept stealthily toward the warrior, whom he was to 
 "rob." He took the rifle in his hand slipped the knife 
 safely from the savage s belt, and had his hand upon the tom 
 ahawk ; the Indian moved as if he would awaken a mad 
 impulse seized Birty, he hastily tore the weapon from its 
 place and struck the warrior a blow which buried the toma 
 hawk in his head. Fatally wounded, the savage in his dying 
 struggles was convulsively thrown forward and fell back upon 
 the warrior lying next to him, who was aroused instantly. 
 He sprang to his feet before Birty could strike him, and 
 uttered a war-cry with furious energy. It was no time for 
 Birty to fight his safety lay in dexterous dodging and fleet- 
 ness of foot. AH was confusion around the camp fire. Bir 
 ty had his presence of mind. Quickly the Indians gathered 
 theirs. Several started in swift pursuit of the fugitive. Two 
 warriors were close upon him, one of them had almost over 
 taken him, when the sharp report of several rifles rang 
 through the forest, and the foremost Indians fell. 
 
 Birty knew that friends had most unexpectedly but most 
 opportunely come ; yet he relaxed not a muscle in his flight, 
 and well that he did not, for he had advanced but a few 
 steps when he met Martha, who, expecting that Birty would 
 peacefully escape, had gone outside of the camp to meet him 
 and give him some words to bear her father. She was now 
 frantic with fear that the Indians might find her babe, and 
 for revenge, murder it in her absence. She had discovered 
 that friends had come to Birty s rescue. There were quick 
 ly successive shots at the camp, and yells and curses. Fear 
 for the safety of her child nerved her, and into the thickest
 
 Hunter Birty. 159 
 
 of the conflict she would have rushed had not Birty restrained 
 her. 
 
 " Where d you leave it ? " he said. She described to 
 him a spot which he vowed he could instantly find. He bid 
 her not to go nearer the camp till he returned, and then 
 went in quest of the papoose. The conflict did not wage 
 near the spot where its mother had left it, but it had been 
 aroused from slumber and was screaming with fright. The 
 mother who had stealthily followed Birty, fearing that it was 
 wounded, rushed before him and snatched it from the ground. 
 The hunter heard the child greet its mother with a cry of 
 recognition, then without a word he rushed to the battle 
 ground, and found it occupied with friends. The savages 
 had been routed leaving several dead, and taking with them 
 a number of wounded. 
 
 " Hello! " said a rough voice. 
 
 Birty recognized it, and he answered : " Hello ! Clinker, 
 where d you come from ? " 
 
 " Birty ! sure as I ever killed a red devil," replied Clinker, 
 rushing towards the spot where Birty stood. 
 
 It was a joyful meeting, but Birty felt that there would 
 soon be a more joyful one. 
 
 " You aint the chap what was running from them 
 Ingins, Birty ? " said Clinker. 
 
 " Are you the chap what cut em down ?" replied Birty. 
 
 " I m one of em," answered Clinker. " There s a dozen 
 of us, all the right grit. How d you get in that trap ? " 
 
 " I ll tell you arter a while. How d you happen here ? " 
 
 " Why you see, Birty, when I left you at the fort and 
 went home, I found the devil d been to pay the tarnal 
 Ingins had been down on the settlement, and they d carried
 
 160 Hunter Birty. 
 
 off Mat. I owed em an old grudge, and I cum back to 
 Kaintuck to fight em some of these boys cum from the set 
 tlement and some we picked up. We got on track of the 
 Ingins, at this camp, jist by accident, yesterday, and we fol 
 lowed em till last night, and it was dark. We know d we 
 was close on em, and we thought we d take em afore mornin , 
 but it got tarnal dark. I was a watchin a while ago when them 
 clouds broke away, and I give the boys the word, and we 
 started. We arriv, Birty, jist right, didn t we ? " 
 
 " You did that," answered Birty, " to keep the red dev 
 ils from killing me, and to catch one of their handsomest 
 squaws." 
 
 "Where is she, Birty?" 
 
 " I ll fetch her." 
 
 Birty went in pursuit of Martha, and Clinker s men sat 
 down around the fire, from which they had driven the sav 
 ages. 
 
 Birty had some difficulty in finding Martha, but at length 
 he succeeded, and returned to the camp with her. Martha 
 was in a most gloomy state of mind in reference to her sep 
 aration from her husband, for she knew her disappearance 
 would be reported to him in the most unfavorable light that 
 she would either be considered dead or as a fugitive from his 
 protection. Strange as it may appear, there was something 
 about that Indian which had so endeared him to her, that for 
 his society she willingly relinquished all hope of return to 
 the settlements of the whites, unless peace should be declared 
 between them and the Indians. In condolence to Martha, 
 Birty said to her in his rough language, but in a cheerful 
 tone of voice :
 
 Hunter Birty. 161 
 
 "Don t take on so you ll feel better arter a while, I m 
 certain." 
 
 When they came near camp, Martha dared not look at 
 those she considered her foes. Clinker heard them approach, 
 and went forward to meet Birty when he saw what he sup 
 posed to be the squaw, he cried : 
 
 " She needn t be afeard of us. We aint Ingins what burns 
 women." 
 
 Martha recognized the voice. She suddenly raised her 
 head, and cried : 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 Clinker caught her to his bosom, and exclaimed : 
 
 " It s my Mat, sure as I m a Clinker! I m cussed if this 
 aint luck ! I haint got as big a grudge agin them red devils 
 as I was trying to make out. Whar have you been, Mat ? 
 How d you get here ? What on airth is this ? " 
 
 Clinker had just discovered the papoose Martha bore in 
 her arms. She held it up before him. 
 
 " A little Ingin, eh ? Whar d ye get the critter, Mat? " 
 
 She dare not answer, and Birty said : 
 
 " It s her n, old fellow." 
 
 " Her n ? " returned Clinker in surprise " Her n ? how 
 the devil d ye make that out ? " 
 
 " One o them Ingins belongin to the party you just licked 
 made her his squaw," answered Birty. 
 
 " Lightnin , I d liked to catched him at it I d a sent him 
 whar Ingins don t mix with white folks but taint no use 
 makin a fuss when the game s gone. Them red varmints 
 don t get Mat agin, as long as old Clinker s got a rifle." 
 
 These were harsh words to Martha s ear she had often 
 wondered how her father would receive the intelligence of 
 11
 
 162 Hunter Birty. 
 
 her maternal relations among the Indians, and she had always 
 pictured him more disturbed in regard to it than he appeared. 
 In this she had cause for congratulation, yet she could not con 
 sider herself in any other light than as a prisoner, and her 
 heart was indeed sad. 
 
 The clouds which had overspread the sky had nearly all 
 disappeared, and daylight approached. Birty informed 
 Clinker that he had learned, from the Indians, of another par 
 ty of warriors, a day s journey in advance, arid it was thought 
 politic not to linger around the old camp of the savages long- 
 ger than was necessary. 
 
 When the earliest rays of the sun robed the tops of the 
 trees with dew-drop rain bows, Clinker s men were all under 
 inarch. Their progress through the woods was rapid but 
 cautious. They did not intend to be surprised by any par 
 ty of Indians, large or small. 
 
 They were all experienced hunters, and they were mostly 
 men from whose families the Indians had taken victims, or 
 whose homes had been destroyed by the torch of the red man
 
 CHAPTER VII . 
 
 THE PURSUIT. 
 
 IT was late at night when a few straggling Indians entered 
 a camp where all was quiet where warriors lay slumbering 
 around the camp fire, while the silver moonlight, falling 
 between the leaves of closely-standing trees, faintly revealed 
 their sombre forms. This was a place of appointed rendez 
 vous for two parties of Indians the advanced party com 
 manded by the husband of Martha ; and the party which 
 had been beaten and dispersed by Clinker s men. 
 
 Sad was the news which the stragglers brought, and when 
 a wild shout was given, known as a signal of ill fortune, in 
 the camp which had all been repose, commotion was general. 
 
 The brave who appeared to command the warriors, was a 
 model of rage and desperation. He cursed those who had 
 brought the sad news, as cowardly squaws, and he ordered 
 immediate preparations for a march. Those preparations 
 were swiftly made. It was but a short time before the sav 
 ages were all marching with quick step toward the site of the 
 camp where Clinker s men had seen friend meet friend and 
 where a daughter, mourned as dead, had been restored to a 
 father who fought those among whom she was a voluntary cap 
 tive, and who, had he met him, would have slain the being 
 
 (163)
 
 164 Hunter Birty. 
 
 she best loved on earth, with as little compunction as he 
 would have shot a panther crouching to spring upon him. 
 
 Meanwhile Clinker and Birty, with the captives they had 
 liberated, were marching through the forest on their way 
 toward Boonesborough. Their march was conducted with 
 extreme caution, because they expected to meet other par 
 ties of Indians, and both had dire vengeance to wreak on the 
 red men. There was a great difference between these two 
 men. Clinker was brutal, even savage in his nature Birty 
 was rough-spoken, and rough-mannered, yet all who knew 
 him acknowledged that he had a kind heart. He would 
 never shoot a wild beast unless he had need of food or cloth 
 ing, and although he killed every Indian on whom he could 
 surely draw his rifle sights, he was never known to take a 
 scalp. Clinker always had one or more scalps dangling from 
 his belt. Birty often talked with him about this savage pro 
 pensity, and sometimes Clinker would answer : 
 
 " Them red devils shan t git ahead o old Clinker. Ef 
 they d catch him his har d be off quicker an ye could say 
 Ingin. I want to know how much sarvice I do my country." 
 
 " You don t fight Ingins jist because they ain t white?" 
 said Birty in reply one day. 
 
 " I d shoot em any how," answered Clinker ; " but you 
 know I ve got a big spite agin em, an I shan t guv up till 
 every moccasin s druv out o this country." 
 
 " I ve got a bigger spite agin em than you have, Clinker, 
 but ef they d jist let wimmin and children alone, and let me 
 go among era to hunt them little chaps I told you about once, 
 I d make friends with em quicker n you could shoot your old 
 rifle," said Birty, with deep feeling, as he strode away from 
 his companion, scarcely hearing his taunt.
 
 Hunter Birty. 165 
 
 " Ef ye git a cuttin up sich shines, Birty, you won t be fit 
 to hunt Ingins any more. You ll haf to stay at the settle 
 ment and take care o the wimmin." 
 
 The hunters had traveled two days, and were drawing near 
 the settlements. Clinker, who, on account of Martha s sad 
 ness at her separation from the father of her papoose, had 
 watched her as if he was afraid she would desert him and 
 return to his enemies, relaxed, in a great degree, his close 
 attention to her, and she was quite at liberty on the third 
 night to roam whither she would. 
 
 She secretly left the camp with her papoose, and wan 
 dered into the woods in the hope that she might meet some 
 of the Indians among whom she was known, and by them be 
 restored to her husband. She had faint hope that she might 
 meet her husband, for she knew that he would pursue the 
 whites as soon as he heard of her captivity, and it was her 
 determination to keep him from attacking them if she should 
 meet him or any of his followers before the affray began. 
 Her affections were divided between the parties. She would 
 desert her father for her husband, but she must prevent her 
 husband from making war upon her father. In this mood 
 she watched until it was nearly morning. She dared not 
 leave the camp altogether, for fear she might fall into the 
 hands of some band of Indians that would carry her farther 
 from her husband than the whites, and not be so lenient to 
 her as her father and Birty. Her footsteps were heavy 
 when she turned them in disappointment towards her fath 
 er s camp. 
 
 The Indian leader pursued the party that had captured 
 his white squaw in vain. He supposed they would hasten to 
 Boonesborough. He struck across the country to meet them,
 
 166 Hunter Birty. 
 
 and on the third day he would have encountered them ; but, 
 meeting a small company of hunters, Clinker was informed 
 that a party of Virginians had recently come into the coun 
 try, and was then at Harrodsburgh. He determined to visit 
 the Fort. Birty had no objections, and the rest of the band 
 were not particular whither they were led. Their course 
 had therefore been changed. By this maneuver the pursuing 
 Indians were somewhat baffled, but when Martha was going 
 back from her search in the forest, her husband was nearer 
 than she supposed. At the head of a small party of tired 
 warriors he was about to attack the hunters, when he saw 
 Martha as she passed between him and the camp-fire. He 
 gave a signal known only between them, which, though heard 
 by the hunters, caused no alarm. Martha, hoping yet fear 
 ing, drew near him so near that he spoke to her. Her 
 heart bounded as she recognized his voice, and in a moment 
 she was leading him far away from her father s men. 
 
 " Stop," he said, " I must lead my men against the pale 
 faces who shot our warriors. They will have revenge " 
 
 " My father is there," answered Martha, " and he whom 
 I have spoken of as a brother. I have deserted them to go 
 back with you. You must not attack them. I love you, 
 but I love them, and I will protect them. They are many 
 they are brave they might kill you and all jour war 
 riors. If you attack them, kill me, for I will go back to 
 them if I am alive." 
 
 The warrior bowed his head, and muttered stern Indian 
 oaths, but Martha was firm, and with a signal he led his 
 warriors away. 
 
 They were surprised that he did not attack the hunters,
 
 Hunter Birty. 167 
 
 but had confidence in their leader and dare not question his 
 orders or his motives. 
 
 Clinker, who had been wandering about the woods for 
 sometime, called Birty to one side and said : 
 
 " Mat s gone as sure as shootin , papoose and all. I ve 
 been huntin her for half an hour, an I can t git trail of 
 her. There s been red devils, or she s run off expectin to 
 find that varmint you say s her papoose s daddy. I m goin 
 arter her, and you must go along." 
 
 < To-night ? " said Birty. 
 
 " Yes, right off," answered Clinker. 
 
 " You re mad," returned Birty. " Somethin s turned your 
 head. What d you do in the woods now, findin Ingins, when 
 you could nt see one two rods off. Taint no use, Clinker. 
 Wait for daylight, then we can track the varmints, and we ll 
 git em afore night." 
 
 Clinker was obliged to yield to Birty, but was restless and 
 impatient. 
 
 He was inclined to believe that Martha had voluntarily 
 fled, but Birty said he supposed the White Eagle, as she 
 called her warrior, had overtaken their party and with a sig 
 nal called her away. If so the hunters might guard for an 
 attack. Birty s advice was acted upon. Clinker was the 
 most watchful of the guards. He started at every sound, 
 and often grasped his rifle tightly, and felt for his knife and 
 tomahawk, as if he had detected foes stealthily approaching, 
 but no cause for real alarm existed. At each of these out 
 bursts the hunter would renew his vows of hostility to the 
 red man with increased bitterness, and when the soft light of 
 morning began to come down on the hills, he was almost in a 
 frenzy of rage and desperation.
 
 i68 Hunter Birty. 
 
 It was a misty morning, and as day advanced a gentle rain 
 fell, which early in the forenoon was diversified with brisk 
 showers. The hunters held a council and instituted a shrewd 
 search for Indian " signs " around their camp. They found 
 enough to convince them that Birty s opinion concerning 
 Martha s disappearance was correct, but on account of the 
 rain they could not surely follow the savages. 
 
 Clinker was desperate, and urged his companions to a pur 
 suit at all hazards. They were determined to pursue their 
 march to Harrodsburg, unless plain Indian " signs " could be 
 discovered, and Clinker was obliged to relinquish the hope of 
 immediate revenge and rescue. He consoled himself with a 
 promise that after a few days spent at the Fort in preparing 
 ammunition and clothing, Birty would accompany him, with 
 such volunteers as could be raised, on an expedition across 
 the Ohio into the western country, where, as Birty had 
 reported, the Indians were collecting for the purpose of 
 attacking the people of " Kaintuck" in a body.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN OFFICIAL EXPEDITION. 
 
 THE spring of 1778 had come. In the spring of 1776, 
 George Rogers Clark, (a name ever to be mentioned with 
 honor and respect in the eventful history of Kentucky,) a 
 second time visited those vast and enticing hunting grounds 
 that " favorite theatre of romantic adventure." By his noble 
 ness arid valor he gained the confidence of the people who 
 had settlements in that wild region. He saw, with states 
 man-like foresight, the value of those lands to Virginia as a 
 frontier, and he assembled the people at Harrodsburg to 
 devise means of public defense. At this meeting, Clark and 
 Gabriel Jones were chosen members of the Assembly of Vir 
 ginia. This choice could not give the gentlemen elect seats 
 in the Assembly, but they resolved at all events to visit the 
 seat of Government, then at Williamsburg. They found that 
 the Legislature had adjourned ; but Clark would not relin 
 quish the object of his mission, and he obtained from the 
 Executive Council an order for five hundred weight of pow 
 der, for the defense of the Kentucky stations. This order 
 was received on the 23d of August, 1776. Patrick Henry, 
 then Governor of Virginia, assisted Clark greatly in his 
 efforts for the protection of Kentucky. At the next session 
 
 (169)
 
 Hunter Birty. 
 
 of the Legislature, held in the fall of 1776, a petition from 
 Jones and Clark was received, and the " county of Ken 
 tucky," embracing the limits of the present State, was cre 
 ated. Owing mainly to the excellent management and judi 
 cious watchfulness of Clark, the powder for which he had 
 received an order, was safely conveyed from Pittsburgh to 
 Harrodsburg. In the spring of 1777, the Kentucky militia 
 was organized, and the whites were then prepared to repel 
 the invasions of the Indians upon their settlements. Hith 
 erto the Indians had only met small bands of the backwoods 
 men, fighting generally in their own defense, or in protection 
 of their homes and families. 
 
 In the fall of 1777, Clark again left Kentucky for Vir 
 ginia. He returned as Colonel George Rogers Clark, with 
 two sets of instructions one public, for the defense of Ken 
 tucky ; the other secret, ordering an attack upon the British 
 post Kaskaskia. On the 4th of February, 1778, Colonel 
 Clark, as he himself expressed it, " clothed with all the 
 authority he could wish," left Virginia to carry out his secret 
 instructions. 
 
 It is not necessary to our story that we should follow 
 Clark s career minutely. It is a part of the History of Ken 
 tucky, familiar to her sons and daughters. They know his 
 adventures on the Ohio, from Fort Pitt to the Falls, where 
 he fixed a post by fortifying Corn Island, opposite Louisville. 
 There he disclosed to his troops their real destination, and 
 was assured that he had their confidence. All ardently con 
 curred in the plan, excepting one company, a part of which 
 fled from the post, and many of them succeeded in reaching 
 Harrodsburg, but on account of their dastardly conduct, were 
 refused admittance to the fort.
 
 Hunter Birty. 171 
 
 It was a gloomy day when Colonel Clark s men, in their 
 shallow boats, passed the Falls of the Ohio. The sun was in 
 a total eclipse, and the darkness of night was upon the water. 
 Some of the superstitious thought this an omen of ill-luck, 
 but none dare mention their fears except to a few friends, in 
 their especial confidence. No adventure worthy of record, 
 however, occurred, until the troops were landed on an island 
 near the mouth of the Tennessee river. 
 
 There Clark had rested but a few hours, when he was in 
 formed that a party of hunters had encamped within a short 
 distance of his troops. He ordered that they be invited to 
 visit him. Several accepted his invitation. They proved to 
 be a company from Kentucky settlements. One of the hunt 
 ers was acquainted with a number of the men in Clark s com 
 mand. The Colonel observing this, desired to speak with 
 him. When the individual was brought into his presence he 
 said : " I understand that you are a Virginian." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I m one o the Big Knifes, but all the chaps 
 whav I ve been didn t know it, or praps I hadn t been here 
 oa^rig friends agin." 
 
 " May I inquire your name ? " said Clark. 
 " The poonle what know me, sir, call me Tom Clinker." 
 " You say you have recently visited Kaskaskia." 
 I went up that way a couple of months or so ago, after 
 a daughter I m trying to git from the Ingins." 
 ; Can you tell me who is the commander ? " 
 " I ve heard the name, but its worse an Ingin, an I aint 
 good at twistin out such fellows. But I can tell you, sir, he 
 aint no fool. He s a wide awake chap, an he keeps a sharp 
 look out. He tells the Ingins and the hunters that Virginia
 
 172 Hunter Birty. 
 
 boys are worse than savages. They call era Big Knife out 
 here, and the re as feared as death on em." 
 
 " That will not be to our disadvantage." answered Clark. 
 " Now, tell me what you think about the number of men I 
 have being able to take Kaskaskia." 
 
 " You could do it jist as easy as I d take an old bear, but 
 you must do it a leetle in the same style take the critter 
 when he don t know what s goin to happen him." 
 
 " I understand you " said Clark and am obliged to you for 
 the information you have given." 
 
 " Well, look here, Colonel, some of us fellows thought 
 we d jist like to go back there and help drive them British 
 ers off our ground. Ef you want any of our help, jist let 
 me know it, an we re ready to start." 
 
 " Where are the men who would join us? " inquired Clark. 
 
 " I ll fotch a few of em," answered Clinker, as he started 
 in quest of Birty and his companions." 
 
 Clark followed him, and soon met the most of the hunters 
 in a body. They composed the party that had gone out ac 
 cording to Birty s promise when Clinker consented to return 
 to Harrodsburg. They were all willing to accompany Clark. 
 The information which Clinker had given him was confirmed. 
 He learned that the name of the commander at Kaskaskia 
 was M. Rochcblane, and hearing more detailed accounts of 
 the dread in which the Virginians were held by the British 
 and their allies, he determined, as Mann Butler says in his 
 History of Kentucky, " to enlist this national apprehension 
 in his service, and employ it as an auxiliary to his diminutive 
 force." As important aids in the furtherance of this plan, 
 Clark gladly accepted the offer of the hunters to join his 
 brave band.
 
 Hunter Birty. 173 
 
 After this accession to his forces, Clark ordered the boats 
 to be prepared, and the whole party dropped down the river 
 a few miles. A short distance above what was then known 
 as Fort Massac, the boats were concealed, and with their 
 commander sharing, as one of them, all the fatigues and pri 
 vations of a march through the wilderness, the Kentuckians 
 and Virginians traveled across the present State of Illinois 
 toward the ancient French village of Kaskaskia. Clark un 
 derstood well the manner of conducting a forest expedition, 
 and no adventure of importance happened to his company 
 until the third day. The principal guide then became be 
 wildered. 
 
 Suspicion was immediately excited among the wily Ken 
 tuckians, and a general cry arose against the unfortunate 
 hunter. Birty knew this man well, and he knew he was no 
 traitor, and when others clamored against him, he said : 
 
 " Give the feller a chance. He ll fotch things straight. 
 I ll see the Colonel." 
 
 Hastening where Clark was consulting about the guide s 
 conduct, Birty made bold to say, 
 
 " Tain t fair to make a fellow out meaner than an Ingin 
 till you ve give him a chance. He s only a little stuck just 
 now. He s true as my old rifle, an when he gets the cob 
 webs out of his head, he ll tell whar we are just as easy as 
 I can tell whar a red skin is when I get a fair sight on him." 
 
 The guide begged that he might have a chance to estab 
 lish his innocence. Clark was not a man to condemn a fellow 
 soldier without good reason. He said to the guide : 
 
 " You have told us that you have often traveled this route, 
 that you know this country well. I will give you a fair op 
 portunity to recover yourself, but then, if you do not conduct
 
 174 Hunter Birty. 
 
 the detachment into the hunter s road leading to Kaskaskia, 
 you shall be hung." 
 
 Accompanied by Birty, Clinker and one or two soldiers, 
 the guide went into the prairie in full view, and after about 
 an hour s examination, found a place which he recollected ; 
 he then knew his whereabouts precisely, and had no fears 
 that his innocence would not be established. When he had 
 again gained the confidence of his commander and his fellow 
 soldiers, Birty said to some of those who had clamored against 
 him, 
 
 " Now you see, don t you, how you d strung a poor fellow 
 up afore he had a chance to say his prayers all for nothin , 
 too. I d think myself tarnal mean, ef I d treat the ugliest 
 red-skin arter that fashion. Ef the Colonel hadn t know d 
 more n you possum heads, we d all been up a stump now, un 
 less praps some o the rest o our chaps could ? ve told whar 
 this trail was." 
 
 Such was the rough but noble character of the true Ken 
 tucky hunter of those days. 
 
 On the evening of the 4th of July, 1778, the soldiers and 
 hunters encamped within a few miles of the town their com 
 mander designed to attack. 
 
 It was the second anniversary of the Declaration of Amer 
 ican Independence, and it was talked of that night as the 
 hunters and soldiers gathered in groups, with a spirit which 
 showed that the men were all ready to sell their lives in its 
 defense. No guns were fired in its honor, but many resolves 
 were formed under its influence. 
 
 If the men of our day had the chivalrous respect for that 
 instrument which those rude hunters and soldiers felt, and 
 were ready to manifest it at the cannon s mouth, the observ-
 
 Hunter Birty. 175 
 
 ance of the national holiday would be more general and ap 
 propriate. It would not be observed merely by the firing of 
 squibs, in the streets of our villages and cities, and by the 
 booming of cannon, and by rhetorical speeches in our groves, 
 but all the people with thoughtful hearts would remember and 
 do honor to the valiant men who declared our independence 
 and at each return of its anniversary the bonds of our 
 Union would be strengthened.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 THE shades of night had fallen upon the forest, when the 
 order to prepare for march was communicated to the differ 
 ent companies of Clark s detachment. The Colonel, recog 
 nizing the intelligence and trustworthiness of Birty, had con 
 sulted him frequently. The hunter had been a close observer, 
 during his brief visit with Clinker, to Kaskaskia, and he ad 
 vised extreme caution in approaching the town. He assured 
 Clark that its means of defense were not formidable, but a 
 large body of Indians might lurk in or near it. 
 
 The Colonel accordingly arranged his plans for a complete 
 surprise, and for such a display of his forces as would make 
 the " Long Knifes " appear quite as terrible as the Kaskas- 
 kians had been led to believe them. In boats which had 
 been secretly procured, the Virginians and Kentuckians were 
 all safely transported across the river Cahokia, which flows 
 past the town. Clark, with the third division of the detach 
 ment, proceeded to the fort within point blank shot of the 
 town, while the other divisions prepared to make simultane 
 ous attacks upon different quarters of the village. Clark 
 was successful, and when an appointed signal was given, the 
 inhabitants of Kaskaskia, reposing in fancied security, found
 
 Hunter Birty. 177 
 
 themselves suddenly surrounded by foes they had been taught 
 to dread more than the most wily and cruel Indians. 
 
 With mad shouts and terrible yells, in the Indian style, 
 Clark s men rushed through the streets, and those who could 
 speak French cried at the top of their voices that every man 
 of the enemy who entered the street would be instantly shot. 
 The town, consisting of about two hundred and fifty houses, 
 was completely surrounded, and in less than two hours, the 
 inhabitants were disarmed, and without the shedding of a 
 drop of blood, Kaskaskia fell into the hands of the shrewd 
 and valorous Clark. 
 
