LINCOLN ROOM 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 MEMORIAL 
 
 the Class of 1901 
 
 founded by 
 
 HARLAN HOYT HORNER 
 
 and 
 HENRIETTA CALHOUN HORNER
 

 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906 
 BY THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 I. The Wolf-dog i 
 
 II. In Old Kentucky 9 
 
 III. Young Thomas Lincoln 23 
 
 IV. Peidy, the Heifer 47 
 
 V. The Search for Sarah 57 
 
 VI. Wayne in the Wilderness 67 
 
 VII. The Infare 77 
 
 VIII. The Wolf-dog Again 89 
 
 IX. Inquiring for Sarah 101 
 
 X. The Cathedral Under the Trees 107 
 
 XI. Sleeping Under the Wagon 123 
 
 XII. The Messisago Chief 133 
 
 XIII. Mad Anthony Wayne 143 
 
 XIV. The Battle of Fallen Timbers 149 
 
 XV. The Treaty of Greenville 155
 
 CHAPTER. PAGEi 
 
 XVI. A Strange Indian Wayfarer 161 
 
 XVII. The Kikapoo 169 
 
 XVIII. Sarah? 175 
 
 XIX. The Return of Sarah 181 
 
 XX. Sarah's Stories of the Deep Forests 197 
 
 XXI. The Captive Daughter 207 
 
 XXII. Wayne Comes Back < 217 
 
 XXIII. Abraham Lincoln's Mother 223 
 
 XXIV. The Little Girl Who Died 239 
 
 XXV. Facing the Wilderness and Life 245 
 
 XXVI. The Wolf-dog's Strange Conduct 257 
 
 XXVII. The Design from which our Story was 
 
 Drawn 263
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Nancy Started up; "Sarah," She Called Doubtfully, 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
 Thomas Threw Himself on the Ground 26 
 
 Mother Berry Offers Little Turtle a Dish of Corn.. 138 
 
 Sarah's Return 182 
 
 Thomas Beckons "Come," but the Dog Won't Follow . 260
 
 A HEROINE 
 OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 
 
 " What's that?" asked Mother 
 Berry, as she stood by the fireplace. This 
 was in Kentucky near the close of the eight- 
 eenth century. "It sounds like a wolf-dog. 
 I have heard it before. I'll open the door 
 and listen." 
 
 "Cry-ee-ei!" came echoing from the tim- 
 ber. "Yes, I've heard that same cry be- 
 fore, and it goes to my heart ; there is some- 
 thing pitiful in it." 
 
 "Right you are, wife," said her husband. 
 "There's something out of the common in 
 
 i
 
 2 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 that cry. I reckon it comes from the same 
 dog that I raised my gun to shoot when 
 something staid my hand. I didn't tell you 
 about it for fear you might laugh at me for 
 hesitating to kill a wolf-dog." 
 
 "How did he look?" asked Mrs. Berry. 
 
 "He was a young dog, and handsome for 
 one of his sort. He saw me taking aim, 
 but instead of sneaking away, he rose up on 
 his hind feet and stood before me as if offer- 
 ing himself for a target. I hesitated, with 
 my finger on the trigger. He seemed to beg 
 for mercy ; to wish to come towards me in a 
 friendly way, somehow, to be acquainted 
 with man ; then he dropped down on his feet 
 and moved away slowly. He acted as if 
 there was something he would like to say to 
 me. It was the strangest conduct on the 
 part of a wild animal, especially on the part 
 of a young timber wolf, that I ever knew." 
 
 * ' Cry cry ee ei ! ' ' 
 
 < t There it is again. Do you suppose he is
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 3 
 
 a spirit wolf of the timber? People say 
 there are such things." 
 
 "No," said Mr, Berry, "there was noth- 
 ing fierce in his look. He seemed rather 
 anxious to be friendly, and as if he wanted 
 to come and lick my hand. That made me 
 merciful to him, and I let him go back to 
 his own. No, not to his own, for something 
 stranger yet happened. A pack of timber 
 wolves came skitting by, and when they saw 
 him they tried to fall on him. He ran from 
 them, crossed my track again, stood still for 
 a moment, held up his paws again shyly, 
 and, once more gave me a friendly, wistful 
 look. It was the only look of that sort I 
 ever saw in a wolf-dog's face. I raised my 
 gun again, when he set up a cry, and sud- 
 denly vanished among the rocks. That 
 look has haunted me. It was a real wolf- 
 dog, and nearly white." 
 
 "It's all very curious," said Mrs. Berry. 
 "I should be tempted to feed a dog with a
 
 4 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 cry like that. It has some strange history. 
 I never heard such a tone of distress and 
 appeal in the cry of a wolf-dog before. It 
 sounds almost human." 
 
 "I have a notion about that cry," said 
 her husband. "The Indians sometimes 
 capture a young wolf-dog when they find a 
 pack unusually sleek and handsome, and 
 bring it up in their huts or wigwams. Sav- 
 age and wild as a wolf is, such a pup be- 
 comes much attached to its owner, and they 
 say other wolves turn against it if it runs 
 wild again. There may be some Indian 
 who has made a pet of this particular dog. 
 Or, maybe some lone Indian woman 
 brought up this little one as her own pet. 
 She may have been wandering out of sight 
 of him, or she may have lost him. He is 
 no common beast, he knows something that 
 other wolf-dogs don't." 
 
 "Very well, then, we'll spare him if he
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 5 
 
 comes near the house, unless he does mis- 
 chief. ' l 
 
 Mrs. Berry had scarcely spoken these 
 words when the dog appeared in full view 
 in the open timber. He ran along, with 
 his head turned towards the house. 
 
 "He looks as if he had lost something," 
 said Mr. Berry. "I won't shoot him now. 
 The chances are that he is some Indian's 
 tame dog, and not likely to do harm." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Berry stood outside the 
 door. The animal moved along the timber 
 in the shadows of the low sunlight, as if 
 seeking a better acquaintance with them, 
 but too timid to venture nearer. Then he 
 slowly passed from view into the under- 
 brush, when he raised once again the soli- 
 tary cry 
 
 "oo-oo-ei!" 
 
 The sun went down red across the tim- 
 ber. It was autumn, and occasionally the 
 wind shook the trees, making leaves fall in
 
 6 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 russet showers. Night came on. The hun- 
 ter's moon arose like a night sun, in full 
 orbed glory. Mr. and Mrs. Berry went 
 back into their cabin, kindled a fire of pine 
 knots, sat down to their meal of bacon and 
 hominy, and talked of the strange conduct 
 of the wolf-dog. 
 
 " Somehow," said Mrs. Berry, with tears 
 rushing from her eyes, "I feel as though 
 that wolf-dog is connected with Sarah." 
 
 Sarah was the lost child of the family. 
 She had been stolen by the Indians some 
 years before, and, though search had been 
 made wherever possible, not even a trace 
 had been found of her. 
 
 The Berry cabin stood in the neighbor- 
 hood known as Beechlands, and the cane 
 brakes and the cathedral-like woods sur- 
 rounded them wherein could be found many 
 elk and deer. The sunsets were alive with 
 the wings of wild fowl. The honks of the 
 wild goose trumpeted through the air. It
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 7 
 
 was called the Wilderness, though it was far 
 from being uninhabited. There were many 
 neighbors, to most of whom the Berrys were 
 related. 
 
 Thomas Lincoln, who is now best known 
 as the father of Abraham Lincoln, was a lad 
 of the neighborhood at this time, a wonder- 
 ful lad, with the customary greeting of 
 "How fare ye all?" and the farewell of 
 "Good day to ye all." Like his more cel- 
 ebrated son, he was a famous story teller. 
 He was a rude backwoodsman, in whom was 
 a spark of genius. The spark flamed when 
 religion became a topic of conversation, or 
 when he had a story that sounded patriarch- 
 ial and which he liked to repeat in the tone 
 and spirit of the backwoods preachers.
 
 CHAPTEE II 
 
 IN OLD KENTUCKY 
 
 ABOUT the time that some of the people 
 of the American Colonies were be- 
 ginning their disputes with King George 
 and his Ministers over unjust taxes, there 
 were some whose thoughts turned more to 
 the Far West, to the lands beyond the Alle- 
 ghenies, concerning which marvellous 
 stories had been told by a few adventurous 
 travelers. It may seem strange that, one 
 hundred and fifty years after the settlement 
 of the colonies, there was so little known 
 about that portion of our country now teem- 
 ing with millions of people ; but there were 
 good reasons for this situation. The 
 country east of the Alleghenies was still 
 sparsely settled, except in some sections 
 
 9
 
 10 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 near the sea-coast. There were few woods 
 or even trails over the mountains and, 
 moreover, it was long uncertain who owned 
 the Mississippi Valley. 
 
 After the discovery of America it was 
 wholly or in part claimed by various sov- 
 ereigns of Europe on different pretexts. 
 These sovereigns had a cheerful way of 
 granting to friends generous slices of ter- 
 ritory, usually under some charter, to pro- 
 mote colonizations. Not only did these 
 kings and queens frequently give what 
 didn't belong to them or was, at least, in 
 dispute, but they often gave away the same 
 land to different persons, with unfortunate 
 results. The French claim to any territory 
 east of the Mississippi and north of Flor- 
 ida was given up to Great Britain at the 
 close of the French and Indian War; and 
 very soon there was an intense desire of 
 people on the outskirts of civilization to get 
 across the Alleghenies so as to possess these
 
 IN OLD KENTUCKY 11 
 
 rich lands, not that there was any need to 
 go so far to find either unoccupied land or 
 wild game ; for there was plenty of it on the 
 eastern slope. There are about three times 
 as many people in Pennsylvania to-day as 
 there were in the thirteen Colonies in 1760. 
 But the mountains seemed constantly to 
 beckon the settlers. The wilderness had an 
 irresistible fascination. Thousands left 
 comfortable homes and comparative luxury 
 to go west and share the dangers and ex- 
 citements of pioneer life. In that day 
 there was a great desire to own as much 
 land as possible. When Virginia permit- 
 ted settlers to get lands in Kentucky almost 
 for the asking, many rushed through the 
 gaps to pick out the most desirable loca- 
 tions. 
 
 Daniel BooBe, born in Pennsylvania, was 
 the Kentucky pioneer who revealed this 
 section to previously inhabited America; 
 and his many heroic combats with Indians
 
 12 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and wild beasts gave him a reputation that 
 is still lasting. He wandered first to North 
 Carolina, and then through Cumberland 
 Gap reached Kentucky and roamed through 
 the rich lands, supported by his unerring 
 rifle. After him came first the pioneers 
 who blazed the trails, located lands, and 
 then went back for their families. The 
 War of the Revolution checked the west- 
 ward movement; but when peace was re- 
 stored, it was renewed on a large scale. 
 Many of the settlers were soldiers who re- 
 ceived pay in lands. Almost all of them 
 were of English or Scotch-Irish descent. 
 Most of the English came from Virginia, 
 though some were from other Colonies as 
 far north as Massachusetts. 
 
 The Scotch-Irish were the most numer- 
 ous. They were descended from the Scotch 
 people who were settled in the North of 
 Ireland for some generations, and then, to 
 the number of one-sixth of our total popu-
 
 IN OLD KENTUCKY 13 
 
 lation at the Declaration of Independence 
 came to this country. Great numbers 
 first settled in the Cumberland Valley, and 
 thence passed into the Shenandoah Valley, 
 in Virginia, and on to Kentucky. 
 
 In such great numbers did these people 
 reach Kentucky that it became a state in 
 1792, and already contained many noted 
 men. Kentucky is, according to its physi- 
 cal characteristics, divided into two sections. 
 The Western portion is comparatively level 
 and the soil is perhaps the richest in the 
 world, except that of Western Illinois. 
 Here are the famous Blue Grass farms, 
 where tobacco, hemp, horses, mules and fat 
 cattle are raised in abundance. Here many 
 of the people became rich in a brief space of 
 time; and among them Henry Clay was a 
 political leader for fifty years. 
 
 The Eastern section is mountainous, and 
 full of fertile valleys. Here many of the 
 settlers preferred to remain rather than
 
 14 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 seek the richer lowlands beyond. They 
 cared little that there were few opportuni- 
 ties for wealth. Few of them desired the 
 luxuries of life. It was not difficult to 
 make a living, and that was all they wanted, 
 along with freedom. There is a very old 
 saying that mountaineers are always free. 
 The people of Switzerland have maintained 
 their independence for nearly a thousand 
 years, and those of Scotland from time im- 
 memorial. The people of Scotch blood, 
 many of Scotch birth, found in the moun- 
 tains of Kentucky exactly the conditions 
 that suited them; plenty of land, plenty of 
 game, and plenty of liberty. There these 
 people and their descendants have lived for 
 nearly one hundred and fifty years, and this 
 section of the country has changed less than 
 any other, until those living to-day are the 
 same types as the first settlers. 
 
 The families intermarried until there 
 arose great clans much as in Scotland; and
 
 IN OLD KENTUCKY 15 
 
 the family feuds that have made so much 
 sensation are quarrels between descendants 
 of men who used to draw the claymore and 
 fight in the days of the Douglas and Robert 
 Bruce. 
 
 The pioneers took with them all that was 
 necessary for making a living, and that was 
 not a great deal. Every wife had her loom 
 and spinning wheel. In every neighbor- 
 hood there was a blacksmith shop, where 
 rifles were made; and it was such rifles as 
 these which annihilated the British, first 
 at King's Mountain in the War of the Rev- 
 olution, and afterwards under Jackson at 
 New Orleans in the War of 1812. 
 
 The men built rude cabins with their 
 axes. Sheep, hogs and horses came from 
 the East. Fortunately two of the great ne- 
 cessities of frontier life were abundant. 
 Salt was found in numerous springs, while 
 caves abounded with salt-petre, from which 
 powder was made.
 
 16 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 And so, though the pioneers lived in a 
 state of rude civilization, they were gen- 
 erally comfortable. Their few wants were 
 easily supplied. The women had the hard- 
 est time. They worked early and late. 
 They spun the flax, carded the wool, and 
 wove the linen, jeans and linsey-woolsey 
 from which all the garments were made. 
 They picked the geese for feather-beds. 
 They made the gardens and did constant 
 household work, while the men had more 
 leisure in which to race horses, talk politics, 
 or drink the whiskey made by themselves. 
 
 They were a generous-hearted, brave and 
 impetuous people. Theft was almost un- 
 known; but angry passions rose rapidly in 
 political debates or at any imputation 
 against honor. The people were intelli- 
 gent, but generally uneducated. There 
 were no public schools, and few of any 
 kind. Occasionally a schoolmaster w r ould 
 teach a " subscription school," but there
 
 IN OLD KENTUCKY 17 
 
 were few mountaineers who could do more 
 than read a very little and write their 
 names ; while many could not even do that. 
 But they were a religious people, and trav- 
 eling ministers always had large congrega- 
 tions. In their homes the people discussed 
 religion even more than politics, and that 
 is saying a great deal. 
 
 It was among these people that Abraham 
 Lincoln was born, and this is the story of 
 his mother, Nancy Hanks, a remarkable 
 woman, even if she had little education, ac- 
 cording to our ideas. 
 
 In Northwestern Kentucky, in what is 
 now called Washington county, there were 
 settled in the latter part of the 18th century 
 a number of people mostly of English de- 
 scent. It was in the rolling part of the 
 state, far west of the mountains and border- 
 ing on the Blue Grass. Among these set- 
 tlers were the Lincolns, usually called Lin- 
 kerns or Linkhorns. The family originally
 
 18 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 came from Massachusetts, settled for a time 
 in Pennsylvania, not very far from Phil- 
 adelphia, where they were neighbors of the 
 Boones, one of whom was the noted Daniel. 
 From Pennsylvania the Lincolns went by 
 way of Virginia to a place called Beechland 
 in Kentucky, not far from Louisville. 
 
 Among their neighbors were the Ifcfrrys, 
 kind hearted, substantial people, related by 
 marriage to the Lincolns and the Hankses. 
 The chief troubles were with the Indians. 
 When the white men came there were no red 
 men living in Kentucky, nor apparently had 
 there been for many years. It was the 
 hunting ground for many tribes, North and 
 South, and although for some reason they 
 did not care to live there, they were deter- 
 mined the white men should not, because 
 they knew it would destroy their game. 
 