 When the troops first entered the village, Birty led a small 
 party to the Governor s house. Their design was to seize 
 upon the public papers, it being supposed that many of them 
 would be highly important to the Americans. The Governor 
 was taken prisoner without difficulty, but no papers of import 
 ance could be found. Every part of the house was diligently 
 searched, except the private apartments of the Governor s 
 wife. When the diligent search had proved fruitless, one 
 soldier proposed that the lady s trunks be broken open. Bir 
 ty heard this proposition, and with a nobleness which charac 
 terized him on all such occasions, he chivalrously stepped for 
 ward and cried : 
 
 " Thar ain t a Kaintuck here dare do that. None o you 
 would insult that lady for all the documents in creation." 
 
 Immediately headed by Birty, the men withdrew, and the 
 public property, if any had been secreted by Madame Roche- 
 blarie, was saved. 
 
 During the whole night Clark s men patrolled the town in 
 true Indian fashion, keeping up the utmost tumult by whoop 
 ing and yelling as the Kaskaskians never before heard white 
 12
 
 178 Hunter Birty. 
 
 men whoop and yell, and the people thought that, indeed, 
 their enemy was as barbarous as had been represented. 
 
 On the following day Clark withdrew his troops from the 
 town, and stationed them at various commanding positions in 
 the vicinity. No intercourse with each other or with the sol 
 diers had been allowed the inhabitants, and their anticipa 
 tions were of the most gloomy character; it is therefore not 
 strange that when the troops were removed, and they found 
 themselves free to walk the streets, they gathered together 
 and had animated conversation in regard to the destruction 
 that threatened them. Perceiving these movements, Clark 
 had a number of the prominent citizens arrested. A priest 
 of the village having witnessed Birty s noble conduct at the 
 Governor s house, sought the hunter and desired that he re 
 quest permission for a deputation of citizens to wait on the 
 American commander. Birty hastened to Clark s quarters, 
 and obtained this permission. 
 
 Pitiful indeed was the sight presented to the chief citizens 
 of Kaskaskia, and great was their astonishment when, in 
 their best array, they waited upon their conquerer and his 
 fellow officers. Dirty and ragged, the appearance of the 
 Virginians was indeed frightful to the deputation of refined 
 and delicate Frenchmen. They were unable to tell the com- 
 mander-in-chief from those around him, and they looked up 
 on the whole band as if convinced by observation that they 
 were as savage as they had been represented. 
 
 Clark demanded their business, and when they had learned 
 that he was commander, the priest said, 
 
 " You have conquered our village, and our people are to 
 be separated, perhaps never to meet again on earth. We
 
 Hunter Birty. 179 
 
 desire that you will grant us the privilege of assembling in 
 our house of worship, there to take leave of each other." 
 
 Clark knew that these people thought their religion obnox 
 ious to the Americans, and like a true American, he replied. 
 
 " We leave every man s conscience with his God. We 
 have no quarrel with you because of your religion, and you 
 are at liberty to assemble at the church, but not a single indi 
 vidual must attempt to leave the town." 
 
 The gentlemen of Kaskaskia endeavored to prolong the 
 conversation, but Clark dismissed them cavalierly, in order 
 to heighten their alarm. The entire people left their houses 
 and assembled at their church, where the priests celebrated 
 mass. A deputation then waited upon Clark to thank him 
 for his indulgence, and the people returned to their houses, 
 and found them as they were left. No soldier had attempted 
 to rob or pillage. 
 
 When the deputation that waited upon Clark had returned 
 thanks to him for the indulgence he had granted, they begged 
 leave, at the request of the inhabitants, to address their con- 
 querer. Clark having signified his willingness to hear the 
 address, one chosen as spokesman said, 
 
 " We are prisoners of war, and we submit to the loss of 
 our property, but we pray that we may not be separated from 
 our wives and our children. Our conduct has been influ 
 enced by the commandants whom we had. Our position is 
 not favorable to the reception of accurate knowledge, and we 
 do not know the real merits of the war between Great Britain 
 and your people. Many of us have, however, been inclined 
 to favor the Americans, but we ask not our property. We 
 only ask that we may be left free to take care of our wives 
 and children."
 
 l8o Hunter Birty. 
 
 Clark now fairly saw the dread in which his little army 
 was held, and he resolved, in a spirit of honorable chivalry, 
 to carry out the lenient views it had from the first been his 
 purpose to make known, when the opportune moment came. 
 He conceived that the period for this stroke of policy had 
 arrived, and turning abruptly toward the speaker who had 
 addressed him, said : 
 
 " Do you take us for savages ? I am almost certain you 
 do, from your language. Do you think that we intend to 
 strip innocent women and children, or take the bread out of 
 their mouths ? My countrymen disdain to make war upon 
 helpless innocence. It is to prevent Indian butcheries that 
 we are here. The King of France has united his arms to 
 those of our people against the British, and the war will soon 
 be over ; but you are at liberty to take whatever side you 
 please. We have no disagreement with you on account of 
 your religion. You are at liberty to conduct yourselves as 
 you please, without apprehension from my troops. Your 
 friends in confinement shall be immediately released." 
 
 The deputation was more astonished and agitated at this 
 chivalrous speech than they had been in the midst of their 
 greatest terrors. An apology for considering the Virginians 
 and Kentuckians barbarians was offered, but Clark refused 
 to hearken to explanation, and said: 
 
 " Relieve the anxieties of your people, and inform them 
 that I only ask of them to comply with the terms of a proc 
 lamation which I shall shortly issue." 
 
 Birty, with an order from Clark, flew to the relief of the 
 prisoners. In a few moments they were all at their homes, 
 and the sad dejection of the village was changed into most 
 tumultuous joy. All the bells of the town were rung the
 
 Hunter Birty. 181 
 
 people shouted in the streets women wept for joy prayers 
 of thankfulness were offered in the houses, and the church 
 was crowded with rejoicing people, who joined the priests 
 most fervently in offerings of praise and prayer. 
 
 Colonel Clark had determined upon the taking of the little 
 town of Cahokia, situated about sixty miles from Kaskaskia. 
 When the people of Kaskaskia heard of this expedition, many 
 desired the privilege of accompanying the Virginians. They 
 said the people of Cahokia were their friends and relatives, 
 and, at their advice, would surrender without bloodshed. 
 Clark allowed such as desired, to accompany his soldiers. 
 Birty and Clinker were among the Americans. 
 
 Clinker learned that, about sixty miles up the Mississippi, 
 there was a large body of Indians, and he determined as soon 
 as it was practicable to pursue them, under the belief that 
 his daughter might be among them. 
 
 The people of Kaskaskia did not misrepresent those of 
 Cahokia. The town fell into the hands of the Americans 
 without the firing of a gun, or the shedding of a drop of 
 blood a manner of warfare most exemplary for that day, 
 and even for this. 
 
 Clinker and Birty had permission from Clark to scout, 
 with a small party, in the vicinity of Cahokia, and they did 
 not let the opportunity pass unimproved. They reconnoitered 
 the camp of Indians, of which they had word, but failed to 
 discover anything which gave them reason to believe that the 
 object of their search was among the savages. Birty knew 
 the characteristics of the tribe to which Martha s husband, 
 who was called White Eagle, belonged, and he saw none of 
 them there. 
 
 The Indians were in too large a body to be attacked by
 
 182 Hunter Birty. 
 
 the scouts, and they dare not harass the small bands that 
 went into the woods, lest the main body be alarmed, pursue 
 them, and make sad havoc in their ranks. The time for 
 which they were empowered to act as scouts having nearly 
 expired, Clinker consented to give up the pursuit of his 
 daughter in that direction. The hunters set their faces 
 toward Kaskaskia. They had traveled about half the dis 
 tance between Cahokia and Kaskaskia, when they surprised 
 a band of Indians, killed three, arid took one prisoner. 
 
 That prisoner was a young squaw, and the most beautiful 
 one the hunters had ever seen. They endeavored to learn 
 from her the destination of the Indians, and the tribe to 
 which she belonged. Btrty spoke to her in the Indian 
 tongue, but she answered him not. She did not seem to 
 hear him, but stood before him as mute and immovable as a 
 statue. Again and again. Birty endeavored to call her at 
 tention, but he received no more intimation from her that he 
 was heard than he did from the trunks of the trees around 
 him. Her head was bent forward upon her breast, and her 
 eyes were not lifted from the ground. 
 
 " She s a dumb Ingin, I reckon," said Clinker. : Who 
 ever heard of one afore ? We ll take her to Kaskaskia as a 
 curiosity." 
 
 " Don t be fooled by a possum," said one of the men in 
 answer to Clinker. He replied : 
 
 " I reckon if we keep our eyes on her, she can t do much 
 harm if she does play possum but I don t believe the critter 
 can either hear or talk. She s about han some enough, 
 though, an it s a great pity if she don t know it, when sich 
 rough chaps as we are tell her so." 
 
 The captive was given into Birty s care. She walked by
 
 Hunter Birty. 183 
 
 his side made no attempts to escape, and was willing in all 
 respects to be directed by him ; but she seldom lifted her 
 dark eyes from the ground, and gave no heed to the words 
 of kindness which he addressed to her.
 
 CHAPTER X . 
 
 A TREACHEROUS PLOT. 
 
 THE latter part of the month of August had come ; the 
 fruits of the glorious summer were passing away before the 
 rapid approach of the sad but beautiful season, when 
 
 " Mid autumn s purple sunsets, 
 
 A dirge note swells the blast, 
 
 And tells that soon the brightness 
 
 Of the year will all be past." 
 
 Colonel Clark was shrewdly watching the movements of 
 the Indians, and was about to form treaties with the different 
 tribes. Several bands had assembled at Kaskaskia to smoke 
 th.e calumet. It was not his policy to invite the red men to 
 a treaty, but to wait a request for peace from them. He 
 understood Indian character, and when he had concluded a 
 treaty, the Indians had confidence that the Virginians, or 
 " Big Knives, had but one heart, and did not speak with 
 forked tongues," as one of the chiefs emphatically declared 
 at the first council with him. 
 
 When Clark had concluded amicable arrangements with 
 several of the principal tribes of the then populous Indian 
 country, Birty and Clinker, who, week after week, with a 
 small party of hunters, had traversed the Illinois forests and 
 
 (184)
 
 Hunter Birty. 185 
 
 prairies, returned to the camp of tfte Big Knife. They 
 wandered freely among the savages, Birty in the hope of 
 meeting that countenance which Martha had described to 
 him, when he met her in the Kentucky forest, and Clinker 
 in the hope of gaining some definite tidings of his tost daugh 
 ter. 
 
 Industriously each had pursued his search for several days, 
 without the slightest clue to its object, when, returning to the 
 village late one evening, Birty discovered that a small party of 
 Indians he had not before seen, had encamped upon the oppo 
 site bank of the little creek of Cahokia. Secreted in a clump 
 of bushes near the water s edge, he warbled those notes which 
 he had learned from the forest birds. Those were strange 
 sounds for that region, when the sun had gone to shed light 
 upon another hemisphere, and the pale stars twinkled in the 
 firmament. They blended with the whisperings of the night 
 breeze, and with the gentle murmuring of the stream that 
 flowed at the musician s feet, and died away in the distance 
 without echo. Again those wild-bird notes rose upon the 
 balmy air, and when the musician listened to hear them die 
 away, a faint echo, with softened cadence, was borne to his 
 ear. lie uttered one shrill note. It was echoed, not faintly, 
 but quite distinctly again he uttered it, and again it was 
 answered. He was confident, then, that one. object of his search 
 was in this Indian camp. He* watched the opposite shore of 
 the creek for an hour eagerly, and was about to turn toward 
 the village and take the chance of meeting the white squaw 
 on the morrow, when he heard a shrill note, coming, as it 
 were, from the bank directly opposite. Presently a canoe 
 shot out into the stream, and in a few minutes Birt^ sat with 
 Martha Clinker, talking over the adventures she had met
 
 i86 Hunter Birty. 
 
 since she deserted her father s camp in Kentucky. Through 
 her influence White Eagle had brought his braves to Kaskas- 
 kia to ascertain what terms of peace the Big Knives proposed. 
 
 When Martha concluded her narrative, she said : 
 
 " You know where my father is ? " 
 
 " Among the whites in the village," answered Birty. 
 He has been seeking you ever since you left him." 
 
 "I wish I could see him," Martha answered ; " but you 
 must not tell him I am here. I will not live among the white 
 people unless my husband goes with me." 
 
 " Shall I tell him that I have seen you ? " 
 
 " Not until we meet again. I must return now. I shall 
 be missed, and it may not be well for us to be watched." 
 
 " Shall I hear the wild-bird to-morrow night ?" said Birty. 
 
 " If I am not watched," answered Martha. 
 
 The light canoe shot out into the current, and the hunter 
 turned his steps toward the village. He did not neglect to 
 inform an officer in Clark s confidence, of the addition to 
 the Indian forces. 
 
 On the morrow Clinker visited the new Indian camp. He 
 mingled freely with the savages, and looked eagerly at every 
 squaw, but he did not see his daughter. She saw him, how 
 ever, but dare not meet him. She pointed him out to the 
 White Eagle, and said : 
 
 " I know you are a warrior of honor. You know I fled 
 from my father to dwell with you in the wigwam. Promise 
 me, that let you meet him where you may, you will protect 
 him for my sake." 
 
 The Indian regarded his companion with emotion, and he 
 promised all she asked. 
 
 Squaws have riot often an influence of this character over
 
 Hunter Birty. 187 
 
 the warriors, in whose wigwams they dwell ; but Martha 
 Clinker had been reared under influences differing widely 
 from those which had surrounded the youth of her female com 
 panions, and he who had her love was no common Indian. 
 
 His fellow-warriors often amused themselves by laughing 
 with each other about his being the squaw, and Martha the 
 warrior ; but no one who valued his life was rash enough to 
 utter such a taunt in his hearing. 
 
 According to appointment, Birty, who had been in Clark s 
 employ during the day, stood on the bank of the creek oppo 
 site the Indian camp, as soon as the stars were mirrored in its 
 waters. He had no sooner given the concerted signal than 
 a canoe shot out from the opposite bank, and it was but a 
 few minutes before he met Martha at the water s edge, where 
 she waited. She was much agitated, and told him she could 
 remain but a moment. 
 
 They talked together rapidly not over five minutes, when 
 Birty suddenly took leave of her, and walked briskly back 
 to Colonel Clark s quarters, avoiding the camp of a party of 
 Indians from various tribes, who had pitched their tents 
 within a hundred yards of the fort, on the same side of the 
 creek. Those Indians had manifested great friendliness to 
 the whites, but had been regarded by Clark with consider 
 able suspicion. 
 
 The Colonel was absent, and Birty could not see him. He 
 would confide his business to no one, and he wandered again 
 away from the fort. He walked toward the camp of tho 
 suspicious Indians, and watched their movements narrowly. 
 Midnight came, and still Birty watched ; but the noon of 
 night had scarcely passed, when he saw a number of war 
 riors in complete battle array, sneak out of their camp, and
 
 i88 Hunter Birty. 
 
 march toward the creek. He followed them stealthily. 
 They waded into the creek, and were soon on its opposite 
 bank, out of his sight ; then he turned his footsteps toward 
 the fort again. He knew Clinker was on guard that night. 
 He sought him and said : 
 
 " Now, old chap, afore long you ll have a lot of darned 
 red skins what ll try to get under your protection, and ef 
 you let em, there ll be a tarnel fuss in this ere camp." 
 
 " Jist you trust old Clinker," was the answer. " I ll give 
 em my protection that s it," stamping his rifle on the 
 ground. 
 
 Birty went with Clinker to warn other soldiers on guard, 
 and while he talked with one of them, several guns were 
 fired on the opposite side of the creek, and Birty cried : 
 
 "Now watch em, boys." 
 
 It was but a few moments before a number of Indians 
 rushed toward the American quarters ; and when they ap 
 proached the guard, demanded protection, alleging that they 
 had been fired upon in their camp, by the Indians on the op 
 posite side of the creek. They attempted to press within 
 the American lines, but were repulsed and obliged to return 
 to their own quarters. They had scarcely gone when Birty 
 hastened to Clark s room, and found him, even at that late 
 hour, at his desk, writing. The hunter was excited, and he 
 proceeded to announce the object of his untimely haste with 
 out ceremony. 
 
 " There s treachery stirrin out here, Colonel," he said. 
 " You know them tarnal suspicious red devils down here on 
 our side o the creek ? A lot of em laid a plan to get your 
 head, Tbut they wasn t quite smart enough." 
 
 " Where are the treacherous villains?" interrupted Clark.
 
 Hunter Birty. 189 
 
 " The guard druv em home," replied Birty. " I can find 
 every rascal of em." 
 
 It was no time for compliments. In a few minutes the 
 whole garrison was aroused, and Birty headed a company 
 which hastened to the Indian quarters and arrested the in 
 dividuals he designated. When brought into Clark s pres 
 ence, they stoutly denied the charges made against them, 
 but Birty said : 
 
 " Look at the red liars leggins and moccasins that ll tell 
 the story." 
 
 Examination was made as the hunter desired, and the lie 
 that the assassins had been fired at by friendly Indians, put 
 at rest. 
 
 Clark was determined that the traitors should be made an 
 example of. He ordered them to be loaded with chains and 
 closely guarded until the following day. The Colonel did 
 not dismiss his followers that night until he had said to Birty : 
 
 " Your services in detecting this plot shall not be forgot 
 ten." 
 
 Birty owed his good fortune entirely to Martha. She had 
 told him that among the Indians on the bank of the river, 
 near the fort, was one who was like a brother to the White 
 Eagle. He had made her husband a visit that day, and she 
 had overheard him reveal a plot to kill Colonel Clark, and 
 murder his garrison. This plot, whose fulfillment Birty had 
 witnessed as far as the savages were permitted to carry it, 
 Martha minutely detailed, and to acquaint Colonel Clark of 
 the threatened danger, Birty had visited his quarters early 
 in the evening, as described.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
 THE Indians who had been detected in their base con 
 spiracy, were known as Meadow Indians. Their tribe, as 
 before remarked, was composed of stragglers from various 
 tribes, so that they had friends among all the savages assem 
 bled at Kaskaskia ; and their arrest created a great excite 
 ment, yet none dared to question the propriety of Clark s 
 conduct toward them. 
 
 In order to show the amity existing between the Americans 
 and the French, Clark let it be understood that the latter 
 should decide the fate of the would-be assassins. 
 
 On the day following their arrest, they were brought into 
 the council-room, but were not allowed to speak until all other 
 business had been transacted ; then Clark ordered their 
 manacles to be removed, and when they were free, he said 
 to them: 
 
 " Everybody says you ought to die for your treacherous 
 attempt upon my life during the sacred deliberations of the 
 council, and I had determined that death should be inflicted 
 upon you. You must know that you have justly forfeited 
 your lives, but on considering the meanness of watching a 
 bear and catching him asleep, I have found that you are not 
 
 (190)
 
 Hunter Birty. 191 
 
 vrarriors. You are like old women, and are too mean to be 
 killed by the Big Knife. But you must be punished for 
 putting on breech-cloths like men ; they shall be taken away 
 from you. I will give you plenty of provisions for your 
 journey home, because women don t know how to hunt, and 
 while you stay, you shall be treated as squaws in every re 
 spect." 
 
 When Clark had concluded this speech, he began to con 
 verse with persons around him, as if there was no further 
 business for the council. The offending Indians were much 
 agitated. The treatment they had received was very differ 
 ent from what they had been led to expect, and their natural 
 pride was deeply wounded. 
 
 One of their chiefs arose and made a speech, offering 
 Clark a pipe and a belt of peace. Clark would not allow 
 the speech to be interpreted, and taking up a sword lying on 
 his table, he broke the offering of peace indignantly, saying: 
 
 " Big Knife never treats with women." 
 
 Chiefs of other tribes now interfered in behalf of the 
 Meadow Indians, and among those who spoke was one whom 
 Birty watched with intense interest. He supposed him to be 
 White Eagle. This Indian said : 
 
 " The Big Knife knows that these men have wives and 
 papooses ; for their sakes he will grant them peace." 
 
 But the American officer was not ready to acquit the of 
 fenders so easily, and he said : 
 
 " The Big Knife never made war upon these Indians. 
 Whenever we come across such people in the woods, we shoot 
 them as we do wolves, to keep them from eating deer." 
 
 The excitement was intense among the Indians. They 
 conversed among each other, and among their friends, in a
 
 192 Hunter Birty. 
 
 manner which showed that they felt keenly the contempt with 
 which they had been treated. The Meadow Indians appear 
 ed to feel that the tomahawk threatened their whole tribe, 
 and peace with the Big Knife could alone save them. Sud 
 denly two young men advanced from the crowd, and to the 
 astonishment of the whole assembly, sat down in the middle 
 of the floor, throwing their blankets over their heads, in to 
 ken of entire submission. 
 
 Birty watched the Indian whom he supposed to be White 
 Eagle, and saw that he appeared deeply interested in the 
 youngest of the warriors upon the floor. The hunter judged 
 that he was the Indian from whom Martha learned what she 
 had communicated. Birty became as intensely interested in 
 the scene, as he would have done had he known the search 
 of his life was to be ended the solemn vow he made to his 
 father fulfilled. He could not satisfy himself why this feeling 
 was fastened upon him, and he was unable to shake it off. 
 He was struck with the nobleness of the Indians who had 
 offered themselves as a sacrifice for peace with their tribe. 
 He knew they had taken no part in the attempted as 
 sassination. He stood near Clark he stepped nearer and 
 whispered : 
 
 " Give em a fair chance, Colonel, for my sake. Them 
 chaps was nt in the scrape ; one of em s the fellow who told 
 the trick, so I got wind of it." 
 
 The Colonel turned toward Birty and smiled, but said 
 nothing. At this moment two chiefs arose, and one said : 
 
 " The warriors you call squaws, have families these 
 young men have none. They give their lives for the sake 
 of those families, to atone for the offense of their brothers. 
 Is the Big Knife satisfied ?"
 
 Hunter Birty. 193 
 
 Again the pipe of peace was offered. Clark was embar 
 rassed, lie had intended to give the offenders their liberty, 
 but in a manner and with a reluctance that should enhance 
 its value, and have an influence upon all the Indians who 
 heard the circumstances. For a few moments all was silence 
 in the council suspense and anxiety held many of the spec 
 tators breathless. The noble youths sat more unconcerned, 
 apparently, than those who contemplated them, only occa 
 sionally looking out from under their blankets to see what was 
 passing around them. 
 
 Clark regarded them with emotion, evident to all who 
 understood his character. At length he advanced toward 
 them, ordered them to arise and uncover themselves. They 
 stood before him, expecting to receive their sentence of death, 
 while the assembly of Indians, French and Americans, listen 
 ed with deep anxiety to see what the Colonel would order to 
 be done with them. Birty was puzzled ; he did not believe 
 Clark would sacrifice the noble young warriors, but was at a 
 loss to conjecture what would be their fate. Clark summon 
 ed him as an interpreter, and said : 
 
 " The Big Knife rejoices to find that there are men in all 
 nations. These two young warriors who have offered them 
 selves, are at least proof for their tribe. Such warriors are 
 alone fit to be chiefs. With such Big Knife will treat. 
 Through them police is granted to the tribe, and I take them 
 by the hand as chiefs." 
 
 He took the warriors by the hand, and when Birty had inter 
 preted his speech, the young warriors were introduced with 
 proper ceremonies, as chiefs, to the whites present and the 
 other Indians ; the result of the council was communicated 
 13
 
 194 Hunter Btrty. 
 
 from mouth to mouth, and whoops and yells of the liveliest 
 character resounded about the fort. 
 
 A council was now held, peace was formally granted to the 
 Meadow Indians, and presents bestowed upon them to dis 
 tribute among their friends. Birty rejoiced to see the In 
 dian he judged to be the White Eagle, and the youngest of 
 the recently created chiefs, meet with a cordiality that be 
 tokened deep sympathy between them. lie was about to 
 step forward and address them, and make himself known to 
 him whom he supposed to be the lord of Martha s wigwam, 
 when he felt some one pull his coat. He turned and saw 
 beside him an old and wretched looking squaw, who beckon 
 ed him to follow her. He instinctively granted her wish, and 
 she led him out of the fort, when, taking him by the arm, she 
 said, in the Indian tongue : 
 
 "You pale face?" 
 
 " What do you want to know for ? " said Birty. 
 
 " You pale face ? " was the squaw s only reply. 
 
 "My mother was an Indian," answered Birty, for he was 
 never ashamed of his descent, but was at first reluctant to 
 tell the squaw, because he doubted her right to question him. 
 She was peremptory, however, and having no fears, he yield 
 ed, as the best way to escape from her. 
 
 "You ever live among Indians ? " she said. 
 
 " When I was a little boy," he answerect 
 
 " You run away ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " One big Indian take you to hunt with him, you never 
 came back ? " 
 
 " That s the fact how do you know ?" said Birty in some 
 surprise.
 
 Hunter Birty. 
 
 " You are my boy my boy," answered the squaw, as she 
 attempted to embrace him; but he stepped back and de 
 manded, 
 
 What do you mean? I don t know you." 
 
 " I was your mother s friend you live in my wigwam. 
 Warrior went to find you killed your father and brought your 
 mother home warrior never came back other warriors say 
 your father killed him. Your mother killed too. Warriors say 
 all killed. You know this ? " 
 
 " You speak of the murder of my father and my mother 
 I do not remember you. How do you know me ? " 
 
 " White squaw yonder tell me you are not Indian," (point 
 ing toward the camp of the White Eagle ;) " I ask her who 
 you are she told me I know 7 you your mother my friend." 
 
 " Then you know that white squaw s husband you know 
 whether he is an Indian ? tell me if he is," cried Birty. 
 
 At that moment a crowd of Indians rushed from the fort. 
 They pressed around Birty and the squaw. She was sep 
 arated from him, and when he looked for her she had gone. 
 Her information had most deeply interested him. He felt 
 that, through her, he could get the information he had so long 
 sought. He determined to find her again at all hazards.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A REVELATION. 
 
 BIRTY pursued his search for the aged squaw until night 
 fall. He obtained no tidings of her. He crossed the creek 
 and visited the camp where he supposed he should find Mar 
 tha. She was absent ; her companions had not seen her that 
 afternoon : the White Eagle had come to his wigwam expect 
 ing to meet her, but was disappointed, and had returned to 
 the village. Birty had not seen Clinker during the day. 
 He suspected there was mischief brewing, and he hurried 
 back to the fort. There he inquired for Clinker, but could 
 hear nothing of his probable whereabouts. He gave up his 
 search for the squaw, and determined to find his friend. He 
 was about to leave the fort, when he met the White Eagle. 
 For a moment the Indian and hunter looked at each other in 
 silence. The Indian was the first to speak. He said : 
 
 " My squaw was this afternoon taken from my wigwam by 
 the Big Knife who is her father. She will not live with him 
 She must return. You know where she is ; tell me, that I 
 may take her back you are her friend." 
 
 Then this Indian knew Birty. That was news to the hun 
 ter. He answered : 
 
 " I am her friend ; she shall return to your wigwam. I go 
 
 (196)
 
 Hunter Birty. 197 
 
 now to hunt her father. There is an old squaw in your camp 
 who has secrets she would tell me. You saw her speak to 
 me to-day. Bring her to the fort in an hour, and you shall 
 see your squaw." 
 
 * She shall come," said the Indian, and he parted from the 
 hunter. 
 
 Birty now hastened in pursuit of Clinker. He visited the 
 house of a citizen with whom he had formed an acquaintance, 
 and learned that Martha, having come to the village, had sent 
 for her father that they had met and the old man had 
 told her she should never go back to the Indian s wigwam. 
 She resisted him, but in vain. She secretly sent a message 
 to the White Eagle, and he was on his way to complain to 
 Colonel Clark and demand the release of his squaw, when Bir 
 ty met him. He preferred Birty s offer to Clark s interference. 
 Birty was directed to the house where Clinker had Martha a 
 close prisoner. When they met Birty expostulated with 
 Clinker, but the old man was deaf to advice. He had deter 
 mined that his daughter should not be among the savages 
 another day. If White Eagle chose to leave his tribe and 
 live with him, he could do so, but Martha should not roam 
 the forest with him any longer. She begged her father to 
 go with her, but he answered : 
 
 " I m agin every one o the red devils. My wife s scalp 
 hangs in some o their wigwams. Who knows but I might 
 sit down to eat under it? I ll never go among em you 
 needn t ask me." 
 
 Birty saw that he would waste time to argue the matter 
 with the old man, and he knew he must meet the Indian at 
 the fort, according to promise. He hastened on this mis 
 sion. The warrior waited for him with the squaw.
 
 198 Hunter Birty. 
 
 " Come with me," said Birty, " and you shall see your 
 squaw." 
 
 White Eagle and the aged squaw followed Birty. He led 
 them to the house where Clinker had Martha a prisoner. 
 The old man admitted them ; and Birty promised that no force 
 should be used to wrest his daughter from him. Happy was 
 the meeting between Martha and the warricr. Clinker was 
 touched by it, and he regarded the finely formed, noble look 
 ing Indian with deep interest, when he seated himself upon 
 the floor beside his squaw, took their papoose upon his knees, 
 and played with it until it laughed and crowed in great glee. 
 This was a scene the hunter had not expected to see among 
 Indians, but as we have before said, White Eagle was no 
 common Indian. 
 
 Birty was impatient to know what the aged squaw, who 
 claimed to have been his mother s friend, had to say about 
 him, and whether she knew anything of his relatives who had 
 been lost among the Indians. He said to Martha, in the In 
 dian language : 
 
 " Did you tell this squaw my history ?" 
 
 She answered in the affirmative. Then Birty said, point 
 ing to the White Eagle : 
 
 " Does he know who I am, and that we have often met ?" 
 
 Martha answered : 
 
 " He knows that you are my friend, but he does not know 
 your history. The squaw saw us conversing together. She 
 told me that she knew you ; and she told me of your captiv 
 ity among the Indians, as you had told it to me, but she warn 
 ed me not to let my husband know it. I obeyed her warn 
 ing, on the promise that she would tell me all she knew of 
 you. She will tell you what that is."
 
 Hunter Birty. 199 
 
 Birty turned to the squaw and begged her to comply with 
 Martha s request. She had no reluctance about so doing, 
 and she said to Birty, in the Indian language : 
 
 " You were taken among the Indians when a small boy. 
 YDU were stolen by your mother s brother, and a warrior 
 who would have made her his squaw, had not your father 
 stolen her. His brother was found by them bound in the 
 forest. He said your father left him a prisoner. He vowed 
 revenge. He carried you back to your father. He got 
 your confidence. He was the means of his death and the 
 dea.h of your father, and your mother, and I believed of 
 you. until I saw you speak to this young squaw (pointing to 
 Maitha), near her wigwam, when you came there the other 
 day." 
 
 " But my mother had other children among the Indians. 
 Do you know what became of them ? " cried Birty, eagerly. 
 "Do they live?" 
 
 " They do," answered the aged squaw. 
 
 " \7here ? " said Birty, in a tone which fixed the atten 
 tion of all in the room upon him. The warrior upon the floor 
 was by ro means an unconcerned spectator of the scene be 
 fore him. 
 
 " There were two of those children," said the squaw. 
 " When the chief of the tribe did not return from his attempt 
 to take you and your mother prisoners, the Indians were 
 dividec. One of the children was taken across the great 
 river, for away into this forest ; the other was kept by a 
 warrioi, who remained at the old hunting-grounds of his 
 tribe. They never knew that the Indians among whom they 
 lived W3re not their parents. They now believe themselves 
 warrior; ; they are warriors not squaws."
 
 2oo Hunter Birty. 
 
 " I will find them," cried Birty, " unless I lose my life in 
 the search ; and if you have deceived me, your life, old as 
 you are, shall pay the forfeit." 
 
 At these words the squaw stepped back, and pointing her 
 attenuated finger at Birty, said, in a shrill voice : 
 
 " Look at that pale-face. You all know him." 
 
 All eyes were upon Birty, and all were anxious that ;he 
 squaw should explain why she wished their gaze thus fixed. 
 In a moment she turned with a statuesque effect, pointed to 
 the warrior upon the floor, and continued : 
 
 " Look at that Indian. You all know him. See you not 
 that both might have been born of the same woman ? " 
 
 The suspicion which had long dwelt in Birty s mind was 
 resolved into a conviction, but for a moment he could not 
 utter a word. The Indian started to his feet and cried 
 
 " The squaw dare not lie. Thou art my brother." 
 
 Birty rushed toward the speaker, and the brothers net in 
 an embrace, of which Martha in a moment shared ; then 
 Clinker, who had regarded the whole scene in silence, eried : 
 
 " Tarnal good luck, arter all. There s some whits blood 
 in that fellow my gal s been mad arter three or four years. 
 I allers thought twa.s strange she d take arter a wiole Injun 
 that way." 
 
 The old squaw shouted with glee, and she was receiving 
 the congratulations of Clinker, although she understcod not 
 a word, when Birty addressed her : 
 
 " You said both my brothers lived. Tell us where the 
 other is, and our joy will be complete." 
 
 " You saw him to-day," replied the squaw. 
 
 " Is he among the Indians who were at the fort?" 
 
 " He belongs to the tribe the Big Knife called sqiaws
 
 Hunter Birty. 2O1 
 
 but he was not one of the squaws. He was the first to offer 
 himself as sacrifice to appease Big Knife. That warrior 
 knows " 
 
 "It is the tall chief. "We have been like brothers since I 
 first knew him. We will seek him at the camp of the Mead 
 ows," said White Eagle. 
 
 "No you won t," cried Clinker. "You hold on where 
 you are, an I ll fotch him." 
 
 Birty, the long-lost brother, and Martha, sat down to con 
 verse together, and Clinker hastened on his mission. He 
 returned in half an hour, bringing the tall chief. He had 
 not been informed of the joy that awaited him. He had fol 
 lowed Clinker because he had been told that White Eagle 
 wanted him. When he entered the room all were silent, and 
 the aged squaw who had thus far controlled the ceremonies 
 of re-union, met him and said : 
 
 " Thou hast been like the lone buffalo on the prairie. 
 Now thou shalfc be like the beaver at his dam. Thou hast 
 been like the bird that has lost its mate. Thou shalt be like 
 that bird when its mate is found. Thou hast believed thy 
 self without kindred. Thou hast believed a lie." 
 
 " What mockery is this ? " cried the young chief. 
 
 No one answered him till the squaw said : 
 
 " Did I ever deceive thee ? When I took care of thee, 
 after thou hadst been wounded in battle, did I not love thee ? 
 I tell thee that thou hast kindred, and they are here." 
 
 " Where ? " cried the warrior, looking about him. 
 
 " Yonder," answered the squaw, pointing her thin finger 
 at Birty and White Eagle. 
 
 " One I know is my brother," replied the chief; " the
 
 2O2 Hunter Birty 
 
 other is a pale-face. He too is my brother, but the same 
 blood does not flow in our veins." 
 
 This remark having been interpreted by Martha, Clinker 
 impatiently exclaimed 
 
 11 If to be born of the same woman makes you of the same 
 blood, that you are, or this old squaw s a tarnal liar." 
 
 White Eagle now stepped forward and said : 
 
 " We have long been brothers at heart. I believe the 
 squaw, that we are brothers in blood. She was our mother s 
 friend ; our father was a pale-face ; our oldest brother here 
 (pointing to Birty) dwelt among the pale-faces. We have 
 dwelt among the Indians. Hereafter we will live together." 
 The tall chief was satisfied ; the Indian brothers embraced, 
 and then Birty was acknowledged by the Meadow. 
 
 The squaw, who had been the instrument of this happy 
 re-union of the long separated, walked up to Birty and said : 
 
 " Thy mother s friend has no wigwam. She was once a 
 chief s daughter. Now she s an outcast. Shall she have a 
 home ? " 
 
 " As long as I have one," answered Birty. His brothers 
 joined him in that declaration. 
 
 The brothers talked long and anxiously about their varied 
 fortunes, while Martha listened with thrilling interest, and the 
 venerable squaw sat silent ; but often her care-worn coun 
 tenance lighted up with a gleam of inward satisfaction. 
 
 Clinker saw her smile several times, and he cried : 
 
 " Well may you grin. You ve done a nice job. That 
 you have." 
 
 The squaw heard his voice, but did not understand the 
 import of his words ; she did not even turn her eyes toward 
 him in reply. It was all the same to Clinker ; he had not
 
 Hunter Birty. 203 
 
 seen so happy an hour since he lost his wife far away in the 
 valleys of Virginia ; and he shook and jostled his little grand- 
 papoose till the child, wearied with his rude caresses, cried 
 lustily for its mother s soothing care. 
 
 The child s cries, to soothe which Martha had taken it, 
 attracted the attention of the whole company, and an inter 
 val of silence between the brothers ensued. The aged squaw 
 started suddenly to her feet : 
 
 " Thou didst believe my story," she cried in a shrill voice. 
 The gaze of all in the room was fixed upon her, but her 
 countenance wore an expression none could divine. 
 
 " Thou hast believed words as false as the warrior tells 
 the pale face when they ask him for the hunting grounds of 
 his tribe," continued the squaw in the same shrill voice, 
 which trembled with emotion, while she returned the stern 
 gaze of those she had brought together as brothers. 
 
 The Meadow chief advanced toward her with a quick step, 
 and in a voice expressing deep passion, cried : 
 
 " If thou art false, thy serpent tongue shall never speak 
 after this night. I have loved thee as if thou hast been my 
 mother, but if thou hast brought me here to deceive me, I 
 will kill thee as quick as I would a wolf in my wigwam." 
 
 The squaw blanched not before the stern gaze of the young 
 chief, nor did she change expression when Birty, with White 
 Eagle, came forward and stood beside him. Birty was in a 
 maze of doubt and vexation, but he did not interfere with the 
 examination the tall chief had instituted. The squaw an 
 swered him who threatened her, in a tone and with a look 
 undaunted : 
 
 " When didst thou first know me ? " 
 
 " Many years ago, when I was learning to be a warrior,"
 
 204 Hunter Birty. 
 
 answered the Indian. " Thou wast brought to our camp by 
 a warrior, who said he found you wandering in the woods. 
 Thou wert kind to me, and I loved thee as a mother, and then 
 thou didst tell me I was not -without friends that I had two 
 brothers, and thou wast acquainted with my father and my 
 mother." 
 
 " When didst thou first meet me ?" said the squaw, turn 
 ing toward White Eagle. 
 
 " Many years ago, when our camp was across the big 
 river, thou didst come there and beg our protection. Thou 
 wast like a mother to me, and I loved thee. One day when 
 the warriors sought thee, thou wast gone. Thou didst tell 
 me the same story my brother the Meadow has told." 
 
 Then the squaw said : 
 
 " When I was gone from that camp, I went where this 
 warrior dwelt," pointing to the Meadow chief. " I had been 
 told where those who once belonged to your tribe were, and 
 I sought them. Thou didst not see me again until two moons 
 ago. When didst thou first see me?" turning to Birty. 
 
 " Never till my coat was pulled by you at the Fort, after 
 the council to-day," said the hunter. 
 
 "Thou hast all answered well but he," pointing her thin 
 finger at Birty. Then she laid her hands on the Indians and 
 continued : 
 
 " Thou couldst not know me, but he might. Thou didst be 
 lieve that I was thy mother s friend. Wilt thou believe that 
 I am thy mother ? " 
 
 " Thou hast spoken false," said the Meadow chief. He 
 had no opportunity to finish his sentence. 
 
 " I can tell," cried Birty, as he grasped the squaw, and 
 tore a piece of deer skin, in the form of a cape, from her neck.
 
 Hunter Birty. 205 
 
 In an instant he threw his arras around the squaw, and 
 mother and son were locked in an embrace more ardent than 
 the embraces exchanged by those who had met as brothers. 
 
 " It is my mother OUR mother," cried the hunter in a 
 voice subdued with emotion. " I thought she was killed with 
 my father, at our cabin, on the mountain in Virginia. Now 
 I know she was not. We are brothers, and we have found 
 our mother." 
 
 Confidence was restored. The squaw was received in her 
 true character, with demonstrations of joy, which were not 
 feigned, but were from the heart, for as a woman, the broth 
 ers who lived among the Indians had long loved her. 
 
 " This is a tarnal queer affair," cried Clinker, when Birty 
 had explained to him what the squaw said ; " I d like to 
 know how it all happens. This tarnal old critter tells two 
 stories. I don t know which to believe yet. I d like to 
 know how she found out all about these fellers, to know they 
 are her boys." 
 
 Clinker s curiosity was a natural one one which all the 
 party felt, and which the squaw proceeded to explain. Her 
 story was a long one. It need not be given in detail. 
 
 She related that on the night of the affray at the cabin on 
 the mountain, she was severely wounded, but not killed, only 
 stunned and weakened by loss of blood. She crept to the 
 cabin window, and called her boy, but in vain ; she saw that 
 the hunter s rifle, knife and tomahawk were taken, and she 
 concluded that her boy had gone forth with them, as she 
 could not find his body. She was too weak to leave the cabin 
 for several days. When she did leave, she attempted to fol 
 low her boy, but was unable to do so for any distance, and 
 she wandered about the woods until she fell into the hands
 
 2o6 Hunter Birty. 
 
 of a party of Indians traveling south. She was taken into 
 the mountains of North Carolina, where she remained several 
 years. Then the tribe with which she lived wandered into 
 Kentucky. She heard the warriors describe Indians with 
 whom they had a skirmish, when away from their camp on a 
 certain day. From the description she believed those In 
 dians to be a remnant of the tribe her father once governed. 
 She fled from the Indians among whom she had lived, and 
 sought their enemies. Her conjectures proved correct, and 
 she was kindly received. She kept her own secrets. She 
 learned that the tribe had been divided. Among those she 
 had found, she met a boy whom she knew, and whom she 
 watched with a mother s care, but who had no suspicion why 
 this care was exercised over him. Often she was tempted 
 to reveal herself to him, but was restrained from so doing by 
 a previous determination that she would never make herself 
 known to one till she was satisfied that all her children would 
 never be brought together. When she learned where the 
 other portion of the tribe was encamped, she sought it; there 
 she found another boy. She soon adopted him as her own ; 
 and she longed to return to the other, but she waited in hope 
 of some day finding the eldest. The two Indian brothers 
 had often met on hunting expeditions, but the mother knew 
 this not. The youngest boy had separated from his tribe 
 and become one of the Meadow Indians. When they came 
 to Kaskaskia, and the squaw saw the two brothers meet as 
 acquaintances, her determination to reveal herself was fixed. 
 She went to the camp of the White Eagle for this purpose, 
 when she saw Birty conversing with Martha. She was 
 struck with his appearance. She watched his movements, 
 and when her suspicions had become convictions, she went
 
 Hunter Birty. 207 
 
 to Martha, told the history of her oldest boy, and Martha 
 acknowledged that it corresponded with what she knew of 
 Birty. Then the venerable squaw s plans were soon laid. 
 She adopted the deception, which she practiced, to bring all 
 her children together, satisfy herself that they would be as 
 brothers, and that they had love for her as a friend. It re 
 quired Indian fortitude of the most intense character to 
 support this stratagem. 
 
 For a few minutes after their mother had finished her ex 
 planation, the brothers were silent. White Eagle caressed 
 his child, and as the Meadow Chief watched him, a shade 
 passed over his countenance, which did not escape the notice 
 of his brother. He said : 
 
 " Thou art sad, my brother. Has any harm befallen thy 
 betrothed ? " 
 
 " She is lost to me," answered the other. " She was 
 captured many days ago by a party of pale-faces, and she 
 has gone, I fear, to the Great Spirit." 
 
 " Where was she captured ? " inquired Birty. 
 
 " One who fought the pale-faces, told me near the Cahokia, 
 which flows past our camp between this and the great 
 river." 
 
 " Describe her," said Birty. 
 
 " Her head hung upon her breast as the flower droops upon 
 its stem her hair was heavier than the moss which hangs on 
 the trees of the Southern forest in the winter season her 
 eyes were blacker than those of the buffalo in the heat of 
 the chase her teeth were whiter than the beaver s and 
 her brow was so fair you would have thought her a pale-face. 
 She was called the Silent Maiden. Often, when separated
 
 208 Hunter Birty. 
 
 from me, she would, for many days, be as silent as the sum 
 mer stream, which has emptied itself into the great river." 
 
 At these words Birty started to his feet and rushed from 
 the room. In less than a quarter of an hour he returned to 
 explain his sudden departure, leading an Indian maiden, 
 whose " head hung upon her breast as the flower droops upon 
 its stem," and who had been " silent as the summer stream 
 that has emptied itself into the great river." 
 
 She uttered a wild scream, as her eyes fell upon the young 
 Meadow Chief; then was Birty conscious, for the first time, 
 that she had a voice. Wildly fervent was the embrace with 
 which the Silent Maiden and the tall chief met. The beau 
 tiful squaw was then presented to her friends. 
 
 The sounds of rude revelry did not die out in Clinker s 
 log hut, till the bright stars lost their lustre in the spreading 
 gray of morning. 
 
 All in that hut were happy, in a love deeper than that 
 which brother feels for brother, but Birty. He had no be 
 trothed. 
 
 The particular friends of Clinker and Birty were early in 
 formed of the re-union of the long separated brothers, and 
 Colonel Clark congratulated Birty in person, for having been 
 so fortunate as to find his brother to be the noble Meadow 
 Indian ; and he assured the hunter that his words in behalf 
 of tho Indians, under arrest, had weight upon his mind in 
 favor of clemency. As the romantic meeting of the three 
 brothers became known in the fort, many of the soldiers 
 sought their society. 
 
 The woodsmen of 1778, though chivalrous, were not vers 
 ed in those petty arts devised to disguise emotion, and make 
 impulse appear like settled intention they were plain, blunt 
 men, rude of speech, and honest.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE LAST. 
 
 THE Indians, assembled at Kaskaskia to bury the hatchet, 
 and make treaties with the Big Knife, began to depart on 
 their autumn hunting excursions. 
 
 The three brothers who were each called Birty by the 
 whites, one, Hunter Birty ; the second, Indian Birty ; and 
 the third, Meadow Birty assembled in council with their 
 mother, Clinker, Martha, and the Silent Maiden, to decide 
 upon their future course of life. 
 
 Hunter Birty was emphatically opposed to an identifica 
 tion with the Indians, because, he argued, that there were 
 few of them the right kind of people that the whites would, 
 in a few years, drive them all from their hunting grounds 
 that game would become scarce, and therefore the plan which 
 the brothers should adopt, was to select a rich piece of land, 
 build cabins upon it, and farm and hunt together. 
 
 Clinker and Martha gave this plan the weight of their in 
 fluence, and finally Indian Birty and Meadow Birty consent 
 ed to part from their old companions, and adopt a semi-civil 
 ized mode of life. Martha besought Hunter Birty to select 
 a companion from among the French or Indian maidens at 
 
 14 (209)
 
 21O Hunter Birty. 
 
 Kaskaskia, but he would not hearken a moment to her 
 counsel. He said : 
 
 " I m Hunter Birty it don t suit hunters to have wives 
 and papooses." 
 
 When the spring of 1779 opened, a colony of half-breed 
 Indians had established a " station " upon the borders of one 
 of the richest prairies of Northern Illinois. The land sub 
 sequently came into their hands lawfully, and for many years 
 their descendants held it. 
 
 The county of Illinois had been created by the Virginia 
 House of Delegates, and Colonel Clark, having in a great 
 measure accomplished the object of his march among the 
 British possessions, received the thanks and warm eulogiums 
 of his countrymen. 
 
 Before the Colonel left Kaskaskia he bestowed upon Hun 
 ter Birty a substantial token of his regard a rifle, which, 
 until the days of his death, was Birty s constant companion 
 which was to him wife and children. His father s rifle 
 was bestowed upon Meadow Birty, and with the tomahawk 
 and knife, so long the weapons of Hunter Birty, are now 
 cherished heir-looms among the decendants of the Half-Breed 
 Colony of Illinois.
 
 \^,W, & W 
 
 Golden Bird of Menominee. 
 
 "
 
 GOLDEN BIRD OF MENOMINEE. 
 
 FIRST love, and the constancy of woman, have been favor 
 ite themes with the poets and romance-writers of all ages. 
 Mainly, however, examples, upon which to found touching 
 verses or eloquent paragraphs, have been taken from civilized 
 society. Let me select one from rude forest life. 
 
 At the head-waters of the Red Cedar River, in the north 
 ern part of Wisconsin, is a beautiful lake, which the Indians 
 called Menominee. There often the white man went to join 
 his red brethren in the athletic sports of the hunting grounds, 
 or in the quiet enjoyment of the fishing party. 
 
 One spring-time it happened that a young man wandered 
 to the banks of Lake Menominee, and, after striking his tent 
 in the forest, constructed a raft on which to explore the beau 
 tiful sheet of water he had discovered. 
 
 At sunset, on a pleasant evening, he sat upon the bank of 
 Menominee, when a light foot startled him. lie arose to his 
 feet cautiously, and, looking about him, perceived an Indian 
 maiden, who carried a heavy bark basket, filled with roots and 
 herbs which she had been gathering. Her full dark eye 
 met that of the young hunter, when she halted a moment, 
 then fearlessly stepped within a few feet of him. The hunter 
 
 (213)
 
 214 Golden Bird of Menominee. 
 
 had a handsome face and a noble form, and the maiden gazed 
 upon him with mute but eloquent admiration. She sat down 
 her basket and pointed across the lake. The hunter under 
 stood her gesture, and bowing, showed her his raft, moored a 
 few yards distant. Taking up her basket, the maiden pro 
 ceeded to the rude vessel, and the hunter followed. He 
 knew the language of her actions, and in half an hour had 
 landed her on the opposite side of the lake. Swinging her 
 basket on her arm, the maiden sprang upon the shore and dis 
 appeared in the forest. 
 
 On the morrow, when the hunter emerged from his tent, he 
 found, at the rustic door, an offering of roots and fruits, pre 
 pared as Indian luxuries. He supposed that they were left 
 as a reward for his gallantry to the young squaw, and when, 
 during his hunt in the forest that day, he met a party of 
 friendly Indians, he described to them the appearance of the 
 maiden, and learned that she was the daughter of a chief, and 
 the most beautiful squaw of the tribe. She was known as 
 Golden Bird. 
 
 When the hunter returned to his camp, he found Golden 
 Bird waiting for him with a present of choice game. Her 
 smiles welcomed his appearance, and her manner, when she 
 tendered him the present, told the hunter plainly, that the 
 forest girl sought him as a lover ; but he remembered one be 
 yond the confines of the forest, with whom his troth was 
 plighted, and, too honorable to deceive the trusting maiden, 
 he endeavored to make her understand that he could not re 
 turn her affection. In the trusting innocence of her love, she 
 mistook this kindness, and interpreted his attentions as she 
 wished him to interpret the offerings she had made. The 
 forest near the hunter s tent was that night the Golden
 
 Golden Bird of Menominee. 215 
 
 Bird s chamber, and on the morrow, while he roamed near 
 the Menominee, she gathered for him a handful of pre 
 cious stones, and when he refused them, she wept. Laying 
 them at the door of his tent, she wandered into the woods, dis 
 consolate. When absent from him, she was ever gloomy 
 and depressed, but when in his presence, especially if he 
 gave her the slightest attention, was as gay and glad-hearted 
 as any other beautiful bird of the forest. 
 
 She abandoned the wigwam of her fathers refused the 
 counsel of her friends forsook her kindred and followed the 
 pale-faced hunter. Her attentions were a burthen to him, 
 and he resolved to change his camp. 
 
 One day she was absent for a few hours, and his raft was 
 rowed to the outlet of the lake, and slowly it floated down 
 the stream. When it was moored at night, the hunter con 
 gratulated himself that the Golden Bird had been eluded, but 
 to his great surprise, before nightfall, the maiden appeared 
 before him with an exclamation of joy, and tendered him a 
 bundle of herbs ingeniously arranged. 
 
 Every look and gesture told him that, with her, the affair 
 had become one of life and death ; that his smile was, to her, 
 heaven. Had not his heart been wedded to another, he could 
 never have chosen for his bride one of the rude, untutored chil 
 dren of the forest, and he thought that if he could escape her 
 attentions, in a few days she would forget him, return to her 
 father s wigwam, and accept the love of one of the braves of 
 her tribe. Alas, he knew not the strength of Golden Bird s 
 affection. The bluffs were high and abrupt along the river. 
 She could not follow the raft. The hunter refused to take 
 her with him. Standing upon a high rock, as the pale 
 face, whom she had wooed, but who had rejected her love,
 
 216 Golden Bird of Menominee. 
 
 faded from her view, she watched his raft with streaming eye 
 balls, and when he could no longer be seen, still she looked ; 
 and when the sun sunk at night behind the hills lining the 
 river, still Golden Bird gazed intently into the dim distance ; 
 and when, on the following morning, light gilded the tops of 
 the rocks, it shown on her disheveled hair and disorded robe, 
 and still her eyes, spell-bound, were fixed on the point at which 
 the hunter had disappeared from view. 
 