 Most of these visiting Indians lived north 
 of the Ohio, as far west as Lake Michigan. 
 They were warlike, brave and relentless.
 
 IN OLD KENTUCKY 19 
 
 Apparently they were known as warriors 
 long before the white men came; for the 
 name is said to mean Dark and Bloody 
 Ground, owing to the many battles fought 
 here between various tribes. The Indians 
 were particularly fond of the buffalo meat 
 which abounded in Kentucky, and some 
 wise men have thought that before the buf- 
 falo came to the section the people were 
 agricultural. This would account for so 
 many unforested sections in the state, as 
 well as for the fact that the Indian quit his 
 rude farming as soon as he could get plenty 
 of buffalo meat. 
 
 It is easy to see how jealous the Indians 
 were of the white men; for they saw that 
 through them their soure of living would 
 soon be gone. The Indians made many des- 
 perate attacks on the Kentuckians, but 
 never came in very great numbers; prob- 
 ably because it was difficult to get across the 
 Ohio River. They attacked some of the
 
 20 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 rude forts of the pioneers, but were more 
 apt to descend on isolated cabins, murder 
 the men and carry off women and children 
 into captivity. Every settler worked with 
 his rifle near at hand, but many of them 
 were shot down by invisible foes. 
 
 The Indian, or fear of him, was a terror 
 by night and day. Desperate efforts had 
 been made to annihilate him, but with only 
 partial success. The cry of the settlers 
 reached President Washington, then at 
 Philadelphia, which was the national cap- 
 ital, and one of the first efforts of his ad- 
 ministration was to punish the Indians so 
 that they would cease their merciless 
 marauding. The Indians were not to be 
 blamed for wanting to keep their hunt- 
 ing grounds; nor were they wholly to 
 blame for their savage brutality, for most 
 unfortunately they had learned some of 
 these lessons from evil white men. Had 
 all white people treated the Indians as
 
 IN OLD KENTUCKY 21 
 
 did good William Penn and his Quaker 
 friends, there would be many bloody chap- 
 ters missing from our history.
 
 CHAPTEE III 
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 
 
 THOMAS LINCOLN at sixteen was 
 unusually tall and strong for Ms age, 
 and when he worked he could do as much 
 as most men. He could swing the broad- 
 axe, but it seemed to delight him more to 
 sit down on the trunk of a tree that he had 
 felled and tell stories. These had a charm 
 in them, a " knack" about them, as the 
 merry woodchoppers said. But what stories 
 could this young giant of strength tell in the 
 wilderness! Where could he have learned 
 stories ? Naturally most of them dealt with 
 tales of the pioneers. He had met hunters 
 and wayfarers on the trails, all of whom 
 had strange experiences to tell, startling 
 events in their own lives. He had heard 
 
 23
 
 24 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 many tales of Daniel Boone, who was well 
 known to his father and many of the older 
 men of Kentucky. But his hero was Gen. 
 Anthony Wayne, commonly known as "Mad 
 Anthony." The tale of Stony Point ran 
 through the Wilderness, and thrilled the 
 hunters by their camp fires. He was known 
 as one of the most trusted of Washington's 
 lieutenants, and a thrill of delight went all 
 through the West when it was known that 
 Washington had ordered "Mad Anthony" 
 to the Ohio, to make peace with the Indians, 
 or to compel peace by war. The tidings 
 ran from house to house in Kentucky. 
 "Little Turtle," the mighty Indian chief, 
 was master of the Wilderness then ; he had 
 defeated Gen. Arthur St. Clair, and the In- 
 dians of the Miami or as it was more com- 
 monly called the Maumee, felt that lie was 
 the "lord of the wild." Some Kentuckians 
 had fallen in the battle, but hundreds had 
 stayed at home because they would not fight
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 25 
 
 under St. Clair, whose ability they very 
 properly distrusted. 
 
 One day, when young Thomas Lincoln 
 heard the news, he dropped his broadaxe 
 and sought for some important person to 
 whom he might tell the news. He thought 
 of the Berrys, who lived a few miles away, 
 though the distance counted for little in 
 those days. As he neared the cabin he saw 
 a girl standing in the door. Tossing his hat 
 into the air, he shouted 
 
 "Hoorah!" 
 
 The girl came out to meet him. 
 
 "Why do you scream out?" said she; 
 "have you found Sarah?" 
 
 "Sarah?" said he, holding his hat in the 
 air. "Who is Sarah? and who are you?" 
 
 "I am Nancy." 
 
 "Nancy who?" 
 
 "Nancy Hanks, and I have come to live 
 with Aunt Berry and Betty Sparrow. 
 Don't you know? I was left all alone, and
 
 26 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Aunt Berry she takes children. Sarah is 
 coming to live with her when she returns 
 from captivity. Aunt Berry was often 
 known from her earlier name of Sparrow. 
 What is your name 1 ?" 
 
 "Thomas." 
 
 "Thomas what?" 
 
 "Thomas lumkern." 
 
 "Your folks came from the east?" 
 
 "Yes, pioneers." 
 
 "Mine were, too. Aunt Berry!" she 
 called. 
 
 *Aunt Berry came to the door, running 
 and shaking her apron before her face. 
 
 "Thomas?" 
 
 "That I am. Great news! It mak'es my 
 soul go out of me. Hoorray!" 
 
 "Is it Sarah?" 
 
 "No, no, but it will mean that. General 
 "Wayne, 'Mad Anthony' of Stony Point, is 
 coming to the Ohio to subdue the Indians, 
 and he will do it. He will pluck the f eath-
 
 THOMAS THREW HIMSELF ON THE GROUND
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 27 
 
 ers of Little Turtle. Did you ever hear the 
 story of Mad Anthony at Stony Point?" 
 
 "No, tell us, anything that seems to prom- 
 - ise the return of Sarah will do me good just 
 
 now. r 
 
 Thomas threw himself on the ground. 
 Mother Berry and Nancy sat down in the 
 doorway. The woods were still, save for 
 the singing of birds. 
 
 "It was this way," he began. "Wayne 
 was born of the wind; he had the tempest 
 in him, madness in him, the people said. 
 That isn't true, for my father, who knew 
 him, said he was always cool in danger. 
 But he was called "mad" really because 
 nothing could stop him. Some of his sol- 
 diers were at the execution of Andre! That 
 must have saddened his eyes, for they say 
 that he has a great heart. Wayne, Wayne, 
 he is coming to bring back Sarah. Wash- 
 ington has told him to do so." 
 
 "Did Washington really say that?"
 
 28 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "His soul said it." 
 
 "To Wayne?" 
 
 "To Little Turtle. He the same as told 
 Little Turtle that he would have to send 
 Sarah back." 
 
 "And all so far awayj" 
 
 "The wind has wings." 
 
 Nancy was all wonder now. She, as well 
 as young Thomas, had imagination. 
 
 "What has this to do with Stony Point?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "It was this way," said Thomas, glad of 
 the question. "Stony Point had to be 
 taken, and when a thing was to be done in 
 the Revolution, Wayne was the man to do 
 it. So Washington, after Wayne had pro- 
 posed the expedition, organized a corps of 
 light infantry, to fly as it were, and put 
 Wayne in command, and said to him : ' You 
 must take Stony Point.' 'That is impos- 
 sible,' said the war council in their hearts."
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 29 
 
 .. 
 
 'Stony Point? What was Stony 
 Point?" asked Nancy. 
 
 "It was a fortress on a high hill that 
 rose over the Hudson River. The British 
 held it, and had made it, as they thought, so 
 strong that no army could take it. It could, 
 they thought, easily hurl back ten thousand 
 men. It was surrounded by a double row 
 of abatis, as the breastworks were called. 
 The waters of the Hudson flowed on three 
 sides of it. Over all rose the cannon whose 
 blasts would hurl down regiments were they 
 to attempt to ascend. 
 
 " i Stony Point is impregnable,' said the 
 British; 'it will hold the Hudson forever!' 
 And indeed there were few soldiers in the 
 world who would have made the attempt. 
 
 " 'Stony Point shall fall,' said Wayne 
 Mad Anthony, who was only mad when he 
 thought of the way the British soldiers had 
 treated his countrymen. 
 
 "In the middle of July, 1779, Mad An-
 
 30 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 thony, with his flying troopers, started to 
 obey Washington's orders. He had once 
 said to Washington, "I would go to the Bot- 
 tomless Pit if you were to command me!' 
 They traveled by hidden ways so as to ar- 
 rive at the fortress, that loomed over the 
 river, in the evening. 
 
 "They saw the evening lights on the hill 
 gleaming in the air over the river and the 
 morasses. Wayne now led his infantry in 
 Indian file, silently, carefully along the 
 broken shores to the point from which the 
 last dash was to be made. 
 
 "Midnight came. The lights in the for- 
 tress began to grow pale. The garrison 
 slept, save for the few pickets on guard. 
 
 "Wayne now divided his men into two 
 parties. He compelled them to unload their 
 guns lest one, being accidentally discharged, 
 should give the alarm. Then he said, 'To 
 your bayonets now ! If any man falters, let 
 the nearest officer give him the steel!' It
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 31 
 
 was evident that many, if not all, were to 
 fall, but forty men were picked out as the 
 forlorn hope ! 
 
 "He placed twenty of these before each 
 division of a hundred and twenty men. 
 These two bands of twenty were to break 
 the way, and over their dead bodies those 
 behind were to rush into the fort. Then 
 they marched up the hill in silence. 
 
 "'All's well!' 
 
 "So rang out the voice of the sentinels 
 here and there. 
 
 "They could hear those voices echoing 
 each other in the night 'All's well, all's 
 well!' 
 
 "When Wayne heard the cry, 'All's well !' 
 he said 'Forward!' 
 
 "A wild alarm from the fort rent the 
 air. 'Awake! arm! We are surrounded!' 
 
 "There was a sudden terror. Then the 
 fort blazed. Wayne's soldiers fell. Wayne 
 himself fell. 'March on!' said he. 'Carry
 
 32 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 me into the fort, for I will die there at the 
 head of the column ! ' 
 
 "He did not die. The British fled. It 
 was one of the greatest feats of daring in 
 the history of the world. That man is com- 
 ing to the Ohio to bring back Sarah. Hur- 
 rah for Anthony Wayne!" 
 
 He told this tale with many gestures. He 
 put his soul into it and acted it. He used 
 unusual words for a young man of the Wil- 
 derness. 
 
 Nancy was all eyes and ears. She lis- 
 tened and wondered. She had come to live 
 with her "Aunt" Lucy Berry and the Spar- 
 rows, who were her cousins. l ' Aunt Berry ' ' 
 was the name given her by most of the peo- 
 ple in the neighborhood, and "Mother 
 Berry" by the members of her own family. 
 
 Nancy Hanks had journeyed with a party 
 from Virginia to Kentucky when she was 
 five years old. The party with whom she 
 had traveled had often been alarmed by
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 33 
 
 panthers and other wild beasts. They were 
 often surrounded by hostile Indians. Her 
 people had suffered much from the Indians, 
 so that when she heard that this wonderful 
 General Wayne was coming to drive away 
 the savages and restore her long lost cousin 
 Sarah, her heart welled up with joy, and 
 she burst into tears that amazed Thomas, 
 who could not at first understand that this 
 was a girl's way of expressing happiness. 
 
 Then, after hearing the story, turning to 
 Thomas, she said: 
 
 "I am glad that Wayne is coming to the 
 Wilderness." 
 
 "So am I. I hate the Indians like 
 pizen," replied Thomas. "If any boy has 
 a right to hate them it is I. My brother 
 Mordecai used to drop down an Indian by 
 sight." 
 
 "But there is a saving remnant in all peo- 
 ple's hearts," said Nancy compassionately; 
 "so the preachers say, and I think that to
 
 34 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 change the hearts of people is better than to 
 kiU them." 
 
 " Thomas," she continued, "they say that 
 you are in some way a relative of mine, a 
 distant connection. If so, we ought to be 
 friends, and you ought to go into the Wilder- 
 ness and try to find Sarah. She will be a 
 sister to me when she returns from captiv- 
 ity, and you would be a brother to her too, 
 and how much comfort we would all take 
 together." 
 
 "Yes," said Thomas, "I would strike 
 down the Indian that carried her away, just 
 as my brother Mordecai used to do. He 
 was like a lightning flash when he saw an 
 Indian. He never forgot." 
 
 "Thomas, a good Indian may have car- 
 ried her away." 
 
 "A good Indian! A good one! Oh, 
 Nancy, what a simple heart you have! 
 You believe something good of everyone. I 
 can see what a heart you have! But the
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 35 
 
 idea of a good Indian, that seems queer to 
 me after all our family has suffered." 
 
 "But, Cousin Thomas, let me call you 
 'Cousin'; you would be glad to think there 
 are some good Indians, wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Yes, Nancy, I would be glad to believe 
 that there is something good in everyone, 
 even in the heart of a wolf." 
 
 "Well, Cousin Thomas, let me get a lit- 
 tle nearer yet to your heart. Some Indian 
 may be protecting Sarah in the wilderness. 
 Now you go out and find her. Find her for 
 me. You would make my heart so happy if 
 you would only find her for me. 
 
 "That is a good heart you have, Nancy. 
 I will make a long hunt for Sarah for your 
 sake some day, Nancy." 
 
 "And for the sake of Sarah herself, you 
 mean'?" 
 
 "Yes, for the sake of Sarah." 
 
 "And for the Indian's sake." 
 
 "Well, that might be."
 
 36 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "And for your own sake. Thomas, for 
 your own sake," said Nancy, her face glow- 
 ing. "You may find something in an In- 
 dian's heart that will make for us all a hap- 
 pier life." 
 
 "Oh, Nancy, I am glad I have found you 
 here. What a heart you have to feel for 
 everybody." 
 
 And the boy and girl of two broken fam- 
 ilies in the Wilderness were from that hour 
 close friends. The three families, the 
 Berrys, the Sparrows and the Hankses were 
 cousins or "connections," and Thomas 
 Lincoln was also a "connection" of the 
 three families and of the lost Sarah and of 
 Nancy Hanks. 
 
 Nancy sat on the doorstep, thinking. 
 
 "You said you would go out in the wilder- 
 ness and look for Sarah for me some day/' 
 said she. "I do not like the far-off sound 
 of those words 'some day.' It is like me to 
 do things now. When Aunt Berry asks me
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 37 
 
 to spin a carding of wool, I go right at it and 
 I spin. The carding turns into yarn. 
 Don't I make the wheel go round, Aunt 
 Berry?" 
 
 "Yes, you do, Nancy, and you are a good 
 girl, one who goes before you are sent. You 
 don't follow; you lead. Thomas, here, fol- 
 lows. You must make to-day to-morrow. 
 He is too much inclined to trust to 'some 
 day.' " 
 
 "OO-ee-ei!" 
 
 "There is that dog again," said Aunt 
 Berry. 
 
 "You go out into the timber and see what 
 he means," said Nancy to Thomas. 
 
 Thomas went out into the timber, but did 
 not return. He probably looked for the 
 dog, but concluded that he would return to 
 his own home now, and follow up. the mys- 
 tery of the dog some other day. 
 
 As for little Nancy, she went back to her 
 duties in the cabin. Day after day, as she
 
 38 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 spun or carded, she thought of Thomas, and 
 wondered if he really would go after her 
 lost cousin. She was a merry-hearted girl 
 who loved to see every one happy. The ori- 
 oles sang while they spun their nests in the 
 high sunny tops of the trees that seemed to 
 lean over the earth from the skies. She 
 liked to watch them while at work spinning 
 and singing. 
 
 She not only spun for herself, but for 
 others. She went cheerfully to any of the 
 neighbors to spin and sing, or to help any 
 one in need. She liked to go to the houses 
 around Beechlands to work, that she might 
 talk about Sarah, and perhaps find some 
 new clue of her yet unseen sister in the 
 Wilderness. 
 
 One day she went to spin for a Mrs. 
 Speed, an infirm widow lady. She spun 
 there often, in summer time, by the open 
 door. The cardinal flashed by at times on 
 red wings. The old lady and Nancy en-
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 39 
 
 joyed the landscape of meadows and 
 streams that was full of sunshine and song. 
 