 Three days afterward, when her friends, after diligent 
 search, found her, she was leaning against a shelving rock, and 
 her gaze was yet on the stream which had borne away the 
 object of her devotion. An Indian lover was there, and he 
 sought to recall her attention, but she heard not the tones of 
 a voice with which she had been familiar from childhood. 
 When they bore her away tenderly from the spot where she 
 had the last view of the hunter, her eyes closed in despair. 
 She was too weak to tell them her heart had gone after the 
 pale-face, and her spirit would soon roam in the hunting 
 grounds to which the spirits of the brave warriors of the tribe 
 had departed ; but they saw that her life was fast fading, and 
 they watched with her, in the depths of the forest, until it 
 went out. Her spirit withdrew from the body as peacefully 
 as dies out the day on a calm summer evening. 
 
 No tales of the times of chivalry no romances of heroic 
 deeds in Oriental lands, portray constancy purer than that of 
 this Indian maiden ill-fated Golden Bird of Menominee.
 
 THE 
 
 Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga, 
 
 A BUCKEYE ROMANCE.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE STORY OPENS. 
 
 THROUGH northern Ohio, toward Lake Erie, flows a wind 
 ing stream, which the Indians named Cuyahoga or crooked 
 water. It is the principal river of several counties which 
 lie in what is now known as the Western Reserve, but which 
 in the early history of the West was called New Connect 
 icut, comprising a large tract of land ceded by the General 
 Government to the State of Connecticut. It was settled 
 mainly by active, enterprising Yankees, who, if they were 
 not as laborious farmers as the Pennsylvania emigrants, had 
 generally more intelligence and public spirit, erected more 
 tasteful dwellings, gave more skillful attention to mechanics, 
 constructed better roads, and more rapidly developed what 
 ever mineral resources were hidden beneath the soil on which 
 their clearings were made. 
 
 A little settlement, began at the mouth of the Cuyahoga, 
 increased rapidly in importance, and to its vicinity immi 
 grants were attracted. Following, back into the forest, the 
 winding course of the stream, they made settlements along 
 its banks, and in a few years the town, situated where the 
 civer cast itself into the Lake, became a port of considera 
 ble commerce. It is now a principal city of the West. It 
 
 (219)
 
 22O The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 bears tne name of the first official surveyor of the Reserve. 
 The country is rolling, and the Cuyahoga, winding around hills 
 and through ravines, tumbles over many little cascades of 
 romantic as well as practical interest. Yankee ingenuity 
 very soon discovered this practical interest, and turned it to 
 good account. Mills and factories were erected, and little 
 villages sprang up around them. 
 
 Enterprise had so far developed and enriched the region 
 round about the Cuyahoga, that a canal was required to con 
 vey its productions to the Lake shore, and this canal had 
 been several years a source of convenience and profit, when 
 a young man, fresh from the city of Boston, made himself 
 known in a village situated at the principal falls of the river. 
 He engaged workmen for the construction of a cottage in 
 the place of a rude cabin, belonging to a farm which stretched 
 away from the river at one of its most romantic points. 
 
 A village especially in a new country is the center, if 
 not of universal sympathy, of universal curiosity. There 
 was something more than curiosity there was anxiety to 
 know all about the proprietor of the new cottage. Was it 
 for his father ? was he an agent for some western capital 
 ist ? was he about to be, or had he just been married ? He 
 was rather young for the last conjecture to gain credence, be 
 cause no one supposed him to be more than twenty years old. 
 Gossip was confounded. The young man was discreet. lie 
 kept his own secrets. Even the landlord of the village inn, 
 with whom he boarded, could only tell that he was from Bos 
 ton that is, could only tell so much about him in connection 
 with his business designs ; but of the young man, individually, 
 he knew something more. He knew that he was a sharp 
 enemy of such practices as were common in his bar-room.
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 221 
 
 The rubicund boniface had been cut to the quick of anger, 
 if not repentance, on several occasions, by pictures which his 
 young guest had drawn of the results of the drinking cus 
 toms he encouraged. Two or three times the Bostonian had 
 held discussions with the frequenters of the bar-room, and 
 he had not made friends .by the faithful expositions he gave 
 of the bondage which drew them to the tavern, morning, noon 
 and night. 
 
 Gossip concentrates at a village tavern. While one set of 
 1 nfluences gravitates always toward the church, another just 
 as surely gravitates toward the tavern. During the hour be 
 tween service, on several Sabbaths, there was gossip concern 
 ing the cottage-builder, in the village churchyard. He had 
 sat one morning in the deacon s pew that was the only time 
 he had been seen at church. It must be confessed that he 
 had then given marked attentions to the pastor s discourse, 
 but why did he not come again ? Why ? Nobody had ever 
 heard him swear ; he was upright, even liberal in his deal 
 ings. Why ? The same question was put often at the tav 
 ern. The landlord said he was " more agin drinkin , and more 
 like a Christian, so far as he could see, than many of them 
 that went to church regularly, but then it was queer, and for 
 his part he didn t like the fellow anyhow. He d nothing par 
 ticular agin him, but it was queer." 
 
 What was queer, the landlord did not definitely explain, 
 but the expression was taken up by several of the faithful 
 subjects of his dominion, and it became public opinion that 
 about the new cottage some remarkable mystery hung. 
 
 Meantime the cottage was finished, and in a few days it 
 was furnished with rich, antique furniture, which had been 
 sent from Boston to one of the village warehouses.
 
 222 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 The tavern commanded a view of the canal. The men 
 who had come there to get their drinks, before engaging in 
 the occupations of the day, saw the young man, who had for 
 a number of weeks been the subject of their gossip, go one 
 Monday morning directly from the bar-room porch to a 
 packet, on which was a sign-board, spying " FOR CLEVELAND." 
 
 Here was additional subject-matter for gossip. Whither 
 could he be going, and what for? The most satisfactory 
 conjecture was, naturally enough, that he must Jae on an 
 errand for the family that would occupy Brome Cottage 
 that was the name he had given it : therefore during his ab 
 sence tongues were not idle concerning it and its mystery. 
 
 It was a handsome cottage, handsomely situated. It com 
 manded a view of rough water and rougher rocks of over 
 hanging trees, which, gnarled and scraggy, grew out from the 
 steep craggy banks of the river ; and it commanded also a 
 wide view of fair fields and deep woods woods for miles un 
 broken fields blackened with many large stumps, but lying 
 beautifully, and to the farmer possessing rich promise. 
 
 In all its parts the cottage was not completed ; the design, 
 drafted evidently by an experienced architect, was not fully 
 carried out, and except that some forest trees had been 
 removed and others left, in fulfillment of a purpose which 
 contemplated surrounding adornment, there had yet been no 
 attempt made to lay out a yard or a garden. 
 
 On the Saturday morning succeeding young Brome s de 
 parture on the canal-boat, there was bustle and activity at 
 the cottage. The villagers soon learned that it was occupied 
 by an elderly lady and two young persons. One of these 
 was the youth with whom they had become somewhat ac 
 quainted, and the other was his sister. So much mystery
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 223 
 
 was unraveled. But what was the family, and where did it 
 come from, and what would it do ? It was not poor; it was 
 respectable, but not very rich. There village gossip could 
 safely go, but it could go no farther without launching into 
 boundless speculation fathomless conjecture. 
 
 Martha Brome, the mother of Harry and Alice Brome, 
 was a widow lady, who had spent the hopeful period of her 
 life in the city of Boston. Her husband had been an enter 
 prising merchant. When about to retire from business with 
 a competency, the failure of several large houses brought on 
 a commercial crisis in his circle, by which his prospects of 
 ease and quiet, in mature age, were crushed. He was a 
 heart-broken as well as a fortune-broken merchant, and he 
 died in a few months after his business prospects had been 
 blasted. lie was not, however, a bankrupt. He had spec 
 ulated largely in western lands, and when his affairs were 
 settled, it was ascertained that his wife and chilren controlled 
 an excellent young farm, near an Ohio village, and that they 
 had, besides, several thousand dollars with which to improve 
 their property. 
 
 Mrs. Brome was a " strong-minded woman " a woman 
 who could calmly meet stern realities. When she understood 
 the condition of her pecuniary affairs, she calculated practi 
 cally for herself and family. She determined to relinquish 
 the society of her friends sunder the ties which, throughout 
 her life, had been gathering in the city of her birth, and for 
 the sake of her children emigrate to the West. 
 
 Harry had been his father s doting pride. He had been 
 liberally educated, and he was an upright, thoughtful young 
 man. His mother hoped that in a new country he might be 
 come a man of distinction.
 
 224 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 Alice was a slender but healthful girl, with her mother s 
 spirit and pride. Brother and sister concurred cheerfully in 
 their mother s plans, and while the mother and Alice visited 
 some near relatives, Harry was sent West to prepare their 
 farm for their reception. They had carefully estimated 
 their resources, and what could be commanded with them, 
 and young Brome was prepared to make the most of the 
 funds at his disposal. When his mother had closely exam 
 ined the result of his agency, and the manner in which his 
 trust had been executed, she was well satisfied, and so frank 
 ly told him. 
 
 Saturday was the first day the Brome family spent at their 
 cottage, and consequently Sunday was the second. The 
 village gossips had calculated somewhat on this Sunday. 
 There was preaching at but one church. Across the valley 
 rang the solemn tones of the bell, and the people with staid 
 step and sober mien turned their faces toward the spire which 
 should lead the minds of the devout from earth heavenward ; 
 but it must be confessed that, on the particular occasion con 
 cerning which we write, many of the church-goers had more 
 curiosity about what they should see at church than what 
 they would hear from the preacher. 
 
 Whether this be a more common error among country than 
 among city people, we would not pretend to decide. We are 
 writing a history not speculating on human frailties in the 
 abstract. 
 
 But the Brome family did not hear the village pastor s 
 sermon. Those eyes turned away from the preacher s desk, 
 when steps were heard in the aisles, saw only faces that were 
 familiar. It was not until the succeeding Sabbath that any
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 225 
 
 representative of Brome Cottage appeared in the deacon s 
 pew. 
 
 The Deacon and the Pastor ! What potent names in the 
 Yankee village ! Parson Humiston was a steady, good old 
 man, beloved by all his congregation, and respected by the 
 chiefest of the village sinners. His sermons were safe and 
 solid, if not eloquent ; he could tell the children pleasant lit 
 tle pious stories, and he had a meek and winning way of ad 
 ministering practical counsel and spiritual encouragement to 
 the maidens, old or young to the mothers, sad or gay 
 among whom he visited. Shakspeare said a sweet, low voice 
 is a beautiful thing in woman ; he might have added, a 
 meek and winning way of administering counsel is a beauti 
 ful thing in a pastor. 
 
 Deacon Anstey was a contrast to the parson. One was of 
 ample form, good-natured, genial ; the other was thin, spare, 
 hard-hearted and sharp. He was liberal to the church 
 never anywhere else. In his business dealings he was even 
 miserly ; but he was an enterprising merchant, and controlled 
 a profitable business. Sometimes there were bitter stories 
 told about him sometimes he was called a hypocrite some 
 times a sleek scoundrel ; but he was always regular at church 
 meetings he had bought the only bell there was in the vil 
 lage he paid a considerable portion of the parson s meager 
 salary, and, by hook and by crook, he was a deacon. 
 
 Harry Brome had carried a letter of introduction from a 
 Boston merchant to Deacon Anstey, and the deacon had been 
 quite civil to him ; but Harry was not attracted by his sharp, 
 thin voice, to seek frequent consultation, and between him 
 and this important personage the coldness and reserve of a 
 first acquaintance had not been broken, up to the period 
 15
 
 226 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 when, with his mother and sister, he was, from the deacon s 
 pew, the chief attraction in Parson Humiston s congrega 
 tion, on the second Sabbath after their arrival at Cuyahoga 
 village. The week which ended with the coming in of this 
 Sabbath had witnessed only one event which demands record 
 in this history. Harry Brome had registered his name in the 
 office of a village lawyer as a student at law. 
 
 During a "quarterly occasion," the Methodist minister of 
 the circuit made an effort to organize a Temperance Society 
 in the village, and Harry assisted him energetically. When 
 the preliminary meeting was called he spoke earnestly and 
 pointedly, and rather intimated that, among citizens who 
 should be moral exemplars, he saw need of temperance re 
 form. This was bold if not impudent for so young a man 
 and so new a citizen. 
 
 Deacon Anstey was quite incensed. " The upstart," he 
 said, " a sprig of the law, who wants to make himself talked 
 about!" 
 
 " Not altogether," said the landlord, who knew Harry ; 
 " I reckon he s pretty strong temperance, cause he used to 
 lecture the fellows at my house, but then I agree with you, 
 Deacon, it s rather sassy." 
 
 So the gossip ran. The temperance enterprise signally 
 failed, and young Brome came out of the contest with a few 
 warm friends, but many bitter enemies. He was impetuous 
 and by no means conciliating, and when he had opportunity 
 criticised opponents, on whatever question of which he had 
 the better side, with unrelenting severity, pursuing, with 
 caustic irony, any advantage he might gain.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PLOT OPENS. 
 
 " HARRY BROME, ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW." 
 These words, plainly painted upon the window shutter of a 
 small office, toTd a story in which the occupant of that office 
 had a life-interest. Some of his enemies had said, " What 
 does he try to domineer over a hired man for on his mother s 
 farm why don t he go to work himself?" but Harry had 
 studiously pursued his own and his mother s purpose, during 
 two years, and had been admitted to the bar, with warm com 
 mendations from the lawyers who reported to the court 
 upon his fitness. During those two years many small 
 revolutions had transpired in the village. From a number of 
 households, lights had gone out and in others stars had risen. 
 Barton, the landlord, had several mortgages on property 
 which was free when Harry Brome first knew its owners ; 
 the general business of the town had increased, but Deacon 
 Anstey had not been as successful as in former years. He 
 had reached too far and grasped too tightly. He had found 
 it convenient to request permission to resign his deaconship, 
 which permission had been granted. He and young Brome 
 were no better friends than when they were first acquainted. 
 
 Brome Cottage had become an inviting home. It was a 
 
 (227)
 
 228 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " remarkable place " in the new country a place travelers 
 stopped to admire, and a place travelers talked about when 
 they had journeyed far from it. When the jessamine and 
 honeysuckle crept over its trellised arbors, and vines with 
 beautiful flowers entwined the latticed windows when roses 
 bloomed along graveled walks that were shaded by young 
 trees, beneath which, in prepared plats, rare plants, flowers 
 and shrubs grew, it appeared in delightful contrast with the 
 rough fields and massive forests by which it was environed. 
 
 Each morning, when the birds were lively, and prodigal 
 of songs, the Brome family was gathered in the garden. 
 Harry and Alice industriously assisted their mother in the 
 labor of making such improvements as she did not choose to 
 intrust to their gardener. Mrs. Brome was the same calm 
 thoughtful woman. In appearance she had but slightly 
 changed during the two years of her western life, and what 
 change could be observed was the result of improved health. 
 It was remarked by a shrewd observer of human nature that 
 " sorrow and suffering are essential to the rich development of 
 female character." The trials and cares which had been im 
 posed upon Mrs. Brome had only served to develop a charac 
 ter fitted for distinction in a wide sphere of action. This 
 character was faintly understood at Cuyahoga village. 
 
 Mrs. Brome had not been neighborly according to the def 
 inition her neighbors attached to this phrase. She had 
 never given a party. Parson Humiston had been with his 
 daughter to take tea at the cottage many times, and he 
 always spoke highly of Mrs. Brome, of Harry and Alice. 
 A few of his parishoners could not understand why he was 
 so favorably inclined toward a family which did not regularly 
 sit under his preaching. Very rarely did Mrs. Brome attend
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 229 
 
 his church, and Harry and Alice were oftener students 
 of nature in some quiet glen or shady nook, or of books at 
 home, than of the pastor and his people at church. Besides 
 Parson Humiston and his daughter, there were a few persons 
 in the village who appreciated the Brome family ; and though 
 they thought Harry a little harsh in his opinions, arid some 
 what indiscreet in the sternness of his disputes with those 
 whom he considered vulgar or hypocritical, though they 
 deemed Alice quite too retired in her taste and manners, 
 they were satisfied that Mrs. Brome understood her duties and 
 obligations, and would not fail to lead her children aright. 
 Napoleon, with profound conviction, said "The fate of a 
 child is always the work of a mother." Mrs. Brome was 
 assiduous in her care and thoughtful in her instructions, and 
 she indulged visions of bright promise for her children. It 
 is for this history to tell whether she experienced that 
 
 " there is nothing upon earth 
 
 More miserable than she that has a son 
 And sees him err." 
 
 Northern Ohio was " flooded " with counterfeit money. 
 Much of the " spurious currency " was so faithfully executed 
 that the best judges were often deceived. It was a common 
 rumor that somewhere in the vicinity of Cuyahoga village, 
 was the head-quarters of the counterfeiters ; and it was whis 
 pered that persons of honorable standing before the commu 
 nity had secret cognizance of the counterfeiters and their 
 haunts. Where these rumors originated no person could tell. 
 The village landlord, who was supposed to occupy the chief 
 post among newsmongers, was often interrogated concerning 
 them, and he invariably answered : 
 
 " It s a tarnal lie, the whole of it. Nobody who knows
 
 230 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 anything would suppose that, if counterfeiters were in this 
 region, they d be peddling their trash about here thick as 
 huckleberries. Them fellows is sharp. They don t sell their 
 wares where they make em." 
 
 There was some philosophy in Barton s opinion, but in 
 spite of it, the suspicion that the counterfeiters were hidden 
 in or near Cuyahoga village, acquired force and currency. 
 Frequently men of undoubted honesty found themselves in 
 possession of considerable sums of money, which better 
 judges than they pronounced counterfeit. They could not 
 always remember from whom it was received, and there was 
 general complaint of swindling, and business confidence was 
 much disturbed. Harry Brome, on several occasions, was 
 victimized, and, once or twice, under such circumstances as 
 gave his prejudiced enemies opportunity to mutter indefinite 
 whispers and make mysterious allusions. 
 
 He one day pursued a man named Sandys, who had given 
 him several bills, which a friend pronounced counterfeit; when 
 he found him, he talked hastily and bitterly about the cir 
 culation of such stuff. High words had passed between them, 
 when Brome said : 
 
 " This is the second time that I have had bad money from 
 you. You are either a very poor judge, or you don t care 
 whether I am cheated or not." 
 
 " And s pose I don t," answered Sandys, coolly, " what ll 
 you do about it ? " 
 
 " I ll tell you what I d do. If I could prove that you 
 gave this to me knowingly, I d send you to the penitentiary, 
 where there are many men who have done less harm in tho 
 world than you."
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 231 
 
 Sandys was a grocer and liquor merchant, and there had 
 never been cordiality between him and Brome. 
 
 " You talk well," retorted Sandys, " but pre-haps we d 
 be in company. Some folks is a little suspicious that you 
 know how to get rags with picters on em." 
 
 " What, Sir," demanded Harry, " do you mean to insin 
 uate that I have ever dealt in counterfeit money ? " 
 
 " Insinuate," said Sandys with a cold sneer, " I don t 
 know what that is." 
 
 " Well, Sir, I ll make you know, if you dare to hint a sus 
 picion that I have any knowledge of the counterfeiters 
 which would implicate me in their rascality. I believe that 
 some of them are not far from this spot. I only wish I could 
 get a clue to them. This place would soon .be too hot for 
 them or any of their accomplices." 
 
 This threat was uttered in a manner which impressed 
 Sandys that it was aimed at him. He stepped toward young 
 Brome with a- clenched fist, muttering an oath between his 
 teeth, when a stranger addressed them : 
 
 " I wish the direction to Brome Cottage, and would be 
 obliged to either of you gentlemen for it," said the stranger. 
 
 " Here s a puppy can take you there," cried Sandys, turn 
 ing on his heel, and leaving young Brome to explain the cir 
 cumstances under which he was found. 
 
 Harry at once recognized the stranger as the son of a mer 
 chant in Boston, with whom his father had been associated 
 ciated in business. 
 
 " You do not know me ? " said Harry ; " country air has 
 improved my complexion." 
 
 " I did not, but now I do know my old friend and school-
 
 232 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 mate," returned the stranger, extending his hand, which was 
 cordially grasped. 
 
 Exchanging sketches of adventure since they had been at 
 school, the young men walked slowly toward Brome Cottage. 
 
 When Harry introduced his companion as Joseph Etherege, 
 of Boston, Mrs. Brome distinctly remembered him, and gave 
 him a high-bred but not cold welcome, which caused him to 
 feel that he had found a home. 
 
 Etherege had known Alice Brome only as a giddy school 
 girl. He was delighted to meet her a young woman of edu 
 cation and spirit, delicate, butnot fragile, polite, but not affec 
 ted. Alice was not beautiful in that sense which requires 
 symmetry of features, but she had an expressive countenance 
 and a graceful form ; her mother s fair complexion and deep 
 blue eyes, with the same winning grace of manner, the same 
 dignified repose in her deportment.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE COUNTERFEITERS DISCOVERED . 
 
 HARRY BROME was a capital sportsman. He knew well 
 every glen and dell and vale in which game was abundant, 
 within a circuit of many miles around his mother s cottage ; 
 and he could tell where an experienced fisherman was cer 
 tain, if " the sign was right," to take from the river a string 
 of choice fish. Etherege was as fond of forest sports as 
 Harry, and he had been a guest at Brome Cottage but a few 
 days when he could describe all of Harry s favorite haunts. 
 The places of romantic interest along the river having been 
 visited, the deepest woods and wildest ravines having been 
 explored, Harry determined to interest his companion in 
 geological speculations concerning a cave which he had dis 
 covered, on one of his hunting expeditions. It was near the 
 opening of a deep ravine, in an unfrequented forest, which 
 crowned a range of low hills along the river, about three 
 miles belo\v the village. 
 
 It was a pleasant autumn afternoon when the young friends 
 set out on their expedition. There was promise of good 
 shooting, and each had his gun. They had no sooner entered 
 the forest than they became more interested in the pursuit 
 of game than in geological investigations or speculations, 
 
 (233)
 
 234 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 and they were led away from the path Brome had designed 
 to follow. In endeavoring to retrace his steps he tempora 
 rily lost his reckoning, and Ethercge joked him about being 
 bewildered. 
 
 " Here s a faint trail, suppose we try that ? " said Eth- 
 erege. 
 
 " I have no objection," answered Harry, " because we 
 cannot be very far out of the way, and have time enough to 
 get home before dark, if we take another day for the cave." 
 
 " I am inclined to think we ll be compelled to take another 
 day. Your luck is bad to-day. I ve got more game than 
 you have, and you are lost." 
 
 u Of course you, know the way," returned Harry, laugh 
 ing, " lead on." 
 
 Etherege walked on briskly, and Harry followed. They 
 had only proceeded a few steps when a squirrel ran across 
 their path, a few rods in front of them. Etherege gave him 
 chase, and Harry watched the race. The nimble creature 
 did not take to a tree, as the sportsman had expected, and 
 Etherege continued to pursue it. Harry now joined him, 
 and both exerted themselves to get a shot. They were dis 
 appointed. The game escaped ; and when they gave up the 
 chase, they found themselves on the brink of a ravine which 
 Harry declared to be that in which the cave he sought was 
 to be found. 
 
 " But we ll not explore it to-day," he said; " we ll not lose 
 ourselves another time, and shall not waste the day chasing 
 squirrels which we cannot shoot." 
 
 u That s very cool," returned Etherege ; " but now if you ll 
 kill that woodpecker, getting his supper out of the top branch
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 235 
 
 of yon old tree across the ravine, I ll say no more about your 
 bewilderment." 
 
 " Protection from your wit is easily purchased," cried 
 Harry; " here goes." 
 
 He raised his gun to his shoulder and was about to dis 
 charge it, when suddenly he rested the barrel across his left 
 arm and listened. 
 
 " What s up ? " asked Etherege. 
 
 " Ilish ! " answered Harry. 
 
 Watchfully and noislessly he moved a few steps along the 
 brow of the ravine, then stopped and listened again : then 
 he proceeded a few rods farther, when he turned and beck 
 oned Etherege toward him, who came forward as cautiously 
 as his companion. 
 
 " You know, Joseph, I told you about the counterfeit money 
 in this country and my suspicions, on the day you inquired 
 for our cottage in the village. Well, I have often met sus 
 picious fellows in these woods. Just as I was going to shoot, 
 I heard my name mentioned down here in the ravine by a 
 voice I believe I know, and it belongs to a man who bears 
 me no good will. Now I m going to see what he s .doing." 
 
 Harry crept forward, and Etherege followed him. Pres 
 ently Harry stopped where the bank of the ravine was pre 
 cipitous, and swinging himself around an overhanging tree, 
 he gazed intently into the hollow below him. 
 
 "By Jupiter! the game s up," he whispered, turning to 
 Etherege. " This is a capital day s shooting. Look yon 
 der." 
 
 Etherege looked as directed, and saw three men sitting 
 under a tree, apparently intently occupied in a game of 
 euchre.
 
 236 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " They re playing euchre," he said, " and it don t strike 
 me that the game is up." 
 
 " I ll show you what kind of euchre it is," answered Harry ; 
 " coine this way I am going to euchre them." 
 
 Harry crept to a point where he could closely observe the 
 persons he had discovered, then he said to Etherege : 
 
 " One is Tom Darwin, a noted scoundrel, the other is 
 Deacon Anstey, and the other is that man Sandys with whom 
 I had the dispute, on the day you came to Cuyahoga. As 
 sure as fate they have a lot of coney between them." 
 
 " And what is coney ? " whispered Etherege. 
 
 "That s the counterfeiters technical name for spurious 
 notes. These scoundrels are preparing to circulate a batch 
 of them. I see through the scheme. Sandys and Anstey 
 provide the money, and employ Darwin to put it off. If I 
 don t get them in limbo, my name s not Brome," said Harry 
 with energy. 
 
 " Hark ! " said Etherege. 
 
 The friends listened, and, from the conversation of the 
 counterfeiters, learned that Sandys was telling them about 
 his dispute at the village with Harry. 
 
 " We must look out for that fellow," said Anstey. " He 
 and I have always been enemies. I tried to conciliate him 
 when he first came to the village, but he scorned my advances, 
 and I ve hated him ever since." 
 
 " He s got grit," said Sandys, " and if he could get a 
 clue to our operations he d never sleep till he tracked us. 
 We ve got to watch him, now, I tell you." 
 
 " Gammon," said Darwin in his coarse rough way; "you 
 fellers never will get along, if you re afraid of a sassy little
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 237 
 
 Yankee lawyer. You keep your eyes open and prehaps we 
 can get him in a scrape." 
 