 "Mrs. Speed," said Nancy, "I love to talk 
 on things that relate to our future life. Did 
 you ever have any doubt that we would live 
 hereafter?" 
 
 "None, Nancy." 
 
 A meadow lark arose in the air on its 
 little strong, gray wings, and began to sing. 
 The song, like that of the English skylark, 
 seemed to spread. 
 
 "Nancy," said Mrs. Speed, "can you be- 
 lieve that that bird was once an egg?" 
 
 "I must." 
 
 "And that its wing was once confined by 
 a shell, and that an instinct led it to break 
 the shell, and to find the air?" 
 
 "I must," said Nancy, stopping in her in- 
 terest. 
 
 "And the instinct of the song was once 
 in the egg, and that the joy of the song
 
 40 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 was also in the egg, or the instinct of the 
 joy of the song?" 
 
 "Yes," said Nancy. 
 
 "Then, my girl, what can you not be- 
 lieve?" 
 
 The lark came down to its nest. 
 
 "I see the mystery of life now," said 
 Nancy. 
 
 "Then spin on and sing. The things that 
 are unseen are eternal. But, Nancy, Nancy, 
 look there. " 
 
 An old Indian woman with a light robe 
 had come in full view out into the open. 
 She strode along stoutly, stopping at times, 
 and keeping back a little girl with a side 
 pressure of her hand. Before her ran, or 
 rather leaped, a little dog. 
 
 Nancy rose up. Mrs. Speed beckoned to 
 the Indian woman. The girl who had been 
 held back came into view, and called in 
 pure English: 
 
 "Sing she wants you to sing."
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 41 
 
 "Who wants me to sing 1 ?" said Nancy. 
 
 "Mother." 
 
 "Come to us, and I will sing," said Nancy. 
 
 "Oo-oi!" 
 
 Nancy leaped up. "Sarah?" she called 
 doubtfully. 
 
 The old woman uttered a cry and began to 
 hobble away, holding by the wrist the girl 
 who had spoken the English words. In a 
 few minutes the two had disappeared in the 
 bushes that grew by the river. Suddenly 
 an Indian who had approached from the 
 timber at the back of the house stood before 
 them, and said in a broken voice : 
 
 "She hide from white folk. Moo-May 
 she lub the little white child. She hide her 
 the little dog he watch. When the little 
 dog he scent danger, he say 'oo-oi' " im- 
 itating the dog. 
 
 Nancy jumped at the imitation. 
 
 "Go find the little white girl," said she. 
 "I'll give you money, wampum."
 
 42 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "She no come back. She lub her mud- 
 der and the little dog. Her mudder and the 
 little dog lub her, and he say 'oo-oi' to hide 
 her away. 
 
 Mrs. Speed brought to the Indian bread 
 and butter, which he called honey. 
 
 "Sit down," said Mrs. Speed. 
 
 The Indian sat down and ate. 
 
 "Who is the old Indian woman ?" asked 
 Nancy. 
 
 "Ask the bushes ask the air I know 
 not." 
 
 "Who is the little girl?" asked Nancy. 
 
 "I no know." 
 
 "Go with me help find her?" asked 
 Nancy. 
 
 "No-go." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Old woman she carry an arrow under 
 her feather blanket. She shoot keen. I go 
 away now." 
 
 He went into the timber, and Nancy took
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 43 
 
 up her work again, telling Mrs. Speed above 
 the buzzing of the wheel the story of the 
 lost Sarah. 
 
 Nancy was thoughtful after the story. 
 Sarah haunted her was. this girl she had 
 seen the lost Sarah? 
 
 She looked up to Mrs. Speed over the still 
 wheel. 
 
 " What you said to me about the bird and 
 the egg," said she, " leads me to see the value 
 of the soul/' 
 
 " There is no value but soul value," said 
 Mrs. Speed. ' ' Spirit is the only reality. ' ' 
 
 "What can I do, a poor orphan girl, to 
 make myself useful to the world?" 
 
 "Help everyone, and hinder none. For- 
 give everyone, as you say the Lord's Prayer. 
 Forget yourself and make your life a sac- 
 rifice." 
 
 "That I will," said Nancy, "Sarah can 
 be found if she is still living, and I will not 
 rest until I find her."
 
 44 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 " 'He that seeketh findeth,' is a law of 
 life," said Mrs. Speed. 
 
 It was very common for people in those 
 days to quote Scripture, and many of their 
 expressions were much the same as Shakes- 
 pere used. 
 
 Nancy went home in the evening. The 
 night birds were singing the lonely whip- 
 poor-will and she too sang as she passed 
 along the timbers, into which the great moon 
 shone like a night sun, glimmering in the 
 woodland streams. 
 
 As she neared home she heard a cry. It 
 ended in ' ' oo-oi ! ' ' Had the mysterious dog 
 heard her footsteps ? Did he know that she 
 was dangerous to those whom he was guard- 
 ing? Should she hurry towards him and 
 awaken that cry again? 
 
 She resolved to do so at any risk. She 
 hastened in the direction from which the 
 sound came. 
 
 The quiet woodland meadows appeared
 
 YOUNG THOMAS LINCOLN 45 
 
 amid gathering dews. The grouse flew up 
 from the sea of moonlight. She listened 
 here and there. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 And after watching a long time she went 
 home. The next day she went again to the 
 same place, but could find no trace of any 
 human being.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 PEIDY, THE HEIFER 
 
 THOMAS LINCOLN soon again came 
 to the Berrys and told another heroic 
 story. A curious thing happened. 
 
 A cow came up to the door from the 
 sweet-grass fields, and lay down in the yard 
 before the door. 
 
 "She acts as if she were one of the fam- 
 ily," said Thomas. 
 
 "She is," said Nancy. "That is Peidy." 
 
 "Is she yours?" asked Thomas. 
 
 "Yes, my father left her to me in his will. 
 He bequeathed, as the will said, one heifer 
 yearling, called 'Gentle/ to his daughter 
 Elizabeth, one heifer yearling to his daugh- 
 ter Polly, which heifer was called 'Lady,' 
 and one heifer yearling, 'Peidy/ to his 
 
 47
 
 48 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 daughter Nancy, and that cow was the 
 heifer 'Peidy.' " 
 
 "She will soon be an old cow," said 
 Thomas. 
 
 "Yes, but I brought her up from a calf, 
 and for father's sake I always want to keep 
 her. She was mother's as well as mine, for 
 all the property was mother's while she 
 lived, but when she had to give up any- 
 thing she would say to me, 'Nancy, always 
 keep Peidy.' The animal is like one of the 
 family to me. See, I have built a shelter 
 for her out there, and when she is lonesome 
 she comes and lies down on the grass in the 
 yard near me. She understands me, and I 
 her; she knows her name, and will come to 
 me when I call her, and I hang a bell on her 
 neck when she goes into the timber. She 
 always comes home at night to be milked. I 
 keep an old milk pail and stool, and I some- 
 times wear the old milk pail on my head 
 when it rains, and I have kept the same
 
 PEIDY, THE HEIFER 49 
 
 milking stool for years see it out there, the 
 one with three legs. 
 
 "Peidy always comes to me when she gets 
 into trouble. When she was attacked by a 
 wildcat that leaped upon her neck, she ran 
 home to me and I beat off the wildcat with 
 the milking stool. In the winter she will 
 come in the afternoon and chew her cud 
 before the western window, where I work, 
 and in the summer days she ,vpll stand look- 
 ing into the door to see me spin." 
 
 Thomas thought to himself that it was 
 strange a girl should have a cow for a pet. 
 He liked squirrels better, but he thought 
 it wise to say nothing of that, and so praised 
 her spinning. 
 
 "Nancy is lively at spinning," said 
 Mother Berry. "She outspins the girls of 
 all the country around, and she can sing 
 did you ever hear her sing? just like a 
 nightingale."
 
 50 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "I never heard a nightingale sing," said 
 Thomas. 
 
 "Nor did I," said Mother Berry, but I 
 have heard they sing better than any other 
 bird. She can turn a tune. She sings the 
 campmeeting songs as: 
 
 What ship is this that is now sailing by ? 
 
 "Did you ever see a ship?" asked 
 Thomas. 
 