 The counterfeiters now conversed in so low a tone that 
 Brome and Etherege could not understand them. 
 
 Harry had seen enough, and he told Etherege that it was 
 time to proceed homeward. In retracing their steps, the 
 young men were not so cautious as they had been when seek 
 ing the counterfeiters, arid when they were passing an open 
 spot on the brow of the ravine, Torn Darwin caught a glimpse 
 of them. 
 
 ; The devil and his imps," cried he ; " by the Lord 
 Harry, yonder is that infernal Yankee lawyer now ! " 
 
 " He s seen us he s followed us," cried Anstey, quaking, 
 " and you ve made a pretty muss of it by getting in this 
 place, Tom." 
 
 " Y r ou re an old woman if you were a deacon once," an 
 swered Tom, angrily ; " if I can run my risk I guess you call 
 your n, and you ll have to, that s all, Deacon Anstey." 
 
 " Never mind, Tom," said Sandys, who was more collected 
 than Anstey. u It s all right. It s not likely them fellows 
 saw us, but we must find out whether they did or not, and 
 you and I can do that." 
 
 " Suppose they did see us and know we had coney here 
 to-day, what s to be done then?" inquired Anstey, not yet 
 assured that he was safe. 
 
 " We ll have to leave this country sudden, that s all," 
 answered Sandys. 
 
 " Not as you knows on," said Tom Darwin, impudently. 
 
 " What then, Tom ? " asked Sandys. 
 
 " We ll put the sneakin spies out of the way first," an 
 swered Darwin, between his teeth.
 
 238 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 Neither Sandys nor Anstey made any reply to this threat. 
 It was more than they were prepared for, but what they 
 could or would do, were it certain that young Brome had dis 
 covered them, neither could answer. 
 
 The business of the "council" in the forest having been 
 transacted, the counterfeiters separated and proceeded to the 
 village in different directions, where they assembled another 
 " council " to decide what was to be done in the event that 
 Harry Brome should take any step which indicated that he 
 had clue to their rascality. 
 
 Meantime Harry and Etherege had safely reached home, 
 unconscious that they had been seen by the counterfeiters.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONSPIRACY DEVELOPED. 
 
 JOSEPH ETHEREGE was a fortune-hunter. He had re 
 ceived a liberal education ; he had traveled in Europe and 
 this at the period of which we write, was an important fact 
 in the education of a young gentleman ; he had graduated 
 from a medical school of high standing, and with money 
 enough to purchase a large tract of land in a new country, 
 he had emigrated westward for the purpose of " locating." 
 Harry Brome was quite anxious that Etherege should "settle 
 down " at Cuyahoga village, but the young doctor would make 
 him no definite promise. Whenever he talked of visiting 
 other counties or towns in the State, Brome was eloquent on 
 the prospects of the Cuyahoga valley, and Etherege hesi 
 tated to take leave of his good friends at Brome Cottage. 
 Perhaps one reason why he hesitated was, because he began 
 to have an interest in the Brome family ; an interest more 
 enlivening than the sports of the field, and quite as engross 
 ing as money-making indeed, it was embraced in the plan 
 of " fortune-hunting " which the young man had arranged. 
 
 Walks and drives, readings and talkings, in and around 
 Brome Cottage, were not altogether objectless, and their ob 
 ject was something more than time-killing. 
 
 (239)
 
 240 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 Alice Brome was a charming girl ; fitted especially was 
 she to charm an enterprising, enthusiastic young man, who, 
 resolved upon an earnest effort in a new country to become a 
 citizen of influence and usefulness, wished a helpmate com 
 petent to understand his strivings, and appreciate the spirit 
 which animated them. 
 
 Alice was one evening reading a new novel, when she 
 threw it aside with a slight scornfulness in her manner. 
 Etherege took it up and discovered that she had been perus 
 ing a scene between lovers who were lack-a-daisically tender 
 whose love was of the whimpering, lachrymose character 
 which is an emotion of " fancy " a victim of whim and 
 caprice the love which animates flirts, male or female 
 which finds wedlock irksome, and which deliberately souring, 
 for the sake of appearances, expresses itself in " my dear," 
 but never sings : 
 
 " Home, sweet home. Be it ever so humble. 
 
 There s no place like Home." 
 
 
 
 Etherege could have no other opinion than that Alice was a 
 worshiper of the sensible and the truthful. He was pleased 
 with her quiet, dignified expression of contempt for such sil 
 ly " scenes " as the novel depicted. He did not then reveal 
 the satisfaction he enjoyed, but determined, on the first fitting 
 occasion, to suggest the " scene " to the remembrance of 
 Alice. 
 
 One morning she invited him to go with her into the garden 
 and assist in the care of some flowers, which needed protec 
 tion from the winds of early autumn, that had already tipped 
 with yellow the leaves of the maple trees in the forest. 
 
 Etherege watched for an opportunity to recall to Alice s
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 241 
 
 mind the sentiment the novel which he had seen her read 
 awakened, without arousing a suspicion that he had divined 
 the cause of the scorn with which she had thrown the book 
 aside. 
 
 " It is quite natural," said he, " to associate summer flow 
 ers, which the frosts of winter kill, with the friendship good 
 fortune attracts, but which bad luck drives away. I am not 
 surprised that many poets and many romancers have per 
 plexed their wits to find a new expression for the thought." 
 
 " But after all, Mr. Etherege," said Alice, " it is hardly 
 fair to the flowers. They are not false. They leave no du 
 ties undischarged. They bloom and are beautiful for us until 
 their allotted time to die." 
 
 "A beautiful defense," exclaimed Etherege ; " I judge 
 from it that you have less even than the usual slender confi 
 dence in friendships which are made when the sun of fortune 
 is warm." 
 
 " We may find good and true friends, Mr. Etherege, in 
 the height of prosperity, but we cannot always tell on whom 
 we may rely till misfortune reverses our obligations, and 
 makes them valuable to us. But I am talking what is very 
 commonplace, and you cannot be interested." 
 
 " You are quite mistaken. I think your words have 
 meanings which do not at first appear in them, and I am 
 interested to know whether your thoughts are not led away 
 from common friendships, to obligations and relations dearer 
 and more important." 
 
 " You are not gallant, Mr. Etherege, to give my words 
 
 meanings of your own, and then ask confession of me ; but 
 
 I am not reluctant to tell you that I have been thinking of a 
 
 book I read not long ago, in which " real life " was depicted 
 
 16
 
 242 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 as the silly pastime of coquetting boys and girls. Holding 
 marriage to be a solemn and thoughtful step, I was indignant 
 that such books should be popular, among women who are 
 expected to teach children what is expected of them, and 
 what they may well accomplish in the world." 
 
 " You are quite utilitarian," said Etherege, designing to 
 elicit further expressions of the train of thought in which 
 Alice had fallen, but she answered him : 
 
 4 
 
 " Only a little practical, as my mother says, Mr. Ether 
 ege. But here comes Harry ; I will appeal to him." 
 
 "And why appeal ? " said Etherege, smiling. " I have 
 not disputed you." Alice looked a mischievous response, 
 but spoke none ; for Harry, swinging his gun with one hand 
 and grasping Etherege with the other, said : 
 
 " Come, I have harnessed the horse for a ride. A gen 
 tleman at the village yesterday described to me a desirable 
 tract of land which is for sale on reasonable terms, and I 
 propose that we take a look at it. If it is what he repre 
 sented it to be, there is a speculation in it." 
 
 " There will be no harm in taking a look at it," answered 
 Etherege, " and I am at your service." 
 
 " The ride at all events will be pleasant," said Harry, 
 u and as on our return home we ma_y drive near that cave, 
 above the falls in our river, which we did not visit the other 
 day, we may derive pleasure as well as profit from the trip." 
 
 Harry led his friend from the garden, and placing his rifla 
 in a safe place beneath the wagon seat, said : 
 
 " We may meet some adventure that will require it. I 
 always take it along." 
 
 " Perhaps you ll come across the counterfeiters again," 
 returned Etherege.
 
 The Counterfeiters of the (Juyahoga. 243 
 
 " I should not probably have occasion to shoot one of them 
 if I did, but when we get into the woods, if we can do noth 
 ing more, I ll beat you shooting at a mark so handsomely, 
 that you will never dare to say another word about my hav 
 ing been lost." 
 
 " I take the banter," said Etherege. 
 
 The property Brome designed to visit was situated about 
 ten miles from Cuyahoga village. When the friends had 
 talked with its owner, learned the price and terms of sale, 
 and had acquainted themselves with the character of the 
 soil and other advantages possessed by the farm, Etherege 
 was well pleased, and, somewhat influenced perhaps by the 
 conversation of the morning, determined to make an invest 
 ment. He told the farmer that Mr. Brome was his banker, 
 and that if he would meet him in the village on the follow 
 ing Saturday, he would receive a deed for the property and 
 make the required payment. 
 
 " The business of our ride is over; now for the pleasure," 
 said Harry. 
 
 It is afternoon, you observe," returned Etherge, " and 
 if we visit the cave you must drive briskly." 
 
 Harry cracked his whip, and his smart horse -whirled the 
 light wagon rapidly toward the village. In half an hour 
 Harry checked the speed of the animal, and turning him 
 from the main road into a dim track stretching through a 
 dense forest, drove slowly and cautiously for about another 
 half hour, and then reining up, bid Etherege alight. 
 
 The horse was detached from the wagon and securely 
 fastened ; Harry took his gun from its resting place, and 
 was leading the way toward a narrow ridge which could 
 be discerned between the trees, when Etherege said :
 
 244 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " If these woods are haunted by counterfeiters, I should 
 be a little afraid to leave my horse in them." 
 
 " Pshaw," returned Harry, " I ve left him many a time. 
 There s more risk in stealing a horse than in making spurious 
 money, and the fellows we saw out here are sly rogues, I as 
 sure you." 
 
 " Do you suppose they can have any suspicion that you 
 know their rascality ? " said Etherege. 
 
 " They know that I have been watching for the counter 
 feiters, and that I would send them to the penitentiary if I 
 could detect them ; knowing their own guilt, of course they 
 are a little afraid of me. They would not hesitate to injure 
 me if they could do so safely to themselves." 
 
 " It becomes you then to be cautious." 
 
 " I know it does ; I thought of that when I brought out 
 my rifle to-day." 
 
 Conversing about the counterfeiters and what was to be 
 expected and what feared of them, the two friends ap 
 proached the high and rocky " bluffs," into which the cave they 
 sought opened. They were in the vicinity of the place where 
 they had discovered Darwin and his confederates in coun 
 cil during their previous search for the cave, and Brome pro 
 posed that Etherege should seat himself at the foot of one of 
 the hemlock trees which crowned the ledge of rocks, while he 
 reconnoitered the ravine beyond. Etherege was not sus 
 picious that harm would befall himself or his companion, and 
 he consented, upon condition that Harry would not be absent 
 more than fifteen minutes. 
 
 Brome had not skulked along the brow of the ledge over 
 hanging the river more than five minutes, when he caught a 
 glimpse of some one dodging among the trees before him.
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 245 
 
 He glanced at his gun as if to inquire whether he could rely 
 on it, and followed the shadow which had attracted his at 
 tention. It led him down the ledge and toward the place 
 where his horse and wagon stood. He had an opportunity 
 to see the man whom he followed, but could not recognize 
 him. He thought of what Etherege had said about horse- 
 stealing, and, neglecting his engagement to return to his 
 friend, in a quarter of an hour, continued the pursuit. 
 Presently the suspected horse-thief no longer endeavored to 
 disguise his progress, but walked forward boldly, and striking 
 into the path which led into the public road, pushed forward 
 toward it. 
 
 Then Brome regretted his suspicions, and hastened to re 
 trace his footsteps. He walked rapidly to the brow of the 
 ledge and proceeded to the spot where he had taken leave of 
 Etherege. The young man was gone. Brome whistled, and 
 anxiously expected a response. None came. He hallooed. 
 His voice echoed among the trees, but the echoes brought no 
 other answer than their own. He began to feel solicitude, if 
 not alarm. He closely examined the ground around the tree 
 where Etherege had sat, to ascertain if any footsteps were 
 imprinted on it. He could discover none. Then he looked 
 along and down the ledge for some trace of his departure ; 
 he observed a handkerchief Iving some distance below him. 
 
 v O 
 
 He hastened to pick it up. There were drops of blood on 
 it, and it belonged to Etherege. 
 
 Brome s fears were now intensely excited. He suspected 
 that Etherege had been attacked and had fled toward ^thc 
 wagon. He ran through the woods with nervous haste, and 
 when he reached his wagon could discover no sign of his 
 friend, but when he looked for his horse, he saw that the
 
 246 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 strap, with which he was hitched to a tree, had been cut. 
 Between the tree and the road there were deep hoof-marks, 
 as if the horse had been urged swiftly away. 
 
 Brome was in a maze of doubt and conjecture. Again 
 and again he hallooed. No answer came. Already the sun 
 threw lengthened shadows, and, convinced that Echerege must 
 have been pursued by some foe or foes and had fled to the 
 horse, cut him loose and escaped, Brome at once determined 
 to follow. 
 
 If his conjectures were well founded, he should soon meet 
 his friend, with company returning in quest of him ; if not, 
 he could alarm the village and search for Etherege. 
 
 Brome had not traveled far on the public road, when he 
 met a man with whom he was acquainted. Then he learned 
 that his horse, riderless, had been seen dashing at full speed 
 toward the village. Harry dare not idly indulge conjectures 
 as to the fate of his friend, but he hastened to the nearest 
 farm-house, and engaging a horse, galloped home to assure 
 his mother and sister that he was not harmed ; inform them 
 of the circumstances of his friend s disappearance, and make 
 arrangements for a thorough search of the woods in which 
 he had been lost, Or murdered !
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SEARCH. 
 
 BROME halted at the cottage door only long enough to 
 inform his mother and Alice that Etherege was mysteriously 
 missing. Leaving them to painful surmise and perplexing 
 conjecture, he rode to the village for the purpose of securing 
 aid for a thorough search of the woods in which his friend 
 had disappeared. His impetuosity, his nervous anxiety, de 
 clared to the loungers at the tavern, before he alighted from 
 his horse, that he had exciting news to communicate. They 
 gathered around him, eagerly repeating to each other the 
 words in which he told how he had lost Etherege. 
 
 Concerning what might have been the fate of the stranger 
 Broine had conflicting suspicions, and he expressed none of 
 them ; but Barton, the landlord, said : 
 
 " Murdered for his money that s what he s been I ll bet 
 a treat for the town." 
 
 " He had no money with him," answered Brome quickly. 
 
 " But he had money somewhere, hadn t he ? " returned 
 Barton, ; and the fellow who took him off knows how to get 
 it. You must look out for him, Mr. Brome." 
 
 Harry was about to reply, when he saw Sandys walk 
 (247)
 
 248 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 away from the tavern steps, muttering. He could not hear 
 the grocer s words, but a friend of Harry s did. 
 
 " Likely the fellow who took him off, does know where the 
 money is, and if he don t be watched it s cause I m blind. 
 It s lucky Barton thought of that." 
 
 While Sandys was muttering and plotting, Brome had said : 
 
 " Never mind, Mr. Barton, about speculations now. We 
 must scour the woods, arid I am here to raise a party of vol 
 unteers." 
 
 Sandys heard those words and hastened to find Anstey. 
 
 When Harry led a party of villagers in quest of Etherege, 
 the grocer and the ex-deacon were with it. 
 
 All night shout answered shout fires gleamed and torches 
 flickered in the woods to which Brome had conducted Eth 
 erege. When the light of morning came, and the fires 
 and the torches died out, hope died in the minds of the 
 searchers, and they went home weary and unhappy, bearing 
 tidings which increased the excitement in the village. 
 
 It was Sabbath morning, a beautiful Sabbath morning ; 
 a purple haze hung on the hills, and the air in the valleys 
 was calm, and sweet, and exhilarating. The Sabbath bell had 
 a softened sound, and it seemed as if the sexton rang it 
 slowly, so slowly indeed, that to many its notes were knell- 
 like to the family at Brome Cottage they were doleful. 
 
 Parson Humiston had a thin congregation and an inattentive 
 one. In his last prayer for the morning service, he remem 
 bered the missing Etherege and prayed that, in the provi 
 dence of God, he might safely be restored to his sad friends. 
 The church attendants remembered the burden of this pe 
 tition more vividly than they did the lessons of the sermon,
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 249 
 
 when they went out among the villagers to talk of the min 
 ister s eloquence. 
 
 In a new country, in a young village, the people know 
 each other much better than they do in developed towns or 
 thriving cities. They have more interest in each other s 
 welfare, and more sympathy for each other s misfortunes. 
 A severo affliction in one family throws a pensive influence 
 into every other family. Therefore it was that the people of 
 Cuyahoga village were sympathetically absorbed in emotions 
 of curiosity, conjecture, and sympathy. 
 
 At Brome Cottage there was no rest, no peace. The 
 search of Saturday night had satisfied Harry Brome that 
 Etherege could not be found in the woods, and he was con 
 vinced that Tom Darwin was answerable for his disappear 
 ance. Upon consultation he determined to hazard the arrest 
 of the outlaw. Having ascertained where he was most likely 
 to be discovered, Harry, late on Sunday evening, took the 
 village constable into his buggy, and secretly departed on the 
 desperate venture of arresting, upon vague suspicion, a man 
 who was known to be bold, reckless, and revengeful. 
 
 When Brome and the constable went away from Cuya 
 hoga village to hunt Darwin, he was skulking about its streets, 
 seeking Sandys and Anstey. 
 
 In the rear of Sandys grocery there was a low, dark 
 room, in which many a scene of villainy had been planned, 
 and thither the outlaw wended his way. 
 
 The grocer was at home. He received Darwin with a 
 show of cordiality and gave him a seat in the council-room, 
 then he went out, locking the door and bolting it on the out 
 side, leaving Darwin to meditate on his past life its schemes 
 of villainy and its scenes of cruelty, or to plot new conspir-
 
 250 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 acies. Ho knew that for the present he was a prisoner, but, 
 he was confident that Sandys would soon return, and that 
 with him would come Anstey and others who were in the 
 secrets of the Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 The outlaw thought often of young Brome. He feared 
 him more than he did any of the village officers. He was 
 satisfied that Brome knew him to be a " counterfeiter," and 
 that he would arrest him as soon as he could get evidence 
 enough to hold him. He had plotted to circumvent Brome, 
 but the plot had failed of execution, and now the outlaw 
 wanted to report progress to his confederates and consult on 
 the next steps to be taken for the safety of the band. 
 
 "I 11 watch em to-night," said Darwin. "I ll let em 
 know it all. I ll get em in the fix. They ve got to come 
 in, and just about daybreak I ll leave em in the lurch. This 
 town s not quite the place for me. It s a little too warm 
 here, and afore the folks know just what grocery-keeper 
 Sandys and Deacon Anstey really are, I d better be oif. I ve 
 had one experience in striped trowsers., and I wouldn t like 
 another." 
 
 While Darwin thus plotted for himself and against others 
 of the counterfeiters, he had no suspicion that Harry Brome 
 was already watchfully employed in guarding against his emi 
 gration from the valley of the Cuyahoga, at least until they 
 had met. 
 
 Brome, though confident that Darwin was responsible for 
 Etherege s disappearance, trusted that his friend was not 
 murdered, and, guarding against Darwin s secret escape, he 
 had determined to confront the. outlaw, tell him what he 
 knew about the counterfeiters, what he suspected concerning 
 Etherege, and assure him that if he would restore the
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 251 
 
 young man to his friends, he should be permitted to elude the 
 clutches of the law. 
 
 The constable with whom he searched was but partially in 
 Brome s confidence. He was not yet certain how far he 
 dare trust him. He was a resolute and careful man, but he 
 was neither very active nor very shrewd.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
 DARWIN was walking his prison when Sandys returned. 
 The grocer was accompanied by Anstey, and a man named 
 Tickell, whom Darwin had only met in council once before. 
 
 The counterfeiters were not very cordial in their greetings, 
 and with a heavy frown on his brow, Darwin said : 
 
 " Well, Deacon, it s a little scarey, aint it ? " 
 
 " That depends on what you have been doing," returned 
 Anstey. 
 
 " What do you suppose ? " angrily cried Darwin. 
 
 " Keep quiet, Tom," interposed Sandys, " we want your 
 head cool to-night." 
 
 " I am cool," said Tom, " I m going to keep cool, and 
 now I ll just ask Deacon Anstoy, in a quiet way, what he 
 supposes I ve been doin ." 
 
 " No offense, Darwin," said Anstey, with submission, " but 
 there s big excitement in the village, and it s a little suspected 
 that you know what has become of that fellow, Etherege, the 
 friend of that little devil, Brome." 
 
 " I do know just that," answered Darwin, " and that little 
 devil knows too." 
 
 " I m afraid he does," said Sandys. 
 
 " I know it, I tell you. I saw it done." 
 
 (252)
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 253 
 
 " Saw what done, Darwin ? " cried Anstey. 
 
 "Now, Deacon, you keep cool," answered Darwin, " and 
 I ll tell you. I made up my mind about a week ago that 
 them fellows did see us iu the ravine, and that that sassy 
 little lawyer was laying his traps to catch us. I didn t say 
 nothing to you fellows, but I determined to catch him. Do 
 you understand that ? to put him out of the way, Deacon 
 Anstey." 
 
 " You d kill him, Tom Darwin. You did kill that Eth- 
 erege. I wash my hands of it. Oh God ! I never thought 
 of this," cried Anstey. 
 
 " Bah, you chicken ! " returned Darwin. " Now I tell 
 you I did not kill him ; I haven t said he was dead." 
 
 " Look here, Tom," said Sandys, who was fully as anxious 
 as Anstey, but had more prudence, " you re trying to put a 
 riddle on us. Talk it out, arid let us know what s up." 
 
 " Who s that fellow ? " said Darwin, pointing to Tickell. 
 
 " He s safe," answered Sandys. " I ll go bail for him." 
 
 " If he leaks," said Tom, " or shows signs of leaking, he 
 knows where a ball will go." 
 
 " He aint afraid of you, Tom Darwin. He knows you, 
 and you ought to know him. If you can t trust him, he ll 
 go out," returned Tickell. 
 
 " There s a little grit in you," answered Tom, " and you ve 
 heard too much to go now. I ll trust you. Deacon Anstey, 
 I m going to give you what you wanted to know when you 
 first came in here." 
 
 Anstey made no reply, and Darwin continued : 
 
 " I was at th% cave where our manufactory is, on Satur 
 day, and as I was crossing the hill, I caught a glimpse of the 
 sassy lawyer and the Yankee he takes about with him. I took
 
 254 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 a notion to get our necks out of a scrape by getting the 
 Yankee s in. I thought if I could catch the lawyer, I might 
 keep him safe a couple of days, and get the Yankee sus 
 pected for having made away with him, or compel Brome to 
 hush up about us." 
 
 " The Lord, Darwin, you have been playing a nice game," 
 sighed Anstey, striding across the council-room. 
 
 Darwin looked at the ex-deacon with a sardonic smile, and 
 went on : 
 
 " That plan wouldn t work, because the lawyer had a 
 rifle and the Yankee didn t, and I was a calculatin what 
 might be done, when, by the powers, the lawyer " 
 
 " A trumped-up story, a trumped-up story," cried Anstey, 
 taking courage from the desperate character of the trap into 
 which he saw the counterfeiters falling. " You ve killed that 
 Etherege, and you ll be found out you ll go to the gallows, 
 and we ll go to the peni " 
 
 Anstey had not time to finish the word ; Darwin sprang 
 upon him, crying : 
 
 " Do you call me a liar, you hypocritical old villain ? " 
 
 A knife gleamed in the outlaw s hand, and he might have 
 plunged it into Anstey s breast, but a quick thought that such 
 an act would prevent the flight he had planned, restrained 
 him. He hurled Anstey to the ground, declaring with an 
 oath, 
 
 " You re too mean a coward to strike. You ll go to the 
 penitentiary as true as ever you were a deacon, mind that. 
 I know what s become of that Etherege, and unless something 
 comes to that Brome, my neck goes it too. But something 
 will come to him. That s all I ve got to say. I m mum, 
 Deacon Anstey, till I get you into a worse scrape than you re
 
 . The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 255 
 
 in now. But I ll watch you mind you, Deacon Anstey, I ll 
 watch you sharp." 
 
 Sandys tried all his arts to induce Darwin to reveal what 
 he knew of the fate of Etherege, but the outlaw was ob 
 durate. 
 
 " I m going out of this hole," said he, " and Deacon 
 Anstey may as well go home. It s no use to coax me. I 
 tell you I won t say another word this night. Let me alone. 
 Don t vex me now, and maybe the next time that I am here 
 I ll be talkative." 
 
 Sandys conducted the counterfeiters into the street, and 
 they separated in darkness, each plotting to shield himself 
 from the retribution which he feared. 
 
 Tickell thanked his stars that he had accidently been ad 
 mitted to the council. He was every where considered a 
 vagabond sort of a fellow, but he had once beon a respect 
 able and prosperous citizen, and no one suspected that he had 
 any part or lot with the counterfeiters. 
 
 He was the tool, the slave, the victim of Barton, the land 
 lord, but his family would have been the landlord s victims 
 more bitterly than language can describe, had it not been 
 for many kind words and many little offices, many needful 
 gifts, which came to them from Bromc Cottage. 
 
 Tickell was not wholly corrupted, and he thought he saw 
 in Darwin s partial revelations a deep plot to bring trouble 
 upon the Brome family he reflected on the kindness of that 
 family to his own, and he deliberately considered whether the 
 counterfeiters had stronger claims upon him than Harry 
 Brome, and his mother and sister. He might run perilous 
 risks, but he determined to watch for an opportunity to be 
 friend his benefactors.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A CONFLICT. 
 
 THERE were yet no signs of dawn when Tom Darwin 
 skulked away from Cuyahoga village. He followed the street 
 nearest the river until he had reached a bridge which 
 crossed it, half a mile below the town. Half way over the 
 bridge, the outlaw sat down as if to soothe a disturbed spirit 
 by the roar of the waters which dashed over huge rocks in 
 the bed of the river. He was not a man who analyzed quiet 
 emotions he did not clearly inquire into motives for actions 
 which involved no apparent danger, but instinctively, no 
 doubt, chose the bridge as a place for meditation, because he 
 could think more keenly and plan more sharply, where the roar 
 of the river answered to the tumult of conflicting dreads, fears 
 and resolves, which disturbed his mental repose. 
 
 The banks of the river were high where the bridge spanned 
 it, and they were precipitous and craggy. The narrow bed 
 of the stream was broken by a number of low but clearly 
 defined precipices, and the water, rushing in eddies and 
 counter-eddies around the rocks which resisted its current, 
 then plunging over cascades, roared with a force which bore 
 the stunning sound to a considerable distance on either side. 
 