 "No, no/'^said Mother Berry. "But 
 song folks most like to sing about things 
 they have never seen. I like such songs 
 as 
 
 And oft upon Araby's green sunny high- 
 lands. I don't know where Araby is, but 
 that don't matter as long as it is in my head. 
 Nancy, sing to Thomas, My brother, 7 wish 
 you well." 
 
 Nancy "tuned up" to use the wilderness 
 phrase, and gave the camp meeting greet- 
 ing. 
 
 "She learned these songs from her
 
 PEIDY, THE HEIFER 51 
 
 mother. The camp meeting in Virginia had 
 been the event of the year." "Now," said 
 Mother Berry, ' ' Sing the new camp meeting 
 song of the wilderness : 
 
 There's the sound of a gong in the mul- 
 berry trees. 
 
 Queerly enough Nancy changed her po- 
 sition, and sat down by Peidy as she sang 
 this "great" song. The words of the song 
 predicted a coming religious revival. 
 
 "Now sing the song of all songs, the one 
 that flies, and goes round and round and 
 round and round. It always makes me 
 want to dance. I used to dance in Virginia. 
 Peidy likes that song." 
 
 "How do you know that, Mother 
 Berry?" 
 
 "Peidy always shakes the bushy part of 
 her tail when she likes anything. Nancy, 
 sing 'Canaan' to Thomas. It is a very up- 
 lifting and happyfymg song. I like happy- 
 fying music it makes the future look
 
 82 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 bright. A soul is always happy as long as 
 it has bright prospects, as long as it feels 
 that it is moving on towards something 
 higher." 
 
 Nancy sang "Canaan" and made the 
 woods ring. She repeated the word 
 "happy" in the chorus, "My happy, happy 
 home," and clapped her hands in the old 
 Methodist way as she did so. Mother Berry 
 turned her eyes towards the skies as the 
 phrase came into the chorus, and clapped 
 her hands also. 
 
 Together let us sweetly live, I am bound for the land 
 
 of Canaan. 
 Together let us sweetly die, I am bound for the land 
 
 of Canaan. 
 O Canaan, bright Canaan, I am bound for the land 
 
 of Canaan; 
 
 Canaan, it is my happy home, I am bound for the 
 land of Canaan. 
 
 If you get there, before I do, I am bound for the land 
 
 of Canaan. 
 Look out for me, I 'm coming, too, I am bound for the 
 
 land of Canaan. 
 Canaan, bright Canaan, I am bound for the land 
 
 of Canaan.
 
 PEIDY, THE HEIFER 53 
 
 O Canaan, it is my happy home, I am bound for the 
 
 land of Canaan. 
 I have some friends before me gone, I am bound for 
 
 the land of Canaan. 
 Canaan, bright Canaan, I am bound for the land 
 
 of Canaan. 
 O Canaan, it is my happy home, I am bound for the 
 
 land of Canaan. 
 
 Our songs of praise shall fill the skies, I'm bound for 
 
 the land of Canaan. 
 While still their joys they rise, I am bound for the 
 
 land of Canaan. 
 O Canaan, bright Canaan, I am bound for the land 
 
 of Canaan. 
 Canaan, it is my happy home, I am bound for the 
 
 land of Canaan. 
 Then come with me, beloved friend, I am bound for 
 
 the land of Canaan. 
 The joys of heaven shall never end, I am bound for 
 
 the land of Canaan. 
 Canaan, bright Canaan, I am bound for the land 
 
 of Canaan. 
 
 Canaan, it is my happy home, I am bound for the 
 land of Canaan. 
 
 And Peidy wiggled her bushy tail as in a 
 state of great satisfaction. 
 
 "And to think that we can have all that 
 and Kentucky, too," said Mother Berry. 
 
 Those were merry days in the wilderness
 
 54 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 of Kentucky, save for the ever-present fear 
 of Indians or wolves. 
 
 Nancy had learned much from the camp- 
 meetings, which were a sort of spiritual 
 school in the wilderness, and which all peo- 
 ple attended as the club social occasions as 
 well as for religious purposes. She had a 
 mind that was always associating itself with 
 what was superior, and such minds grow. 
 Her aunt had sent her to a girls' school, 
 and she had been taught to read and to write. 
 She always sought the company of those 
 who knew the most, and often wished she 
 could learn more and have many books to 
 read. 
 
 "Nancy has a lively mind," said Thomas. 
 ' ' She would be something in the world if she 
 had a chance." 
 
 And Nancy was trying to make something 
 out of Thomas, whose chief theme was 
 hatred of the red men. 
 
 " There is something good to be found
 
 PEIDY, THE HEIFER 55 
 
 even in an Indian," she said to Thomas one 
 day when he came over to visit her and hear 
 the hum of the spinning-wheel. 
 
 "Don't say that, Nancy," said he. 
 "Think of Sarah; but Wayne is coming on 
 the wings of the wind. He will clear the 
 woods of Indians, wolves and wildcats. 
 Wait and see." 
 
 Nancy's eyes of imagination glowed. 
 
 "And you must follow Wayne in search 
 for Sarah," said she. "That will be a 
 happy day to us all when she returns from 
 captivity." 
 
 She seemed to see Wayne flying on wings 
 through the wilderness, the Indians fleeing 
 before him, and Thomas bringing back the 
 lost Sarah to her after the war, and she 
 fancied that she would teach Sarah to spin, 
 and that together they would outspin all the 
 girls in the country around.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE SEARCH FOR SARAH 
 
 A LTHOUGH Nancy's thoughts were 
 -A- constantly on Sarah, it did not inter- 
 fere with her tasks. Her deft fingers were 
 constantly at work with wool and flax, so 
 that she really astonished everyone as a 
 spinner among women who had spun all 
 their lives and considered it their chief ac- 
 complishment. Her social position was the 
 same as that of the young girl who is the 
 most expert piano player in the neighbor- 
 hood. With Peidy chewing her cud before 
 the open door and the birds all singing in 
 the sunny tops of the trees, how her wheel 
 would buzz and fly! Old people came and 
 sat on the wooden door-step just to hear the 
 
 wheel go round. 
 
 57
 
 58 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 She liked to sing as she spun. Thomas 
 Lincoln liked to come over to the Berry 
 cabin and throw himself on the grass beside 
 Peidy. He would listen to Nancy's songs 
 of the Wilderness as her wheel buzzed. His 
 fancy was an active one; but he couldn't 
 think well if he worked, and, though he 
 wasn't exactly lazy, he was not energetic 
 except by spells. 
 
 One day, as he was thus listening to 
 Nancy's singing, the wheel suddenly stop- 
 ped. 
 
 " Thomas!" 
 
 "Well, what is it now, Nancy?" 
 
 "When are you going into the wilder- 
 ness to look for " 
 
 "A good Indian, Nancy?" 
 
 "No, to look for Sarah?" 
 
 "As soon as Wayne's troops are here." 
 
 "Thomas, I sometimes think Sarah passes 
 around here with an Indian guide in the 
 night. She does not know me. She cannot
 
 THE SEARCH FOR SARAH 59 
 
 know you. She would not know Mother 
 Berry, but the Indian who owned her might 
 know who Mother Berry was. I think of 
 Sarah all the time. I want you to go out 
 and have a long search for her. You are al- 
 ways promising to do so. Why don't you 
 doit?" 
 
 " Would you be willing that I should 
 bring back with Sarah the squaw who owned 
 her?" asked Thomas. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What would you do with the squaw?" 
 
 "I should change her heart. I would 
 make her a friend to both Sarah and me." 
 
 "I will make a long hunt to find her if I 
 need to, after Wayne and his men pass by." 
 
 " * Reuben went to the pit and Joseph was 
 not there/ ' said Nancy, quoting an old 
 campmeeting text. "I will tell you what 
 I am going to do, Thomas. Mother Berry 
 has more plates than she needs. I am go-
 
 60 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ing to put an empty plate on the table every 
 time we eat." 
 
 "What for, Nancy?" 
 
 "To keep Sarah in mind. I would want 
 to be remembered if I were wandering alone 
 in the wilderness." 
 
 And so Nancy placed the empty plate on 
 the table every day, and, as often as a trav- 
 eler or a wayfarer asked the family concern- 
 ing it, she would answer : 
 
 "It is for Sarah when she returns from 
 captivity." 
 
 Thomas could not read or write, but he 
 had learned much even in his 'teens from the 
 forest philosophers whom he had met, and 
 Nancy thought him an unusually smart boy, 
 and such he really was. She liked to talk 
 with him. On his visits he often brought 
 his broadaxe with him. 
 
 One day, when Peidy was chewing her 
 cud beneath the cool maples near, Nancy 
 questioned Thomas in regard to his broad-
 
 THE SEARCH FOR SARAH 61 
 
 axe, which was one of the most essential 
 tools of the pioneer. 
 
 "Do you ask me about my axe made from 
 the iron of the earth? Well, you may fix 
 your eye upon it. It builds cabins, it erects 
 houses. But for the broadaxe, Columbus 
 could not have found the pine lands; but 
 for the broadaxe, the American forests 
 would not fall to make way for the people 
 of the worn out world." 
 
 "But what and who made the axe ?" asked 
 Nancy. 
 
 "The furnace; and the heart of the 
 furnace is the fire, and the source of the 
 fire is the sun. A man with an open way 
 and the broadaxe may build for his children 
 a nobler nation than those whose walls the 
 broadaxe battered down in the past. ' ' 
 
 Nancy considered such thoughts as these 
 very wonderful. To her, Thomas became 
 a knight of the broadaxe. She had read in 
 her school book of the knights of old, and
 
 62 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 her fancy kindled at every heroic sugges- 
 tion. 
 
 The Kentucky wilderness was now chang- 
 ing rapidly. It was everywhere crossed by 
 adventurers, by many worthy people seek- 
 ing better homes for their families, by free 
 hunters, and by outlaws. 
 
 Thomas always tried to gain something to 
 add to his knowledge of the world, from all 
 whom he chanced to meet. Such, among 
 the rest, were the wandering school masters, 
 some of whom had theories to propound, and 
 some things to sell. And it is interesting to 
 know something about these strolling teach- 
 ers, who had a little more education than the 
 ordinary people, but often not much energy 
 or common sense, else they would not have 
 been contented with the meagre pittance 
 they received for teaching school when they 
 could have made a good living by a little 
 manual labor. 
 
 One of the friends of Thomas was a wan-
 
 THE SEARCH FOR SARAH 63 
 
 dering school teacher whose name may be 
 given here as Tracy. His own recommen- 
 dations were that he could teach the three 
 Rs (.Reading, '.Kiting, and 'JSithmetic) and 
 "lick" boys. The last was very essential in 
 backwoods schools. But in those days it 
 was necessary to catch boys before "lick- 
 ing" them, which was no easy thing to do, 
 for the offender would leap out of the paper- 
 covered window, with a whoop, and be gone 
 into the bushes under the birds' nests, to the 
 astonishment of the birds. 
 
 This man Tracy had a business mind, like 
 a modern speculator. 
 
 "You see this rod," said he one day to 
 Thomas. "It is a magic rod. It bends 
 down towards the streams under ground. I 
 will use it for you for one dollar." 
 
 "But I don't need it. There is water 
 enough for us and our team above ground." 
 
 "But, Linkern, my rod can find gold. It 
 will bend down above a streak of gold in the
 
 64 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 crumbling rocks under the ground. It will 
 make you rich. I need money ; r for five dol- 
 lars I will part with the rod it shall be 
 yours." 
 
 "You say you need money. Why do you 
 not find gold for yourself, good man?" 
 
 "Why, I am not as much of a philosopher 
 as Newton was, and I never thought of that. 
 But let me sell you this one, and I will get 
 another one. I know how. I will sell you 
 this fortune-finder for five dollars." 
 
 "But I haven't the five dollars." 
 
 Young Lincoln liked to carry such anec- 
 dotes as these to the Berrys and to tell them 
 to Mothey Berry, to Nancy and to Peidy, as 
 the latter lay down under the maples very 
 complacently when the others took their 
 places on the log steps in the shadow of the 
 cabin. 
 
 But the one question that waited his com- 
 ing from Nancy was
 
 THE SEARCH FOR SARAH 65 
 
 "Have you found any clue to the wander- 
 ings of Sarah?" 
 
 Thomas would ever be compelled to an- 
 swer that his inquiries had been in vain, but 
 he would sometimes in turn ask : 
 
 "Have you heard the wolf-dog cry 
 again ?"
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WAYNE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 IT was rumored in the towns along the 
 Ohio River that Wayne was organizing 
 the army of the north-east, and the cheering 
 words went with the news that " Where goes 
 Wayne there goes victory." 
 
 There were many empty places in the cab- 
 ins of Kentucky. The Indians had at last 
 a long day of revenge, and their delight was 
 to carry away captives and to make slaves 
 of them. 
 
 " Wayne is coming!" A horseman cried 
 out the words as he flew past the Berry 
 cabin, where Mother Berry stood in the 
 doorway. She tried to stop him, calling out 
 loudly, but he seemed to come and go with 
 
 the wind. 
 
 67
 
 68 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Wayne! Would he pass the house? 
 Mother Berry wondered. She ran often to 
 the door during her work to see. 
 
 "Spin in the sight of the door, Nancy," 
 she said, "and see if there be any upward 
 flight of birds, in the down roadway. The 
 sky will grow black with crows if he pass 
 the pines." 
 
 Nancy spun and sang. The sky was se- 
 rene. Afar the axeman was heard. 
 
 Presently the far sky was black with 
 cawing crows. 
 
 "Mother Berry, he is coming something 
 has scared the crows. Look, look!" 
 
 A company of horsemen came breaking 
 through the pines. Among them was a 
 leader in such fine uniform with a cockade 
 that Mother Berry felt at once he was Gen- 
 eral Wayne, who was famous for his fine 
 military dress. 
 
 She waved her hand to him. 
 
 "Stop! stop!" she. cried, "and see what I
 
 WAYNE IN THE WILDERNESS 69 
 
 have got in store for you I'll be a mother 
 to you. 11 
 
 Gen. Wayne reined in his horse. 
 
 "Give me some water from the spring, 
 madam, and so speed a soldier on his way." 
 
 "Get down, get down," said Mother 
 Berry," and I will do better for you than 
 that. You are Gen. Wayne, I can see that 
 by your cockade ; come in and try my roast 
 vension, and my cake all speckled with ber- 
 ries, and my cordials; bring your men into 
 the cabin. I can provide enough for all. " 
 
 The General dismounted and entered 
 courteously. 
 
 "Be seated at the table," said Mother 
 Berry. "'You must be hungry, after your 
 long ride. Let your men fill the table. But 
 here, I must set out the empty plate that 
 is for Sarah, when she returns from captiv- 
 ity." 
 
 "Who is Sarah, my generous friend?" 
 said the General.
 
 70 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "She was carried away captive by the In- 
 dians. We keep an empty plate at the table 
 for her. You are going to rescue her. 
 There are many Sarahs whom the folks are 
 expecting that you will bring home again. 
 You fight to win; let the Wilderness re- 
 joice!" 
 
 "Madam, if this arm can do it, and it can, 
 I will bring back Sarah to this hospitable 
 table, whoever Sarah may be. I will clear 
 the Wilderness of the Redskins that rob or 
 murder or make slaves of the pioneers' chil- 
 dren. Won't we, gentlemen?" 
 
 A cheer arose "Vive General Wayne!" 
 
 "Madam, these are my staff. We are 
 riding ahead. The army is moving towards 
 the Ohio. Listen!" 
 
 There was a beating of drums as of a 
 company of soldiers in the distance. 
 
 "Now, gentlemen, let the forks fly, and 
 the red cordial flow!" 
 
 The officers ate and drank merrily.
 
 WAYNE IN THE WILDERNESS 71 
 
 "How much, madam, shall we pay, you 
 for this timely repast?" 
 
 "How much? do you think I would take 
 money for that when you are going to res- 
 cue Sarah?" 
 
 The General arose. 
 
 "Gentlemen, Gallants, look at this " 
 He held up the empty plate. 
 
 "This empty plate waits for Sarah, who 
 has been carried away by the Redskins into 
 captivity. Pledge yourselves to this good 
 woman, that you will rescue her Sarah, and 
 all other Sarahs from the Redskins." 
 