 Amid the deafening roar of the Cuyahoga falls, in the 
 
 (256)
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 257 
 
 darkness of the hour which precedes day-break, the outlaw 
 sought to reconcile the conflicting fears and purposes which 
 influenced him, and to shape a satisfactory course of action. 
 Had Sandys or Anstey suspected that he had the remotest 
 intention of fleeing from that part of the country, they would 
 have taken sure means to check him ; but his intentions were 
 known only to himself, and he chuckled quietly when he 
 thought of the perplexing rage that would overcome Deacon 
 Anstey, when it was certain that Darwin had fled, and taken 
 the secret of Etherege s disappearance with him. 
 
 The mist which morning had lifted from the valleys, upon 
 the hill-tops began to assume a roseate glow, when Darwin 
 walked rapidly from Cuyahoga bridge, and turning into a 
 path that led down the bank of the river, pursued it a few 
 rods ; then crossing a field, he entered a strip of dense woods. 
 lie did not follow a path, but walked in nearly a straight line 
 until he reached a natural opening where a spring bubbled 
 up, creating a small marsh, in which tall grass grew. 
 
 There the outlaw halted, and after taking a t; refreshing" 
 drink from a pocket cup, in which there was a very little 
 water, he gave a shrill whistle. For a moment he listened 
 attentively. His signal was not answered, and he exclaimed 
 with nervous impatience : 
 
 " Curse the fool, I told him to be here at day-break. I ts 
 half an hour after that time. I ll blow him up if he aint 
 more prompt." 
 
 Darwin sat down on a log near the spring, and taking from 
 his pocket a huge knife, began to whittle and to think. He 
 was restless, and he made large whittlings. He was startled 
 by a whistle, which,- springing to his feet, he answered. Soon 
 a stout, thick-set, rough-looking man emerged from a thicket 
 17
 
 258 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 and approached the spring. Darwin met him with the salu 
 tation, " Didn t you promise to be here as soon as it was 
 light?" 
 
 " Yes, and I d been here if it hadn t been for your bad 
 calculation. The nag you wanted was nt where you said 
 I d find him, and I had to hunt the critter." 
 
 " You got him ? " said Darwin. 
 
 " I did that. He s in fine order, right out here on the 
 edge of the woods." 
 
 " We ll go over, tfcen," said Darwin. " When did you 
 take him?" 
 
 "Night before last. It s safe to ride him away from 
 here to-day, but maybe it wouldn t be to-morrow." 
 
 " I ll look out for that. You take care of yourself when 
 I m gone and don t git distressed about my luck. To-night 
 I ll let the critter run, I don t care a curse where." 
 
 Conversing upon their villainous schemes for the future, 
 the outlaws walked briskly through the woods until they 
 reached the place where Darwin s companion had left the 
 horse he had stolen. 
 
 Darwin untied the animal and sprang into the saddle. 
 He then gave his hand to his fellow-outlaw and said : 
 
 * Now, Billy, good-by ; one week from to-night we meet, 
 you know where. You go back to the village and lounge 
 about to-day, and to-night make tracks. Tell Sandys and 
 Anstey I ll be at the grocery about eleven to-night. They ll 
 wait." 
 
 "Good-by, Tom," answered Billy Mervin. "You can 
 bet on me for Monday next. I ll tell the fellows at the 
 grocery, and they will wait, that s a fact, and so ll somebody 
 else. I don t care for the grocer nor the deacon. The devil
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 259 
 
 take them. But otherwise, I m a little compunctious, Tom. 
 Sometimes I ve a notion to crack a pistol." 
 
 " Bah ! " said Darwin sneeringly, " let the thing work. 
 After we ve gone, I don t care if the whole of it comes out 
 against that chicken-hearted, hypocritical old deacon. K 
 that Brome aint got rid of, he ll fetch it out. I must be v 
 off. You go back to town like an honest man." 
 
 This conversation had been held as Billy Mervin walked 
 beside Darwin s horse, while he rode through the woods 
 toward the public road. The distance was short, only a few 
 yards. They reached the highway as Darwin spoke. He 
 struck his horse a sharp blow, and the animal, having high 
 mettle, sprang into a swift gallop. 
 
 Taking a farewell look of Darwin as a cloud of dust began 
 to envelop him and his stolen horse, Mervin proceeded to 
 execute the command that he should visit the village. 
 
 It was rather an untraveled road along which Darwin 
 galloped. He was obliged to travel for a few miles on an 
 other one, where he might expect to meet many persona, and 
 when he approached it, he checked his steed. Though he 
 burned with impatience, prudence required him to ride 
 slowly. He was in sight of the point at which he could turn 
 from the great highway into a by-road that led in the direc 
 tion he wished to pursue. He congratulated himself upon 
 his good luck, and again gave his horse the rein. 
 
 Just at the point where the by-road branched off, there 
 was a turn in the main one, and Darwin s eyes were fixed 
 suspiciously on this turn as he neared it. To his decided 
 chagrin it was not more than a hundred yards distant when 
 a buggy containing two men was driven around it. At first, 
 Darwin saw nothing in their appearance to alarm him, but
 
 260 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 quickly he recognized Harry Brorae and Constable Sedley, 
 who, as Darwin was aware, held the office of deputy sheriff. 
 
 Brome s blood quickened in his veins as he recognized the 
 outlaw. At once he reined up his horse and arose from his 
 seat. 
 
 Darwin s liveliest suspicions were awakened. He thought 
 it folly to turn back he determined at all hazards to ride on. 
 If it was the intention of Brome to arrest him, he should 
 make the attempt at desperate risk. Darwin had confidence 
 in his horse, and he would test his speed and bottom. He 
 was a good horseman, and could impart to his steed something 
 of the resolution which, at any time, might nerve himself. 
 Rising in his stirrups, he applied his whip vigorously. Brome 
 and the constable saw that Darwin would pass them, and in all 
 probability escape, unless violent measures were employed to 
 check his career. The constable sprang from the buggy. 
 On came Darwin at breakneck speed. Brome raised his 
 rifle to his face, and the outlaw saw that he designed to fire, 
 but he did not heed the warning. Both Brome and the 
 constable cried "stop!" but the outlaw passed them. 
 
 There was a sharp report the horse and its rider were 
 prostrated upon the road. 
 
 " You ve killed him," cried the constable. " Rash, very 
 rash, better let him gone." 
 
 " I shot at the horse, not at him," answered Brome calmly, 
 " but I ll take the consequence. He s not dangerously hurt. 
 See, he is getting up." 
 
 " Let us go to him," said the constable. 
 
 " Go on, but be a little cautious. He s armed, I ll war 
 rant ; I ll have a bullet in my rifle before I approach him." 
 
 Brome and the constable drew near the outlaw, who had
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 261 
 
 endeavored to rise, but finding himself unable, leaned upon 
 his elbow. They were within pistol shot when, with a quick 
 movement, he fired at them, and for Brome the shot had 
 been fatal, but that the hand that held the pistol was more 
 unsteady than it had ever before been. 
 
 "It s no use, Darwin," said the constable; "you may 
 as well give up." 
 
 "Never, to you, dogs take that;" with these defiant 
 words Darwin fired a second pistol, but Sedley was watching 
 him, and the bullet missed its aim. 
 
 Evidently Darwin was dangerously injured. The bullet 
 had struck his horse in the shoulder, causing him to stumble, 
 and Darwin was thrown forward violently ; his skull was 
 fractured, and blood-vessels in his body had been ruptured. 
 Blood flowed from his mouth as he spoke. He felt that his 
 final hour had come, and he said : 
 
 " Yes, you, Harry Brome, Esquire. You had been glad 
 to have killed me outright. You wanted an excuse to shoot me. 
 Dead men tell no tales ; but I can talk yet, and I can tell it 
 all, and I will. You ve been after me to make folks believe 
 I killed that young Etherege. You are a respectable man, 
 I am a counterfeiter, but if I had strength enough I d show 
 you that I am not as much of a scoundrel as you are. Take 
 that man. take him, Constable Sedley. I m a dying man, 
 and I tell you that he s a murderer. He killed his friend 
 Etherege. He shot him for his money." 
 
 " Villain, you die with a monstrous lie on your soul. Your 
 life has been one continued crime, and what can you expect 
 to gain by this false charge ? Nobody will believe it," cried 
 Brome with vehemence.
 
 262 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " Ask Billy Mervin ask Deacon Anstey or grocer San 
 dys, or" 
 
 " Villains like yourself," cried Brome. 
 
 " They can show you up, though, and they will. They 
 know who s got that chap s money. I aint the first man 
 you ve shot at, but maybe I m the last." (Darwin raised 
 himself up as he spoke.) " I d be sure of that if I had a 
 pistol. You d go to hell with me." 
 
 Darwin gasped as he uttered this threat, and Sedley stooped 
 down to support him, but the outlaw made a motion as if to 
 grasp his knife, and the constable allowed him to fall back 
 on the ground. It was evident he could not survive long 
 and Sedley wished to put him iu Brome s buggy and convey 
 him to the village, but ho would not be moved. Brome and 
 Sedley consulted upon the course they should pursue, and 
 Brome said : 
 
 " You stay here ; I ll go to the village and get help." 
 
 " No, no," gasped Darwin ; " don t let him he ll never 
 come back." 
 
 Whether influenced by these words or not, the constable 
 would not consent that Brome should depart, and as Darwin 
 had grown so weak he could no longer resist, Sedley insisted 
 that he should be put in the buggy. Brome assisted, and the 
 outlaw was placed where he could be drawn to the village. 
 Sedley supported him, and Brome led the horse. They had 
 not gone far when Sedley said : 
 
 " It s over ; he s dead."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE VILLAGE GOSSIP. 
 
 SLOWLY Brome s buggy, bearing the dead body of the out 
 law, was driven into the village. Constable Sedley directed 
 that it should stop at Barton s tavern, and immediately it 
 was surrounded by an anxious, gossip-loving circle. Each 
 one asked many questions, and then repeated what had not 
 been answered. But few received definite information con 
 cerning the manner of Darwin s destruction, and the village 
 buzzed with false rumors. The story most frequently told 
 was that Brome had met Darwin ; that the lawyer had 
 charged Darvin with the murder of Etherege ; that the out 
 law returned the charge, and swore he saw Brome kill his 
 friend ; and that Brome then shot him. In all the rumors, 
 facts were distorted to Brome s disadvantage, and it was the 
 general impression that he had committed murder ; some 
 thought, in the shooting of Darwin ; others, by destroying 
 his friend. A few men and women who knew Brome, from a 
 proper estimate of his character, indignantly branded these 
 rumors as villanious, but many were not at all surprised. It 
 was "just as they expected." 
 
 Among the latter class was a prominent member of Parson 
 
 (263)
 
 264 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 Humiston s church Mrs. Prime. She had often wondered 
 that the Parson went so often to Brome Cottage, and came 
 so seldom to her house. She never missed a sermon the 
 Bromes often did ; she never disputed about doctrines the 
 Bromes often did ; nobody ever saw her walking for pleasure 
 on Sunday ; she didn t even stroll in the churchyard, nor 
 would she allow her children to pick flowers there. All of 
 the ordinances of the church were observed by her, and more 
 too. But few of them, according to her judgment, did the 
 Bromes observe, and yet Parson Humiston was scarcely cor 
 dial to her, while he went every week, at least once, to 
 Brorae Cottage. He didn t preach as sternly as he bad 
 years before, and he must be falling from grace. Oh, it was 
 enough to make any body fall from grace to be often in that 
 Brome Cottage. There was a wicked planer" and there 
 were novels, a great many novels, and sometimes there 
 was dancing ; and some folks said there had been card-play 
 ing ; and Harry Brome and Alice Brome went to meeting 
 when they chose. No wonder he was a bad fellow ! 0, he 
 had the worst temper. He must have, because his mother 
 always had done just as wise Solomon said worldly women 
 would cfo, " Spare the rod and spoil the child." No won 
 der he had committed murder. It was what Mrs Prime ex 
 pected ! 
 
 A soliloquy of this character Mrs. Prime indulged in the 
 hearing of Mr. P. He was a quiet man. His wife had a 
 will, and her will was enough for the whole family, but some 
 times he dared indulge unexpressed opinions ; and while Mrs. 
 P. ran on about the Bromes, he gratified himself with the 
 reflection, that if his wife was a little like Mrs. Brome he
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 265 
 
 wouldn t complain ; and as for Harry Brorae s having com 
 mitted murder, it was simply fudge. 
 
 In the gratification of this opinion, the quiet, humble man 
 rather forgot himself, and he concluded his reverie by delib 
 erately spitting on the floor, close by Mrs. P., who was indus 
 triously knitting, but not so industriously that she failed to 
 observe the sin her careless husband had committed. 
 
 " Oh, la me," sighed she, " these men are all alike. 
 Now, these fifteen years I ve been talking, and talking, and 
 it s no use." 
 
 Perhaps these latter words were addressed to Mr. P. s 
 actions, or perhaps bore reference to the lack of success in 
 her talking. At all events, the humble man was exerting 
 himself to eradicate all appearance of the stain he had made 
 upon the home-made carpet. 
 
 Mrs. Prime (it ought to have been Prim) was a professing 
 Christian, and she was precise in her profession, yet she was 
 an idolater. She had a household idol, and incessantly she 
 worshiped it. Every action, every movement, was a devotion 
 to it, and it was an imp. Her thin form bore testimony in 
 each article of dress, in every motion, to the ruling power 
 of this household idol. Poor Mr. P., how often he wished 
 that his wife could be converted from her idolatry. He would 
 cheerfully have dispensed with his dinner every day for a 
 year, could he by his own starvation have exorcised the imp 
 which monopolized her affections. 
 
 " Every thing is very neat about you," said an intimate 
 friend one day when Mrs. P. was not in hearing. 
 
 " Oh. Lord, yes," answered Mr. Prime ; " but there s 
 reason in all things, except some women, and my wife s one 
 of them. I like order and neatness, but there are other com-
 
 266 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 forts in the world besides order and neatness, only my wife 
 don t know them. The * imp of neatness is her idol. 
 
 " Hands off" " don t put me out of place," could be 
 read from every portion of Mrs. P. s household as distinctly 
 as if each article bore a printed label. The prevailing rule 
 was that every thing was to be kept clean and in order. 
 There were few things for use ease ; comfort was rarely, 
 very rarely, calculated upon. 
 
 At Brome Cottage order and system were observed, but 
 there was no severity, no stiffness. You felt at home in its 
 parlors. When Mrs. P. s parlors were entered, the visitor 
 shrank like one intruding in a circle which was sacred to si 
 lence and severity. Mrs. P. never went to Brome Cottage 
 but she said, " Oh, my, how things are knocked about here. 
 There s no rule about this house. It s all vanity." 
 
 Therefore it was to be expected that when she heard the 
 rumors about Brome and Darwin, she would half close her 
 cold gray eyes, and looking down over her narrow chin, say: 
 
 " Well, well, any body might have known he d come to some 
 bad end." 
 
 Thus this precise woman concluded, from her own stand 
 ard, without evidence, without reflection. The world is full 
 of opinions just as shrewd ; with just as good a basis. 
 
 While Madame Prime was giving Mr. P. a piece of her 
 mind about a man s duty in his own house, and about the 
 wickedness of such doings as she knew had been at Brome 
 Cottage, Harry was conversing with his mother about the 
 troubles which thickened around him. He said : 
 
 " I am the victim of a conspiracy, mother, and it comes 
 from a quarter of which I had no suspicion when I first re 
 solved to ferret out the counterfeiters. The outlaws, Darwin,
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 267 
 
 Anatey, Sandys, and the others, are but the servants, the 
 hired instruments, of men who have bigger schemes than were 
 ever yet projected in this country. I have only a hint of 
 what they are at, but it comes from a reliable source, and 
 soon I shall know it all ; that is, I shall know it, if they do 
 not triumph. I am in great danger, mother. There are 
 men against me who have influence and money. They will 
 not hesitate to take all possible advantage of Darwin s decla 
 ration against me, and circumstances will be brought forward 
 that may enable them to make out a plausible case. They 
 will have me arrested if they can, in the hope of keeping me 
 from pursuing them, but, should they even succeed in get 
 ting a verdict against me, of branding me as a murderer, 
 they shall not escape." 
 
 Harry had never so fully explained to his mother what he 
 knew of, and what he had to fear from, the counterfeiters. 
 She was now much moved at the picture he drew, but she 
 had faith in the right, and she said : 
 
 " I must regret Darwin s death, but I cannot blame you. 
 Let your enemies do what they may, they cannot sustain his 
 charge against you, and unless they kill you, as they have 
 poor Etherege, you will in the end triumph. I fear for your 
 life, Harry." 
 
 " You need not, mother. The counterfeiters dare not as 
 sassinate me now. Such an act would ruin their schemes. 
 But, mother, I do not believe they killed Etherege." 
 
 " And who did, then ? " 
 
 " I am persuaded that he was not killed. I believe he was 
 made a prisoner in some of their dens. They may let him 
 starve to death, but I do not think they have assassinated 
 him. Against all appearances, this conviction hangs to me."
 
 268 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " May your conviction prove correct and may he be re 
 stored to us," said Mrs. Brome, devoutly, " but I canWe no 
 foundation for such a hope. He is murdered, and you may 
 t)e arrested as his murderer. Oh, my God, how little do we 
 know what grief a day may bring forth. It had been bet 
 ter, Harry, if you had let the counterfeiters alone." 
 
 " But, mother, I could not." 
 
 " No, Harry, you could not. That is true. Now, you 
 must triumph." 
 
 " I feel, mother, that severe trials are in store for us, but 
 I am confident of triumph in the last hour, and perhaps it 
 will be shown us that the kind offices of love and chanty we 
 have dispensed in this neighborhood have more power, when 
 affliction overtakes us, than the enmity of narrow bigots who 
 envy us, or the villainy of scoundrels who fear us. I know 
 we have a few friends, mother, who can be relied upon. 
 How does Alice take the bad news ? " 
 
 " She is much distressed. She has never been herself 
 since Etherege disappeared ; and now she is inconsolable." 
 
 " I will find her and cheer her up." 
 
 Mrs. Brome went about her household duties with a troub 
 led spirit, yet with a faith whicll enabled her to appear as if 
 no fears oppressed her. 
 
 Harry sought Alice. They had a long and earnest con 
 versation, and when they parted, Brome had renewed inter 
 est in the solution of the mystery which hung ;about the fate 
 of Etherege.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 COUNTERPLOTS. 
 
 HARRY had determined while talking with Alice to go to 
 the village, and, if possible, ascertain the character of the 
 gossip concerning him. He walked immediately to Barton s 
 tavern. When he opened the door, and allowed a breath of 
 fresh air to disturb the fumes of whisky and tobacco which 
 hung about the stove, there was quite a buzz among the 
 loungers who had met to smoke, drink, and talk over the 
 news. In this group there was a stranger, who took no part 
 in the conversation, and who neither drank nor smoked. He 
 had, however, been an attentive listener to the talk about 
 Brome, and the speculations in regard to Darwin s death. 
 Brome at once observed this man. There was commanding 
 character in his face and form and bearing. Brome gazed 
 at him intently. He did not meet the gaze frankly and bold 
 ly, and Harry puzzled his wits to answer to himself, why. The 
 conversation stopped. Brome saw that he was an intruder, 
 and, after exchanging a few words with Barton, went out. 
 The door had not entirely closed behind 4iim when the stran 
 ger arose, and inquired of the landlord : 
 
 " Can you tell me that young man s name ? "
 
 270 The Counffrfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " I reckon I can that s the chap they re talkin about, 
 He s the fellow that put a bullet in Darwin, a man who could 
 drink twice as much whisky as any other man in this 
 county." 
 
 The stranger immediately followed Brome, but he was not 
 quick enough to observe that the young lawyer had been met 
 by a man who on an important occasion had vowed to befriend 
 him, and who was about to tell him that the tall, handsome 
 man he had seen before Barton s bar-room stove was an in 
 dividual from whom he had more to fear than from Sandys 
 or Anstey, or any other of their village accomplices. Hav 
 ing communicated this information, Harry s friend said : 
 
 " You go home, and I ll watch. There s to be plotting 
 done to-night, and I know where, and I mean to know what 
 it is, but, Harry Brome, you will s tand by me if I get in 
 trouble by it. I am sober now. I have been all day, and I 
 shall not drink to-night." 
 
 " You know you can depend on me, Tickell. Keep the 
 promise you now make, and I can depend on you. Remem 
 ber every thing depends on you to-night." 
 
 " You needn t fear," answered Tickell, as he wrung 
 Brome s hand. Harry went directly home, while his com 
 panion stealthily returned to the village. 
 
 Tickell visited Barton s tavern, and made a hasty survey 
 of the bar-room, then he turned his face toward Sandys gro 
 cery. As he approached it he saw the door open, and the 
 light which gleamed into the street showed him that the tall, 
 handsome man who had attracted Brome s attention in the 
 tavern, was about to give Grocer Sandys a call. Tickell 
 was tempted to follow the stranger at once, but he had plans 
 to further which could be best prosecuted, for the present,
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 271 
 
 outside of the grocery. He had heard that Mervin, Tom 
 Darwin s closest confidant, was in the village, and he wished 
 to see him. Mervin and he had been old chums, and he was 
 certain that if he could induce the villain to warm himself 
 with a fe\v social glasses, he could gain some profitable in 
 formation from him. Tickell suspected that Mervin would 
 visit the grocery, and it was his intention to watch for and 
 fall in with him. While he was watching, Deacon Anstey 
 entered the grocery. Tickell grew tired of his dull task, 
 and determined to see why the handsome stranger and the 
 sly deacon had called upon the grocer. When he presented 
 himself before the counter he found no one in attendance 
 but a flaxen-haired boy, who was known to be remarkable for 
 his dullness. This boy was more dull than usual, being 
 apparently half asleep, and Tickell could not ascertain from 
 him whether Sandys had been at home that evening or not. 
 The boy knew nothing. Tickell s suspicions were highly ex 
 cited, and his curiosity to know why Anstey and the stranger 
 had called on Sandys and gone into secret council was intense, 
 but as he had received no intimation of the meeting, he dared 
 not venture to intrude upon the circle. He was reluctantly 
 obliged to retrace his footsteps back to Barton s. However, 
 he did not give up hope of meeting Mervin. Barton knew 
 the outlaw s friend, and Tickell applied to him for information 
 concerning his hiding place. 
 
 " He s been wanting to see you," said Bartcn, " and I ll 
 tell him you are here." 
 
 " You can give us a place for a little private confab, and 
 something to keep us awake ? " 
 
 " On terms, Tickell. You know, on terms."
 
 272 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " Of course ; I m in luck just now, and can stand one 
 treat." 
 
 This was said in a tone Barton understood, and with a sly 
 wink he conducted Tickell to a small back room, in which 
 many dark and drunken scenes had been enacted, then went 
 in quest of Mervin. He was not long absent, and when Mer- 
 vin entered the den of secret carousal where Tickell awaited 
 him, he cried : 
 
 " Good for a big time, old chum. I expected to ve been 
 out of this town to-night, but circumstances was agin me, and 
 I m not in the best of spirits. I d just as lief take a jollify 
 with you as any other fellow." 
 
 " All right, then," answered Tickell, shaking the rough 
 hand extended to him. " You see I ve got the documents." 
 
 " You re a clever chap, and you ll join me in a big glass 
 to Tom Darwin. Curse my stars if I don t want to put a 
 ball in that fellow who stopped him with his rifle, but then 
 I won t. There s a worse trap set for him than I could 
 manage." 
 
 " You mean Brome." 
 
 "Ijistdo." 
 
 " I understand, Mervin, but I m afraid it won t work. 
 That fellow s got some friends in this town, and they ll make 
 a big fuss." 
 
 " Who cares ? It must work. It s fixed right, and any 
 how that fellow goes out of the wa^ " 
 
 " Which fellow ? " asked Tickell, with a knowing wink. 
 
 " Why, Brome, of course ; t other one s already fixed. 
 Tom Darwin s not a man to half do things. But I ll tell 
 you, Tickell, sometimes I m a little squeamish. If it could
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 273 
 
 have been done, I d ve squared things up one way or 
 t other." 
 
 " Squared things up one way or t other. I don t exactly 
 understand." 
 
 " Then you don t know quite as much as I reckoned you 
 did. You ll have to wait a spell before you do. You re all 
 right, Tickell, but I can t let you in just yet. You know I 
 am one of the chaps that can t be pumped." 
 
 " And I m one of the chaps that wouldn t try to pump you, 
 but I ll own up that I don t know all about this, scheme you re 
 in with Etherege and Brome, and I d like to be a little better 
 posted, because I ve got to work, and I can t work in the 
 dark, and what s more, I won t try. Neither Anstey nor 
 Sandys, nor that handsome new fellow, Leyton, can make a 
 blind tool out of me." 
 
 " You re right, Tickell, and that makes me think of it. I 
 promised to sneak up to the grocery to-night, and if you 
 come along, maybe your peepers will be opened." 
 
 To this proposition Tickell demurred. He said he had 
 calculated on a good social time, and he didn t like to give it 
 up, but Mervin said : 
 
 " Pshaw, come along ; we ll have a good time up there. 
 The old grocer will have to tap some of his choice kegs." 
 
 After feigning to take a starting drink with the outlaw, 
 Tickell grasped his arm, and the two worthies marched 
 cautiously toward the grocery. 
 
 18
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PLOTS THICKEN. 
 
 DEACON ANSTEY, Grocer Sandys, and the handsome 
 stranger had been for several hours engaged in earnest con 
 versation. The stranger whom Anstey called Colonel Ley- 
 ton, with a submissive emphasis on the Colonel, had visited 
 Cuyahoga village for the purpose of completing arrangements 
 to prosecute a banking system, exceeding in magnitude any 
 scheme of the character which had ever been prosecuted in 
 America. He was quite surprised and very much chagrined 
 to learn that the friends on whom he relied were suspected, 
 and were involved ia an enterprise, to relieve themselves, 
 which threatened to explode his plans to their fullest 
 extent. 
 
 " The whole of it is bad," he said. " I told you long ago 
 Darwin wasn t to be trusted. He was always reckless. He 
 never valued any body s life, and didn t care how much peril 
 he brought on his associates." 
 
 " That s a fact, Colonel," said Anstey. " I was always 
 afraid of him." 
 
 " And that s another fact," retorted Sandys, " I believe he 
 hated you, and that s the reason we re in this scrape. Un- 
 
 274)
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 275 
 
 less Harry Brome is got out of the way, we ll all wear 
 striped trowsers." 
 
 " Come, come, friends, this is no time for wrangling. 
 We re in a bad scrape, arid must make the best of it. If I 
 had known yesterday, however, what I know to-day, I had 
 not been here to-night; but I am satisfied every thing de 
 pends on shutting up the fellow you call Brome. Can t he 
 be bought ? " 
 
 " Bought! " said Anstey. " Bought. You might as well 
 talk about buying a flash of lightning if you were in a dark 
 corner " 
 
 " Them s my sentiments," said Sandys slowly. 
 
 " Then he must be convicted of the murder of the missing 
 man you call Etherege. There s no other way," answered 
 the Colonel. 
 
 " And as soon as he is arrested, he ll blow on us." 
 
 That risk you must take, Mr. Sandys," said the Colonel. 
 " But I don t believe he will, lie s not had a chance to get 
 enough to blow on, unless you have some traitor among you 
 here. Do you suspect any body ? " 
 
 " Let me see," said Anstey. " I guess Mervin s safe. 
 He was a confidant of Darwin s, but I m a little suspicious of 
 Tickell. His folks live near Brotne Cottage, and Mrs. Brome 
 has often sent them things. He s a good-natured, easy fellow, 
 and ^s e ll have to watch him." 
 
 " You d better watch him, and don t let him know any 
 more than he now does. The plans I have revealed to-night, 
 you must keep to yourselves. But where is that Mervin you 
 spoke of? You tell me he s the only man who really knows 
 whether the devil has that Etherege or not."
 
 2j6 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " He promised to come up here to-night," answered San 
 dys, " and it s about time he was coming." 
 
 " Well, I m dry, Sandys," returned Leyton, " suppose you 
 go and fill up the bottle, and see if he s not in the grocery." 
 
 Sandys went out of the council-chamber, and Leyton rose 
 and walked backward and forward, while Anstey watched 
 him with a sadly puzzled expression on his countenance. 
 
 When Sandys appeared behind his counter in his grocery, 
 he was confronted by two persons who had for some time 
 been waiting his appearance. The grocer was not pleased 
 to see at least one of them, but he must appear as if he was 
 right glad, so, after shaking Mervin s hand, he greeted Tick- 
 ell with a great show of cordiality. This same show Tickell 
 returned. While he was returning it, he did not fail to 
 observe that Sandys gave Mervin a significant wink. 
 
 When Sandys went among his liquor casks in the back 
 part of his grocery, Mervin followed him, arid when Sandys 
 again appeared where he could address Tickell, Mervin was 
 not with him. 
 
 Tickell was accustomed to peculiar maneuvers on the part 
 of Sandys and Anstey : he was quite disappointed in 
 Mervin s disappearance, but he knew it would be vain to at 
 tempt to get in the council, and he resolved to ward oif sus 
 picion. He chatted with Sandys a few moments, because he 
 saw that the grocer was itching to get away from him, and 
 did not know how to accomplish it. When he relieved his 
 host s perplexity by declaring that he must go down to iiar- 
 ton s, Sandys used an expression in which cowardly lies are 
 often concealed, in more respectable and worthy company 
 " You needn t be in a hurry;" but Tickell s "call" to the 
 tavern was peremptory, and he left Sandys rejoicing.
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 277 
 
 When Tickell went out of the grocery, he was wiser than 
 when he entered it. Over Sandys best brandy he had had 
 a somewhat satisfactory chat with Mervin, and now, instead 
 of gmg to Barton s tavern, he went to Brorne Cottage. 
 
 The grocery door was no sooner closed behind Tickell than 
 Sandys hastened whither he had sent Mervin. He found 
 Leyton, Anstey, and the outlaw talking earnestly. Anstey 
 had been remonstrating, but his influence was overpowered 
 by the others, and Mervin said : 
 
 " I am satisfied, Colonel. Here s a witness to the bar 
 gain. I know a fellow who was followed by Harry Brome 
 that day ; he ll swear that Tom Darwin told the truth. I ll 
 get an affidavit from him to-morrow, and the rest I ll finish 
 before sunrise ; but mind you, if the bargain aint kept, I ll 
 blow the whole of you, if my neck is stretched for it." 
 
 " You needn t be afraid of us, and we won t of you. You 
 can depend on us. because you know what is our interest, and 
 we can depend on you because we know what is yours, and 
 then you want to revenge Darwin s death." 
 
 " That I do, Colonel ; and I will, you can bet your life." 
 
 Sandys, who had been till now a quiet listener, demanded 
 explanations, which the Colonel gave him. He considered 
 the plans a few moments, and then agreed to do whatever 
 was required of him to further them. His own safety, as he 
 thought, was involved in their success. 
 
 Anstey feared that his safety was involved in the same 
 luccess, and he feared to have the plans put into execution. 
 If never before in his life, he now regretted the hypocriti 
 cally wicked career into which his inordinate avarice had 
 led him. He was rich, but he was not respected not even 
 among his companions in fraud. All his life he had coveted
 
 278 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 cash, now he coveted character. He drank deeply to over 
 come his dread emotions, but when he went home, in spite of 
 his maudlin condition, he was racked with accusing fears, 
 wicked hopes and bitter regrets. His curses on himself for 
 his first step in counterfeiting were more expressive than 
 deacons generally are presumed to command. 
 
 When Anscey bid his confreres good night, he supposed 
 that Sandys and Leyton had separated for that night. They 
 deceived him. As soon as the Colonel, who went out with 
 Anstey, parted from him on the street, he returned to the 
 grocer s council-room and when these two schemers had sat 
 down to a third bottle of brandy, Leyton said : 
 
 " I believe you re right; Anstey s afraid. He d back out 
 now, square, if he could. We must hook him in deeper, and 
 it must be done in connection with that devil you ve waked 
 up here." 
 
 " You mean Brome ? " 
 
 " Of course I do. It s infernal bad that you should have 
 let him get a clue." 
 
 " Let, thunder and lightning. There s no let about it. 
 He saw us in the woods ; but then, if it hadn t been for Tom 
 Darwin s dare-devil propensity, and Anstey s cowardice, 
 he d never troubled us. Now, we re in for it, and he must 
 swing or at least be jugged till we are safe." 
 
 " And Anstey must make him swing." 
 
 " That ll be too hard, Colonel. He hates him like poison, 
 but he s too much afraid to take a public stand. I wouldn t 
 be in favor of trusting him the first man who attacked him 
 would find weak places. He used to have pluck, but he s 
 lost it lately." 
 
 " If he don t go it who will ? "
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 279 
 
 " We ll have to depend on Mcrvin. He s a trump. Ex 
 citement is high, and when Mervin s friend gets out a war 
 rant, we ll throw our respectable influence in the scale." 
 
 " Our respectable influence that s a fact, and it will be 
 respectable influence. Let us get out of this fuss, and the 
 scheme is clear." 
 
 " That reminds me, Colonel, you were going to give me 
 some more particulars about what s been done." 
 
 " It s very late and I must be off, but I can tell you that 
 a large amount of the currency is now ready. Nick Biddle 
 himself couldn t detect the notes. Look at these." 
 
 The Colonel handed Sandys half a dozen counterfeit notes 
 on the United States Bank. Sandys eyes twinkled as he 
 examined them, and when he pronounced them good, the Col 
 onel continued : 
 
 " It s a good scheme. We ve already made arrangements 
 for a vessel at New Orleans ; Johnston, who, you know, is a 
 big merchant in Cleveland, is fully with us, and there are 
 other big men in it. Just let us get our bark into the Gulf of 
 Mexico once, and she shall go straight to China, where, with 
 our currency, we can put in a splendid cargo, and before the 
 notes can corne back here, we can pocket the profits and take 
 care of ourselves. Think if it is not worth some risk, Mr. 
 Sandys." 
 
 Grocer Sandys did think. When Colonel Leyton went 
 staggering to Barton s tavern, long after midnight, Sandys 
 went to bed, but not to sleep. lie could not sleep for think 
 ing. 
 
 Had the intention of his thoughts been honest, they would 
 not have disturbed his rest.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE ARREST. 
 
 IT was Tuesday morning. Joseph Etherege had been 
 missing since Saturday afternoon. Diligent and thorough 
 search for him had been fruitless. Public opinion declared 
 that he had been murdered for his money. By whom and 
 how ? were the absorbing topics of speculation in Cuyahoga 
 village and vicinity. At Brome Cottage speculations on the 
 mysterious fate of its guest had occupied every mind. A 
 thousand conjectures had been indulged, and a thousand plans 
 discussed ; but when Harry Brome came home the acknowl 
 edged cause of Darwin s death, and immediately was talked 
 of as the only person who could tell what had become of his 
 friend, all other plans and conjectures were merged in one 
 comprehensive purpose to crush his conspiring enemies by 
 exposing their frauds, at the same time revealing the mys 
 tery of Etherege s fate, and the true cause of his death or 
 abduction. 
 
 Mrs. Brome and Harry had met Tickell at a late hour in the 
 night, and they were seated at a late breakfast when a serv 
 ant entered the room and said a gentleman wished to see 
 Mr. Brome. 
 
 Harry went out and met Constable Sedley. He invited 
 
 (280)
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 281 
 
 the officer into the cottage, but the invitation was declined. 
 My business is with you it s a little particular and I don t 
 like it, but I must do my duty, and I wouldn t like to alarm 
 your mother and sister. I ve only a little document to show 
 you." 
 
 He handed Brome a small slip of paper, and Harry read 
 it carefully, without any outward emotion. It was a war 
 rant lor his arrest as the murderer of Joseph Etherege. It 
 had been issued upon the oath of Ben Danmer, an easy-go 
 ing, indolent young man, who hung about Barton s tavern, 
 and who drove a team, or chopped wood, when his necessities 
 required him to work when Barton would not trust him for 
 board or for whisky, unless " the old score was wiped out." 
 He had been chopping for Barton on Saturday, near the 
 place at which Etherege disappeared. 
 
 " Walk into the house, Mr. Sedley. I must show this to my 
 mother." 
 
 The constable was confused, and he made no reply, but me 
 chanically followed Brome. 
 
 When he entered the breakfast-room, Mrs. Brome bid 
 him good morning, and invited him to be seated, but he stood 
 near the door changing his hat from one hand to the other, 
 and said : 
 
 " It s mighty unpleasant, Mrs. Brome, but I m a public 
 officer, a servant, madam, and must do my duty." 
 
 Harry had handed the warrant to his mother, and she only 
 bowed in response to the constable s apology. 
 
 " Who was with Mr. Danmer when this warrant was 
 issued ? " asked Mrs. Brome. 
 
 Well, there was several at the Squire s. I recollect 
 Deacon Anstey," said the constable.
 
 282 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 * There can be no bail given ? " 
 
 " Not in such a case, madam." 
 
 " Harry must go with you to prison, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma am, but not just now to real jail. He s goin to 
 be examined in the village, maybe this afternoon, maybe 
 to-morrow, and till then he ll have to be shut up in a room 
 at Barton s." 
 
 " Your instructions are that he shall go there ? " 
 
 " That s the distressing fact, ma am." 
 
 As the constable spoke these words in a tone of sympathy, 
 he looked sharply at Mrs. Brome. He could not understand 
 her. She was so calm. 
 
 " Do you know any of the evidence on which it is expect 
 ed to sustain this charge ? " said Harry. 
 
 " Well, I can t say I do, but I heard Danrner say that he 
 could swear what Tom Darwin told me was true, because he 
 was with Darwin when it was done. I don t know as I ought 
 to say any thing about it, but that s all I know." 
 
 " That s what I or any body else could have guessed, and 
 you run no risk in telling it," returned Brome. 
 
 The constable did not like this response, and he said : 
 
 " Well, Mr. Brome, we needn t dispute, but we ll go to the 
 village as soon as you are ready.* 
 
 Harry looked at his mother inquiringly, and she said : 
 
 " Go, Harry, at once. Alice went over to Mr. Ilumis- 
 ton s to see Edith, who came home last night. We ll all 
 come down to see you when she returns." 
 
 " I am your prisoner, Mr. Sedley," said Harry. 
 
 The constable led the road and Harry followed, after whis 
 pering to his mother that Tickell must be seen before night. 
 
 Harry Brome had not been a prisoner at Barton s^-tarefn
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 283 
 
 half an hour before all the people of the village were discuss 
 ing the probabilities of his examination by the village Squire. 
 The bar-room was crowded, and the landlord did a " thriving " 
 business. 
 
 Mrs. Prime was not at all disappointed when the news of 
 the arrest reached her ears. Of course she had expected it. 
 But she was very sorry for Mrs. Brome. She would go at 
 once and suggest the consolations of religion to her. When 
 neighbors were in trouble it was Christian-like for their friends 
 to give them religious counsel. Immediately Mrs. Prime was 
 " fixed up " and on her way to Brome Cottage. It seemed 
 to her that it was a long time before her knock was answered. 
 But the folks were in trouble and she must exduse them, she 
 supposed. At length Mrs. Brome answered the summons in 
 person. 
 
 What a contrast there was in the appearance and bearing 
 of those two women as they met. One was calm, and digni 
 fied and commanding. Her dress was of plain, soft mate 
 rial, and without ornament. Mrs. Prime was restless, sus 
 picious, and forbidding. Two little tight curls, which peeped 
 out from the lining of her bonnet, were kept in perpetual 
 motion by her restlessness. She wore a plain black silk dress. 
 The sharp lines of its folds, as they fell over her thin frame, 
 were in keeping with the jealous severity of her character. 
 
 It always seemed to me that a generous-hearted, true wo 
 man should never wear harsh, black silk. There is a class of 
 narrow-minded, ill-tempered, severe women, with whose char 
 acteristics it is in keeping. They admire it ; it becomes 
 them ; and, as it is not in harrrfony with a liberal, hopeful 
 character, to disappointed, soured spinsters, and wives and 
 maidens who will be cross and jealous, and carry unhappi-
 
 284 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 nesa wherever they go, it ought by other women to be .wholly 
 surrendered. 
 
 But though, in plain silk, Mrs. Prime, with jewels and rib 
 bons, made quite a rich show. She never went visiting 
 or to church without giving her neighbors good reason to 
 believe that vanity, as well as gossip, was one of her charac 
 teristics, and, having an impression to make at Brome Cot 
 tage, as a matter of course, she appeared " to the best possi 
 ble advantage." 
 
 Mrs. Brome did not invite her in. She stood in the hall 
 with an inquiring expression on her countenance, which plain 
 ly enough said " Mrs. Prime, what is the occasion of your 
 call tliis morning ? " 
 
 " You will excuse me, Mrs. Brome, but really I have heard 
 that Mr. Brome had been taken by the constable this morn 
 ing, and I didn t know but you might be in trouble, and I 
 came to inquire if any of our church could render you any 
 assistance." 
 
 " I thank you, Mrs. Prime, for any sympathy you may 
 have, but you could afford us no aid. I know my son to be 
 the victim of a wicked conspiracy, and he needs no defense 
 which his character will not make for him." 
 
 " But it s terrible, Mrs. Brome, and you ll allow me to 
 recommend to you the- consolations of the Gospel." 
 
 " The same recommendation I have had before this morn 
 ing from your worthy minister, with whom I was conversing 
 when you knocked." 
 
 " Ah ! then my poor words come late, but you ll have my 
 prayers, Mrs. Brome." 
 
 * Thank you," said Mrs. Brome, bowing ; and Mrs. Prime 
 bowing in return, retreated, for she was not dull-of appro-
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 285 
 
 hension, and she had become convinced that she was not 
 needed at Brome Cottage. 
 
 As she went away she said to herself, " How she froze me 
 off. I never did like her. I can t have any more charity. 
 Parson Ilumiston ! yes, I ll warrant he s there. He s most 
 too thick there. I just believe Harry Brome will be con 
 victed, and then what ll Parson Humiston say ? " 
 
 Mrs. Brorne had no uncharitable remarks to make yfhen 
 she parted from Mrs. Prime, but very likely she could not 
 entertain very high respect for a person who, on the pretense 
 of giving pious consolation, would endeavor to intrude upon 
 her grief for the sake of getting materials for gossip. Poor 
 Mrs. Prime, her selfishness and vanity and jealousy were 
 transparent. She was one of a class which is quite numer 
 ous in even this day of " progress." When we are in deep 
 trouble true friends are rare, but often those are numerous 
 who pretend to give us sympathy for the sake of getting our 
 confidence, that they may know how weak or how hard 
 hearted we are, and make capital out of our infirmities.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE PRISONER. 
 
 HARRY BROME had been a prisoner for one day. His 
 mother and Alice, Parson Humiston and Edith Ilumiston, 
 his daughter, had visited him. He was stronger in spirit 
 than when his arrest was made, but he had yet been stronger 
 if Alice had not appeared overcome with painful fears and 
 conjectures. She would have been entirely prostrated, but 
 that she leaned in spirit as well as body, upon Edith Ilumis 
 ton, who was as dear as a sister to her. She was older and 
 sterner than Alice. They differed widely in appearance. 
 Timidity and reserve were to be read in Alice s deep-blue 
 eyes. Edith was tall and commanding. She was not un 
 womanly bold, but she was not timid. She had black hair, 
 and very black eyes. They were small, bright, keen eyes. 
 Alice had not feared to give Edith suspicions of her regards 
 for the man whom her brother was accused of having mur 
 dered, but how eloquently had she plead that brother s inno 
 cence ! Edith needed no eloquence to convince her of 
 Brome s innocence. She would riot have believed that he 
 could decoy a friend into the woods and murder him for his 
 money, even if his sister had feared that he was guilty. 
 
 (286)
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 287 
 
 During the visit of these friends, Brome had no oppor 
 tunity to ascertain satisfactorily what Tickell was doing 
 for him. Whenever company was permitted to enter his 
 prison-room, he was closely watched. But Mrs. Brome 
 had scarcely returned to Brome Cottage when Tickell slily 
 visited her, and she was assured that he was yet true to 
 their interests. Upon leaving Mrs. Brome with this assur 
 ance, he went to Barton s tavern, keenly on the alert for 
 any hints which might aid him in his determination to serve 
 Brome at the expense of the counterfeiters. He believed that 
 Joseph Etherege had not been killed, but that, in some safe 
 retreat about the village or in the woods, he was a prisoner 
 like Brome, at the mercy of the counterfeiters. To satisfy 
 himself whether his conjecture was true was now his purpose. 
 He mingled in the throng at Barton s, and was not modest in 
 his denunciations of Brome, but he met none of those from 
 whom he expected to derive advantage in the furtherance of 
 his design. He wished to meet either Mervin or Danmer, 
 or both. While he searched for them, they were in secret 
 council with Ley ton, Sandys, and Anstey. In that council 
 plans were fully arranged for the conviction of Brome before 
 the magistrate. The examination would take place the fol 
 lowing day. The " testimony" was all prepared. In com 
 pany with a village lawyer who had long been one of Brorne s 
 jealous enemies, the task of this preparation had been com 
 mitted to Deacon Anstey. Danmer s story was shrewdly 
 concocted, and he had learned his " lesson." This accom 
 plished, Mervin and Danmer were permitted to take leave of 
 the leading conspirators, and when they were gone, Sandys 
 said : 
 
 " I think it s a sure thing now. We need not appear in
 
 288 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 it at all ; Constable Sedley is completely our dupe, and he 
 can make out case enough to jug Mr. Brome till court time, 
 which is two months yet." 
 
 " It s all right, I think," answered Leyton. " Two 
 months are enough. We can all take care of ourselves in 
 that time." 
 
 " Maybe, and maybe not," said Anstey. " We ve got 
 to go on, I suppose, now, but we re only getting ourselves 
 deeper into the trouble, and I wish I was out of the whole 
 of it." 
 
 " As much of a coward as ever," retorted Sandys. " We 
 know you, Deacon Anstey, and there s no escape for you. 
 You must go on ; if you don t, you re a dead man, if I have 
 to shoot you myself. We re in a devil of a pickle now, that s 
 a fact, but we ve got to go through it, and then you can go to 
 the devil if you want to ; I m going somewhere else." 
 
 " I m not so much of a coward, Mr. Sandys, as to be 
 afraid of your shooting," answered Anstey, " but I m afraid 
 your somewhere else will be to the penitentiary, and that we 
 will all go together. If you d taken my advice long ago, 
 we would not have been in this pickle." 
 
 " Hold on ! " cried Leyton. "It s no use to quarrel 
 among ourselves now. Let s wait and see what s done to 
 morrow. I promised to see Lawyer Swift to-night, and it s 
 time I was hunting him up." 
 
 The parting between Sandys and Anstey was sullen. 
 Each was really afraid of the other. Sandys wxmld have 
 been glad to have seen .Anstey in limbo could he have 
 escaped himself ; and if any friend of Brome s had gained 
 Anstey s conBdence that night, he might have learned the 
 true cause of the young lawyer s imprisonment.
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 289 
 
 With fears and passions which threw him in a state of 
 mind justifying such conclusions, Anstey sought for Danmer. 
 He did not find him. Mervin, Danmer and Tickell had 
 accidentally met, and Mervin bantered Tickell to finish the 
 spree they began the night previous. Tickell was not slow 
 to accept this banter. It was a short spree, for Mervin had 
 important business to transact that night ; but before it was 
 over, Tickell learned that Anstey and Sandys somewhat 
 suspected him, and when Mervin left him to transact the 
 business on which he excused himself from longer remaining 
 in his company, Tickell had a curiosity to know the nature 
 of that business. He did not express that curiosity to his 
 companions, but he gratified it by following their footsteps. 
 They went to the office of Lawyer Swift, where they met 
 Leyton, with whom Mervin had a few moments secret con 
 versation. Then he took leave of Danmer, telling him he 
 would meet him early in the morning. Tickell cautiously 
 followed the outlaw. He was impressed that something im 
 portant to Brorne depended on his actions that night, and 
 he was determined to know whither he wandered and what 
 he did. 
 
 Mervin went down through the village, and crossed the 
 bridge over the falls of the river. There was no rnoon, but 
 it was a clear autumn night, and Tickell found no difficulty 
 in pursuing the conspirator. He followed the same path 
 Darwin took on the morning they met at the spring in the 
 woods. He walked rapidly, and sometimes talked to him 
 self. Tickell saw that he was bearing toward that part of 
 the forest where Etherege had disappeared, and his im 
 pression that with the fate of the missing man, Mervin s 
 business for the night had some association, grew stronger. 
 19
 
 290 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 For half an hour the pursuit was easy then the wind rose, 
 and occasional clouds crossed the sky Mervin was, by this 
 time, in the deep woods. lie drew a small lantern from his 
 coat pocket, and having lighted it, pushed forward with 
 quickened steps. Tickell s difficulties multiplied, but he 
 succeeded in keeping within sight of the lantern s glow. 
 Mervin climbed a hill and descended into a ravine. He 
 walked through this ravine till he reached a point where the 
 rocks were large and numerous. Then he halted and opened 
 his lantern so that it threw light on all sides. Tickell could 
 now more easily follow the conspirator, notwithstanding the 
 ruggedness of the path. He found himself at the opening 
 of a cave. His heart beat heavily his breath was almost 
 suspended. In his anxiety he forgot necessary caution**- 
 He stumbled over a fragment of a rock, and fell with a 
 groan. In an instant, Mervin threw the light of his lantern 
 in the direction of the groan, and saw Tickell gather himself 
 up. He did not recognize him, but he drew a pistol and 
 fired. The aim was not sure, and Tickell gained his feet 
 unharmed. With all his energy, he grasped a fragment of 
 rock and hurled it at the conspirator. The aim was better 
 than had been that of Mervin s pistol. The conspirator 
 was knocked down; his lantern was broken, and its light 
 extinguished. r
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 IT was cold, drizzly and dreary that day on which Harry 
 Brome was to be examined on suspicion that he, a young 
 Than who had borne a character previously above reproach, 
 had deceived a guest at his mother s house, under base pre 
 tense of friendship, and had murdered him for his money. 
 What dishonest speculation could he have engaged in, that 
 he so pressingly needed the money as to go to so terrible an 
 extremity to get it ? was a conjecture often indulged among 
 a portion of the villagers ; others said it was possible that 
 he did murder Etherege, but not for his money. Some 
 sudden quarrel must have arisen. Perhaps there was jeal 
 ousy between them perhaps he might have revenged him 
 self for some family insult, real or fancied. 
 
 These and many other suppositions were gossiped upon 
 as the number increased whom curiosity had brought to 
 gether to hear the examination. Notwithstanding the storm, 
 which grew colder as the day advanced, not only the citizens 
 of the village gathered in and around the tavern, but people 
 came from the country, anxious to learn all that had trans 
 pired, and all the stories about what was expected to trans- 
 
 (291)
 
 292 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 pire. There was no office in the town large enough to hold 
 half the people who wished to hear the trial. At length 
 Constable Sedley succeeded in obtaining the school-house. 
 The pupils were given a holiday in order that the curiosity 
 of their parents and friends might be gratified in hearing the 
 testimony which was expected to consign to infamy a feHow- 
 being, who was just then at the threshold of active life. 
 
 About ten o clock Squire Park carried his " authorities " to 
 the school-house. lie was followed by Constable Sedley, with 
 Brome in custody. The prisoner was accompanied by his 
 mother and sister. Parson Humiston and his daughter were 
 not far from the Brome family. Behind and around the 
 group which the constable conducted, swarmed men, women 
 and children, who were determined to see all that was to be 
 seen, and hear all that was to be heard. 
 
 Harry and his mother looked in vain among the faces star 
 ing at them, for Tickell s well-known features. They had 
 been expecting tidings from him since the evening previous. 
 Now they feared that his designs were suspected, and that 
 the counterfeiters had dealt foully with him. On the other 
 hand, the leading conspirators were disturbed by the non- 
 appearance of Mervin. When last seen, he had promised to 
 meet Danmer early in the morning. He had not again been 
 heard from. Could he have fled ? was he a traitor ? or had 
 he been waylaid ? He was a slippery fellow. When he did 
 not keep his appointments, there was reason to fear that he 
 had gone over to the enemy for a bigger bribe. 
 
 All this Deacon Anstey considered, and he was very ner 
 vous. Leyton did not show himself. Sandys was quite as 
 much disturbed as Anstey, but he could more successfully 
 conceal his inquietude.
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 293 
 
 Brome had so far depended on Tickell that he had not pre 
 pared even the form of a defense without him. His own 
 knowledge, combined with what Tickell was to secure proof of, 
 was, iu his judgment, sufficient to confound the conspirators 
 and expose their infamous designs. 
 
 Tickell had failed to furnish the aid promised, at the hour 
 when it could alone be made available in the examination. 
 Brome must meet it alone. His lawyer was a tried friend, and 
 a shrewd cross-questioner. He could be depended upon to 
 sift the " testimony " thoroughly. 
 
 The Squire opened his court; the witnesses were called, 
 and the examination proceeded in regular order. 
 
 It was proven that Brome and Etherege had gone away 
 from the village in a buggy. The farmer, of whom Etherege 
 bought land, testified to the particulars of their visit to him, 
 and he was required to dwell particularly on the fact that 
 Etherege had said he intrusted the use of his money to 
 Brome. Other testimony of a technical character was ad 
 duced; then it was proven that Brome returned to the village 
 in a great excitement that he showed to several persons a 
 handkerchief stained with blood, which had belonged to Eth 
 erege that thorough search had been made for Etherege. 
 
 When Constable Sedley was called upon the stand, he gave 
 clearly the incidents of the meeting with Darwin. Danmer 
 was the next witness. Brome s lawyer had not as yet cross- 
 examined one of the witnesses. He moved forward when 
 Danmer took the stand and gazed intently at him. Danmer 
 did not quail under the gaze. It had been anticipated that 
 Danmer would be the first witness, but in Lawyer Swift s 
 judgment, it was better that something of a case should be 
 made out before Mr. Danmer subjected himself to scrutiny.
 
 294 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 Just as Danmer had taken his oath, a note was handed to 
 Brorne. His face glowed as he read it. He showed it to 
 his mother, and her lace glowed mure brightly than her son s 
 had. His counsel read it without change of countenance and 
 put it iu his vest pocket, as if it \\ere of litde account, but 
 Danmer had noticed the interest with which Brume and 
 his mother perused it, and he was somewhat disconcerted. 
 He managed, however, to answer calmly, when Lawyer Swift 
 asked if he knew the prisoner. 
 
 " Did you see him on Saturday last? " 
 
 " Yes sir." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " I saw him at his mother s cottage in the morning, and 
 in the afr.ernoon I saw him in the woods below the village." 
 
 "What was he doing?" 
 
 " I had been chopping wood and was coming to the village 
 with Tom Darwin, who said he d been out shootin squirrels, 
 when I heard loud words. We listened a minute, and then 
 we hurried up and saw Mr. Brome and Mr. Etherege." 
 
 ; You had seen Etherege before? " said the lawyer. 
 
 " Yes sir several times." 
 
 " What were Mr. Etherege and Mr. Brome doing ? " 
 
 " Mr. Etherege was doing nothing. I thought Mr. Brome 
 had been striking him with his rifle. 1 was going to rush on 
 Brome, when Tom Darwin stopped me. He said he wanted 
 to see a fight between them fellows, and nobody should inter 
 fere. He d blow my brains out if I made a sign. I didn t 
 care about having my brains blown out, and I kept still. It 
 was good, Tom Darwin said ; Brome knew a little too much 
 about him, and now he d got him. Let him kill t other fel-
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 295 
 
 low. I knew Darwin didn t care what he did, and I was 
 afraid of him." 
 
 " What kind of a place was it where this affray occurred ? " 
 
 It was in a ravine which many folks know out there. 
 There s a big cave in the hill, and it was right close to this 
 cave. I was on top of the hill when I heard the noise." 
 
 " What did Brome do with Etherege after you came up?" 
 
 " He didn t do any thing. Echerege was dead then, as 
 near as I could see." 
 
 " Did you stay there and watch Brome ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And why didn t you ? " 
 
 " Tom Darwin wouldn t let me. lie said he d shoot me 
 if I didn t come away, and if I d keep still a few days he d 
 pay me." 
 
 " What was Darwin s motive for requiring you not to tell 
 what you had seen ? " 
 
 " 1 don t know. He didn t give me any reason, only that 
 he had a spite agin Brome, and he wasn t ready yet to blow 
 on him." 
 
 " Did you sec Brome strike Etherege ? " 
 
 " No, but I m sure he did." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I know from his actions. He cut up like a guilty man." 
 
 There had been a death-like stillness in the court-room. 
 When Lawyer Swift said he had asked all the questions he 
 thought necessary, there was a buzz of conversation, but it 
 stopped as he turned to Brome s lawyer and said, with a tri 
 umphant air: 
 
 " Take the witness." 
 
 Lawver Farlev looked sharplv at Danmer and said:
 
 296 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " You were a friend of Tom Darwin s ? " 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 " You know Deacon Anstey, and Grocer Sandys, and Bil 
 ly Mervin ? " 
 
 " Have seen them." 
 
 " Well, when did they concoct for you this story which 
 you have just told ? " 
 
 " I hope the witness will not be insulted," said Lawyer 
 Swift. 
 
 " Not at all," replied Farley. "It s a civil question. He 
 can answer it easily. Come, Mr. Danmer, give us the time." 
 
 The witness made no response. There had been a murmur 
 .of astonishment in the audience. Now all was hushed. 
 Deacon Anstey and Grocer Sandys were very much inter 
 ested. The witness was out of his " lesson." He was 
 thrown on his own resources. The deacon, and the grocer 
 were anxious to know how he would "dodge" the lawyer. 
 
 " You don t answer my question, Mr. Danmer," said the 
 lawyer. " Yonder is Mr. Anstey, and right behind you is 
 Mr. Sandys. They can correct you if you should not give 
 the right date." 
 
 " May it please the court," said Lawyer Swift, " I should 
 like to understand the motive of these insinuations against 
 the witness and other respectable citizens of this village." 
 
 " May it please the court," answered Lawyer Farley, " we 
 make no insinuations. We mean to show a conspiracy be 
 tween persons who are now .in this house, and some others, to 
 convict Mr. Brome of a crime which their confederates com 
 mitted. It is a conspiracy to prevent Mr. Brome from bring 
 ing them to justice for their villainy. The scheme was well 
 laid, but not so well that it cannot be exposed. We ask that
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 297 
 
 Mr. Sandys and Mr. Anstey be brought forward and detained 
 as witnesses for the defense. 
 
 The order desired in this request was given, and Deacon 
 Anstey and Grocer Sandys were brought within view of all 
 the spectators. They exchanged significantly perplexing 
 glances, and thought with serious emotion of what Brome 
 had seen them at in the forest. Neither of them had ever 
 in the slightest degree imagined that he could be put on the 
 witness sta nd for Brome. They were very impatient to know 
 what Lawyer Farley would ask next. 
 
 " May it please the court," said Lawyer Swift, " it is now 
 afternoon. It is past the usual time for adjournment. I 
 would suggest that the court take a recess." 
 
 " We beg the gentleman not to be quite so anxious. We 
 have no objection to a recess, but we shall demand that the 
 witness on the stand be taken into custody," said Farley. 
 
 " On what ground ? " demanded Swift. 
 
 " That he is perjured," replied Farley. 
 
 " This is a remarkable proceeding," said Swift. 
 
 " You will think it more remarkable still, when our evi 
 dence is all in," answered Farley. 
 
 There was a strange feeling of mingled hope and distrust 
 in the audience. The Squire felt it. Lawyer Swift per 
 ceived it, and rose to take advantage of it. 
 
 " May it please the court, I hope this irregular proceeding 
 on the part of the defense may be stopped. It is all founded 
 on presumption impudent presumption. There is not a par 
 ticle of proof " 
 
 " There is," rang shrilly from a voice in the back part of 
 the school -house. 
 
 At this moment the crowd swaved with excitement, and
 
 298 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 cries of " Clear the way," Clear the way," were uttered by 
 many voices. 
 
 From the central aisle the mass of men parted as if a 
 magical wand had fallen between them ; at the same time 
 two persons were hurried toward the bar. 
 
 " Etherege ! " cried Harry Broine. 
 
 " Tickell ! " cried Anstey and Sandys simultaneously, and 
 with the cry both rose to their feet. In the confusion they 
 would have dashed from the school-house, but Lawyer Farley 
 watched them, and he cried : 
 
 " Stop the conspirators! " 
 
 Anstey, Sandys and Danmer were immediately in safe 
 custody. 
 
 " The best laid schemes o mice an men 
 Gang aft a-glcy." 
 
 Of the meeting between Etherege and Brome and Mrs. 
 Brome, and Alice and Etherege, it is enough to say that, 
 there were cries of joy, and tears and congratulations, and 
 rapid questions and quick answers.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE LAST. 
 
 THE evening after Brome s examination, there was a 
 remarkable revolution in the public opinion of Cuyahoga 
 village. He, who had been a wretch for whom " hanging 
 was too good," was regarded as a deeply-injured young man 
 a shrewd, useful young man. It was strange, many 
 people said, that so much confidence had been put in the 
 charges of the conspiring counterfeiters. 
 
 What of these counterfeiters ? Tickell had managed to 
 inform himself of the treacherous designs of Tom Darwin, 
 and of the distrust Leyton and Sandys entertained for 
 Anstey. When he told the whole story of plotting and 
 counterplotting, the penitent deacon was quite vexed, and in 
 his vexation he talked wildly, so wildly that Tickell learned 
 fully the object of Colonel Leyton s visit to Cuyahoga village. 
 It was not hard, then, to persuade the deacon to agree to di 
 vulge all his knowledge of the counterfeiters, upon the assur 
 ance that he should escape the law s reward. Harry Brome 
 did not learn from the deacon the motives of Etherege s im 
 prisonment, but he did learn fully those for the subsequent 
 conspiracy against his own liberty. Etherege was able, 
 however, to tell a satisfactory story about his capture and 
 
 (299)
 
 300 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 detention. His friends were impatient for this story as soon 
 as congratulations on his escape had been given him. Before 
 the Brome family and friends left the school-house, many 
 questions were put to him. He answered them as fully as 
 was possible at the time, but while he and Harry, and Alice 
 and Edith, rode in a carriage from the village to Brome 
 Cottage, he detailed at length the story of his wrongs. He 
 said that Brome had not been absent from him more than a 
 quarter of an hour, when a blow from an unexpected and 
 unseen foe, felled him to the ground. He was rendered 
 insensible. When his consciousness returned, he was a 
 prisoner, in a lone, dark, damp cell, and Tom Darwin was 
 his companion. 
 
 " Where am I ? What am I a prisoner for?" were his 
 first words. 
 
 " You re in my jail," answered Darwin with an oath, 
 " and you ll stay here till you learn the fun of spying after 
 other folks s business."- 
 
 " Where is Harry Brome ? What has been done to 
 him ? " 
 
 " Nothing yet" said Darwin with a sinister smile. " lie 
 has gone home to tell his folks that you re lost or murdered. 
 They ll hunt you, but they ll not find you. You re safe." 
 
 " Safe ! " answered Etherege, " in the power of an out 
 law an unscrupulous counterfeiter ? Why not murder me 
 at once ?" 
 
 " That wouldn t suit my purpose," returned Darwin with 
 provoking calmness. 
 
 Securely bound, Etherege was too much of a philosopher 
 to indulge impotent rage, and he endeavored to speak calmly 
 to his jailor and learn the cause of his imprisonment, but
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 301 
 
 Darwin only taunted him. He was compelled to lose his 
 temper or be silent. The outlaw went out from the cell, and 
 was absent several hours. When he returned he was accom 
 panied by Billy Mervin, and, from their conversation, the 
 prisoner learned that his friends at the village were alarmed, 
 and that thorough search was to be made for him. When 
 his captors left him alone again, he hallooed until his 
 strength failed him, in hope some one searching for him 
 would hear the cry. He had no idea, however, of the lo 
 cality of his prison. For aught he knew, it might be some 
 subterranean vault in the village. His calls for help were 
 therefore given with forlorn hope. There was no light in his 
 cell. He could not distinguish between night and day. 
 Before the second morning of his imprisonment arrived, it 
 seemed to him that many days and many nights must have 
 passed. He could take no note of time. When Mervin 
 and Darwin left him, they had loosened the cords with which 
 his arms were tied, and he had slipped his hands from them. 
 He would have groped about his dungeon, but he feared 
 some trap was left, some pitfall, by which his life would be 
 destroyed, and he dared not venture many steps. He could 
 have welcomed death, but that he hoped for rescue. It was 
 not a flattering tale hope told, but there was encouragement 
 enough in it to render the prisoner tenacious of life. During 
 the first hours, or, as they seemed to him days, of his imprison 
 ment, this tenacity was a sustaining power. It grew weaker 
 and weaker, until he deliberately made up his mind that he 
 must die, in darkness, a lingering death, and no friend ever 
 know his sad fate. No one came to bring him food or drink. 
 When first imprisoned he would have spurned it, but he grew 
 weak and faint, then hungry intensely, desperately thirsty
 
 302 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 and hungry. He felt his strength departing. His gnawing 
 hunger and burning thirst seemed to have consumed them 
 selves, and he was left reckless of life; he prayed for death. 
 He thought of the world and all its gladness for a young, 
 healthful, hopeful man, and he wished for death. Whether 
 he thought of Brome Cottage and its inmates especially, he 
 did not say, but his eyes told tales which were, to those who 
 listened, a satisfactory revelation that bitter regrets were 
 blended with his forced resignation. 
 
 He wondered how long a man could live without nourish 
 ment. He wished to calculate how many days had passed 
 since he was taken prisoner. He could not decide satisfac 
 torily, not because he had not been informed of the power 
 of human endurance, but he could not estimate how much 
 strength had gone from him. At times he was resolute 
 again he was faint and weak. He passed into a state of 
 forgetfulness it was not sleep it was only forgetfulness of 
 his present situation. He lived over again scenes which were 
 dear in his memory. Sweet pleasure surrounded him, when 
 he was startled by a sharp cry a flash of light pained his 
 eyes. Some one shook him and spoke kind words to him. 
 He aroused himself enough to ask : 
 
 " Where am I ? " 
 
 " With a friend, who comes from Harry Brome. Get out 
 of this dungeon quick, for God s sake," was the answer. 
 
 Leaning upon the friend who thus encouraged him, Ether- 
 ege was assisted from the dungeon into a large underground 
 chamber, where daylight dimly shone. He was too weak to 
 ask explanations. He submitted himself to his guide, and 
 was conducted into the open air. Then he was assisted over 
 and around rocks which jutted from a hill-side. When he
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 303 
 
 reached the bottom of a deep ravine, his guide showed him a 
 horse and wagon. Disguised in a farmer s slouched hat and 
 great coat, he was driven to Cuyahoga village, and ushered 
 into the place where his friend Brome was undergoing exam 
 ination on suspicion of being his murderer. lie recovered 
 his astonishment just in time to complete the " argument" 
 Brome s counsel had interposed to expose the counterfeiters 
 conspiracy. Tickell had told his story of Etherege s rescue 
 to Brome at the school-house, and when Etherege concluded, 
 Harry briefly sketched Tickell s exploits, beginning with 
 incidents which the course of our Romance has revealed. 
 
 When Tickell was left in the cave with Mervin, he dared 
 not call for fear his voice would tell the outlaw where to 
 make a fresh attack, not knowing whether that individual 
 was seriously or slightly wounded. He held his breath and 
 listened. He heard deep groans, then oaths, then the ex 
 clamation : 
 
 " Come out there, whoever you are; if you wasn t bored 
 when I shot, you needn t be afeard. You did the business 
 for me." 
 
 Tickell did not know whether to believe this a sham or 
 the fact, and he kept quiet. 
 
 Again and again, the outlaw cursed and called. His voice 
 grew weaker. lie swore he was dying. He said: 
 
 " I know it my time s come, and I ll tell you that fellow 
 you re after s here, but I ll be damned if you ll find him. 
 If you d let me alone a little while, I d fixed him." 
 
 " Damned you ll be, then, Billy Mervin, for I will find 
 him," cried Tickell, assured that Mervin could do him no 
 harm. 
 
 " Holy Mother ! you traitor dog," groaned Mervin.
 
 304 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 " Take it easy," Billy, responded Tickell, " the game 
 is up." 
 
 Mervin answered with curses, and Tickell groped his way 
 toward the spot, whence the curses proceeded. Accident 
 ally his foot struck some light object. He picked it up, and 
 to his joy discovered that it was Mervin s lantern. Tickell 
 was a smoker, and had with him the means of striking a 
 light. In a moment he was enabled to examine the extent 
 of Mervin s injury. He was not so badly hurt that Tickell 
 dared trust him, and he tied his arms with his handkerchief, 
 and then promised he would help him to escape if he would 
 tell him where to find Etherege. 
 
 The stone Tickell hurled struck Mervin on the breast. 
 He was not hurt as badly as he feared. Tickell had no 
 doubt he would recover, and told him so. 
 
 Mervin cursed and threatened for some time, but when 
 he became satisfied that he was securely in Tickell s power, 
 and that there was hope of his recovery if he could be 
 taken care of, he consented to give Tickell directions which 
 led him to the dungeon where Etherege pined. 
 
 Tickell at once assured himself that Mervin did not 
 deceive, and when daylight came, he went to the nearest 
 farm-house, procured a horse and wagon, and conveyed the 
 outlaw to his own house in the village. He left there the 
 note which was handed to Brome in the school-house, after 
 the examination had opened, then, in hot haste, returned to 
 the cave, and rescued the prisoner. 
 
 While the people of Cuyahoga village were gossiping 
 about the remarkable operations of the counterfeiters, and 
 the circumstances of the acquittal of Brome, Tickell ar 
 ranged for the pursuit of Colonel Leyton, who, early on the
 
 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 305 
 
 morning of the examination, had disappeared. The hand 
 some, accomplished Colonel, he who, while scheming to 
 defraud on a large scale, had been a favored guest of the 
 proudest citizens of not only Cuyahoga village, but of larger 
 towns in Ohio, was arrested and thrown into prison. Sub 
 sequently, upon the testimony of Tickell and Anstey, he and 
 Grocer Sandys were sent in company to the penitentiary. 
 
 Meantime Constable Sedley was ordered to New Orleans to 
 check the scheme for defrauding people of foreign lands, 
 which Anstey had divulged. It was discovered that a ship 
 had been purchased and was partly laden with stores. Sev 
 eral of the " stockholders" were arrested ; others escaped 
 and became restless wanderers, fleeing from justice fearing 
 recognition shunning observation. 
 
 When the excitement attending his rescue and its results 
 had passed away, Joseph Etherege fell violently sick. For 
 several weeks his life was in imminent danger, but after a 
 favorable crisis, he recovered rapidly. During his illness a 
 " ministering angel" often brought sunshine to his bedside, 
 sunshine that warmed his heart. When his health returned 
 he begged the company, the consolation, the sympathy of 
 that " angel" through health as well as sickness, so long as 
 both should live. 
 
 It was Christmas eve. A gay company had assembled at 
 Brome Cottage. There were two brides and two grooms 
 in that company. The drifting snow and the whistling winds 
 were unheeded. The houseless, the homeless, on that stormy 
 night were forgotten by the merry revelers, who were rejoic 
 ing in the happiness present and in prospect. 
 
 20
 
 306 The Counterfeiters of the Cuyahoga. 
 
 Suddenly there was a wild alarm. A startling cry rang 
 on the night air. It was " FIRE ! FIRE ! ! " 
 
 A portion of Brome Cottage was in flames. The wedding 
 guests were driven into the night-storm. Brides and grooms, 
 male and female guests, were soon engaged with hot and 
 nervous energy in efforts to subdue the flames. Water 
 enough could not be procured. The wind was high. Be 
 fore citizens of the village could reach the scene of painful 
 disaster, the handsome cottage was wrapped in flames. Only 
 a small portion of its valuable furniture was snatched from 
 the fire. 
 
 " An incendiary did this," every body said. The morning 
 after the fire, a man was found near the cottage frozen to 
 death. He was recognized as Billy Mervin. In his death 
 grasp, he had an expired torch. 
 
 He had avenged, in his wicked way, the death of Darwin. 
 
 Tickell had kept him at his house several weeks, and 
 would have kept him longer, but one night, though weak and 
 penniless, he secretly crept away. 
 
 The people of the village never saw him, but Barton the 
 landlord knew he was not far distant, and Barton also knew 
 that, on Christmas eve, he was very drunk, and had made 
 mysterious threats. 
 
 " The way of the transgressor is hard." 
 
 Anstey was obliged to move west. Tickell chose to emi 
 grate westward also, and so did Barton, whose tavern had 
 become a place of bad repute. 
 
 Brome Cottage was not rebuilt, but Harry Brome and 
 Edith his wife, and Mrs. Brome his mother, had a happy 
 home in the village, and there was another happy home 
 there, and Mr. Joseph Etherege and Mrs. Alice Etherege 
 were its master and its mistress.
 
 THE 
 
 Bright Eye of the Settlement.
 
 THE BRIGHT EYE OF THE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 "WHEN?" 
 
 " At seven o clock, on Thursday morning. We start at 
 eight." 
 
 " All right. You can depend on me." 
 
 These words were exchanged by two young men in the 
 shaded streets of a quiet New England village. 
 
 They had been schoolmates, and were intimate friends. 
 One was about to take leave of the associations of his youth, 
 and of his early manhood the other had been invited to 
 witness a ceremony which would unite to his friend, through 
 sickness and health, through prosperity and adversity, one 
 who had been to both of them a playmate in youth, but who 
 had been more than a playmate to the elder in manhood. 
 For a few days there had been wide-spread excitement in 
 the little town. A colony for emigration had been organized. 
 The bride and groom of Thursday morning were to join tho 
 band of emigrants. They would be the youngest married 
 people in it. 
 
 (30D)
 
 310 The Bright Eye of the Settlement. 
 
 The morn was propitious. There was a joyful wedding 
 then there were prayerful good wishes, and sad partings. 
 
 The honeymoon had passed, and autumn succeeded sum 
 mer ; when, in the midst of a prairie, whose regular undula 
 tions reminded the settlers of the ocean, from whose shores 
 they had come, nearly a score of pleasant cottages surrounded 
 a small, white church, and a white school-house. 
 
 Remote from other settlements, rarely having society 
 other than that which they found among themselves, being 
 congenial in tastes and opinions, the New England settlers 
 were more cordial much more closely interested in each 
 other s prosperity or adversity than they had been in the 
 village from which they emigrated. 
 
 From gardens around their dwellings they had gathered 
 one rich crop ; and a second time flowers had bloomed for 
 them in the apparently boundless field, which stretched away 
 in beautiful lines toward the distant horizon when the cen 
 sus of their colony numbered one more than it did on the 
 morning their white church was dedicated. There had not 
 been a death and the youngest bride was a mother. 
 
 The little immigrant was what all the maids and all the 
 matrons called a sweet babe. He was a large, fair child, 
 with light, curling hair, and expressive countenance, and 
 clear, blue eyes. 
 
 When he grew large enough to run out of doors, and the 
 men met him, as they went to or came from their labors, they 
 called him Bright Eyes. The women often talked of him as
 
 The Bright Eye of the Settlement. 311 
 
 a promising child, and all were proud of him as the first-born 
 of the settlement. 
 
 Remarkable for beauty, intelligence, and goodness, when 
 he was two years old the settlers were, toward him, as one 
 family. The women were hard workers ; the men had rough 
 hands and bronzed faces, but they had tender hearts. Fre 
 quently, pains were taken to save nice presents of cake or 
 pie for Bright Eyes, and sometimes a settler took many steps 
 out of his way to carry him a flower, or a handful of berries. 
 
 Recognizing a bond of union in love for a little child, the 
 colonists were happier than men often are where honors and 
 riches command the choicest and rarest of the peculiar priv 
 ileges of refined society. 
 
 Whether over all the prairie the fresh beauty of spring, 
 the maturing glory of summer, or the pensive loveliness of 
 autumn attracted attention whether deep snow reflected the 
 winter sun, or cutting wind swept dark clouds over the set 
 tlement, the colonists had time for, and took pleasure in, cheer 
 ful, social gatherings, singing-schools, and prayer-meetings. 
 
 Often, old and young meeting together, social visiting, 
 singing lessons, and concert of prayer blended their attrac 
 tions, their enjoyments, and their consolations. 
 
 On a dark night, in the last winter month, at one of those 
 reunions, a few words, whispered from ear to ear, sad- 
 ened every heart, and put a new fervor into the closing* 
 prayer. 
 
 Bright Eyes, the child around which the pride and affec 
 tion of the settlement clustered, had been suddenly taken ill. 
 
 In childish enterprise and glee he clambered afcer some 
 pictures on a book-shelf, and had fallen. lie did not, at 
 first, appear to be much hurt, and his father joined the win-
 
 312 The Bright Eye of the Settlement. 
 
 ter-evening party. But before the hour at which the settlers 
 were expected to seek their homes, a violent fever disturbed 
 his brain, and filled his mother s heart with grievous appre 
 hensions. 
 
 Though the succeeding morning was severely cold, and a 
 fierce wind filled the air with drifting snow, scarcely had the 
 day broken, ere the sad news was known at every fireside, 
 that the hope of the settlement was dangerously ill with fever 
 in a brain unusually developed. There, around a neat cot 
 tage, near the church, centered the entire interest of all the 
 settlers. Little Bright Eyes knew no rest. Soon he did not 
 know his father or his mother. Violent spasms seized him, 
 and irregular moans expressed a most painful struggle be 
 tween firm disease and a strong frame. 
 
 At length, while his father held him in his arms, and his 
 mother kneeled by his side, watching for a last look of rec 
 ognition, he sank into a deep stupor, from which death took 
 him peacefully. 
 
 It was Sabbath morning. Little children in their classes 
 at Sunday-school were told that Bright Eyes had gone to 
 heaven. 
 
 In the white church, that day, a sermon from this text, 
 " Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not," 
 moved the sternest men, as well as the tenderest women. 
 The head of the household from which Bright Eyes had been 
 taken was the preacher. 
 
 Every settler felt then that affliction hath bonds of union 
 closer than the ripest pleasure can furnish. To each other 
 they renewed those vows, the keeping of which would enable 
 their beloved pastor to lead them the way Bright Eyes had 
 gone.
 
 The Bright Eye of the Settlement. 313 
 
 On the following evening, when the first-born of the prai 
 rie was laid in his little grave, every man, woman and child 
 able to brave piercing cold, heard the clods fall on his coffin. 
 Their hearts bled in sympathy. The pastor knew that the 
 shadow which had fallen over his threshold, crossed also every 
 threshold in the settlement. 
 
 At his saddened home he took leave of his people in only 
 these words : " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken 
 away. The Lord chasteneth whom he loveth. Blessed be 
 the name of the Lord." 
 
 Whoever visits now the village of , in 
 
 county, Iowa, may witness mutual respect and forbearance 
 among all the people, from children in the street to men at 
 their business, and women in their homes, which will puzzle 
 his understanding as much as it will challenge his admiration 
 unless, spending a Sabbath there, he hears the village pastor 
 preach the Gospel, and, affected by his pensive countenance, 
 learns the story, I have poorly told, of The Bright Eye of 
 the Settlement. 
 
 The features of this story, as true to real occurrence as 
 my pen can make them, furnish a striking contrast to the fea 
 tures of a story, which faithfully depicts pioneer life, as it 
 was in the west fifty years ago.
 
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 FEB 1 2 1986 
 
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