 "I pledge it, I pledge it " shouted all. 
 
 "Cheer this woman with the great heart 
 as you go. Cheer! cheer! and then leap 
 upon your horses. Cheer for wilderness 
 hospitality! for Sarah! for Washington! 
 for the American army ! Cheer, cheer, and 
 away, away!" 
 
 "Wait, General, and be silent, all. 'Tis
 
 72 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 a woman who commands you," said Aunt 
 Berry. 
 
 "Silence!" said the General. 
 
 " You must take with you the empty pew- 
 ter plate. Hang it on the flagstaff. Look 
 at it, in peril, in the long march, and in the 
 thick of the fight. Let it stand for Sarah 
 for all the Sarahs who hope to come back 
 from captivity." 
 
 "Tie the plate to the flagstaff," said the 
 General. "It is a woman who commands 
 us." 
 
 The plate burnished to look like silver 
 was attached to the flagstaff and rose in the 
 air like a Roman eagle. 
 
 "It shall come back again. My men, 
 shall it not return again?" 
 
 The plate was given to the color-bearer, 
 who swore he would be true to his trust. 
 
 "It goes away for the freedom of the 
 Wilderness," said Wayne.
 
 WAYNE IN THE WILDERNESS 73 
 
 "For the freedom of the Wilderness," 
 said Mother Berry. 
 
 "Let me sing a song to Wayne," 
 
 The General raised his hat. 
 
 "Let us hear the little bird of the Wilder- 
 ness sing," said he. 
 
 Nancy stood on the log step before the 
 door. She poured forth her voice in an old 
 camp-meeting refrain which was really an 
 adaptation of an old Scotch ballad sung by 
 Nancy's ancestors 'for centuries, ending in 
 the refrain : 
 
 " 'I try to prove faithful, 
 
 I try to prove faithful, 
 
 I try to prove faithful 
 
 'Till we meet to part no more. ' ' r 
 
 She went on through many stanzas 'till 
 all ears were made familiar with the simple 
 strain. Wayne stood with bowed head. 
 When she ceased, he threw up his hat, and 
 said, "Now, all!"
 
 74 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "We'll try to prove faithful," the officers 
 sang. 
 
 Wayne turned to Nancy. 
 
 "If I return this way, perhaps you will 
 sing to me again," said he. 
 
 Nancy courtesied. 
 
 "I will sing you that song in regard to 
 the ' Conquering Hero, ' ' said she. 
 
 "May that day come!" said Wayne. 
 
 Cheer after cheer, in lusty voices, rose in 
 the air. Then Wayne leaped upon his horse, 
 and the others as quickly. 
 
 Away, away they vanished. Wayne 
 looked back Mother Berry waved her 
 apron. 
 
 "I'll remember the empty plate," cried 
 Wayne. 
 
 He was gone. The gay uniforms van- 
 ished. The plate gleamed under the flag. 
 
 Mother Berry sat down before the door 
 and cried. 
 
 "Hell bring back Sarah," said she. "I
 
 WAYNE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 can feel it in my bones some people can 
 feel that way. This has been a day to live 
 over again, some days linger in the memory 
 this is one of them." 
 
 How had Sarah disappeared? 
 
 Thomas had often asked this qestion, but 
 Nancy did not know the details, and Aunt 
 Berry had only promised to give an account 
 of it at some infare which should be given, 
 so that all her neighbors might learn little 
 Sarah's story. And now, to the delight of 
 Thomas, such an occasion was at hand. 
 
 An infare! What is an infare? It was 
 what would be called to-day a "house- 
 warming," usually given when a bride was 
 brought home. The opening of the door of 
 a new house in the wilderness was no com- 
 mon event. It was celebrated by a day of 
 merriment and an evening of jollity. 
 
 The new house whose doors were to be 
 opened by this jolly infare was to be one for 
 the entertainment of all. The "raising" of
 
 76 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the frame of the house had been an occasion 
 for merriment, for the rude roofs and chim- 
 neys had long been building. 
 
 The new house was finished in the clear- 
 ing of the wilderness; its hospitable door 
 was hung, and the oiled paper windows were 
 placed, as beautiful to the pioneers' eyes as 
 those of the rose windows of Cologne 
 Cathedral. 
 
 The inf are was always hailed as a festival 
 of progress. Every pioneer rejoiced at the 
 inauguration of a new home, amid abundant 
 hospitality, forest fiddles, and rollicking 
 songs, and pious hymns. Such an event 
 was a signal for thanksgiving and merri- 
 ment, and was hailed, to use the common 
 term, by " all the country 'round."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE INFARE 
 
 HENEVER, circumstances permitted, 
 T T the inf are was made the occasion of 
 more ceremonial than was used on any other 
 social occasion. This time the wedding was 
 to take place in the new home instead of in 
 that of the bride. A prayer was to be of- 
 fered up for the army of General Wayne. 
 Then were to follow the kindling of the fire 
 on the new hearth, the prayer of the dedica- 
 tion of the house to family life, and the wed- 
 ding. Then merriment was to follow. 
 
 According to the custom of making a 
 whole day of it, the people began to gather 
 in the afternoon: and as the harvest moon 
 rose over the wide sea of dark green forests, 
 
 the house had filled and the inf are began. 
 
 77
 
 ?8 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Betty Sparrow, and the "Song Sparrow," 
 Nancy Hanks, sat down by a large oak table, 
 near which the first fire was to be kindled. 
 Nancy had brought to the festival table the 
 * 'waiting plate," like the one which the sol- 
 diers of Wayne had borne away. 
 
 The guests gathered eagerly around the 
 two where lay the "waiting plate," and an 
 old clergyman, named Mercer, raised his 
 hand, and said solemnly : 
 
 "Silence, my good friends, all, Mother 
 Berry is about to speak. She will make 
 clear to us how much we will have to be 
 thankful for when Wayne shall move upon 
 our enemies and bring peace to the Wilder- 
 ness. She will utter with the voice of the 
 Wilderness, and make us rejoice that the 
 captive children shall be returned again, and 
 that the Wilderness itself will one day pass 
 away. God speaks to us by the waiting 
 plate."
 
 THE INFARE 79 
 
 Aunt Berry turned towards the clergy- 
 man. 
 
 "Elder Mercer, I speak of little Sarah as 
 my own daughter, but she was not so by 
 birth. Her real name was Mitchell, and I 
 am her aunt; but, when Nancy's father and 
 mother died, I used to look out of my cabin 
 door to see if Nancy were not coming to me 
 through the trees, and at last she came, and 
 she is now a child of my heart. So it shall 
 by with Sarah Mitchell her own folks are 
 gone, and when she comes back from cap- 
 tivity, it will be to me. 
 
 "I take children, and make them my own. 
 Nancy Hanks is my own, and Sarah Mitch- 
 ell, when she comes back from captivity, will 
 be my own. 
 
 "We say that the Redman has no heart, 
 but a mother is a mother. My hope for 
 Sarah is in an Indian mother's heart. 
 
 " There was an Indian woman that wan- 
 dered about the country, whom they called
 
 80 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 'Old Heth' or ' Moo-May' or 'Moi-Mai.' 
 She was not old, but her form became famil- 
 iar, so the borderers called her 'old.' She 
 carried a little girl baby about with her, and 
 seemed to have a strong love for it. She 
 did not strap it to her back, but folded it to 
 her breast, and it seemed her delight to look 
 into its eyes. She called it after an Indian 
 word that I cannot pronounce now mean- 
 ing the 'Light of her Eyes.' 
 
 "The little girl sickened and died. After 
 the child's death Heth or Moo-May wan- 
 dered up and down the long Indian trails. 
 "When she met a traveller she would beat 
 upon her breast and say *It is empty, gone, 
 gone, gone! I sleep under hay stacks- 
 trouble dwells in houses, and cabins, and all. 
 Gone, gone, gone ! My bosom dies. Where 
 has vanished the Light of my Eyes ? Why 
 did the Mighty One give me the Light of my 
 Eyes? Was it to make the world that we
 
 THE INFARE 81 
 
 cannot see more bright to me than the sun- 
 world? Gone, gone, gone!' 
 
 "I can even seem now to hear her wail. 
 When the north wind came, and rattled the 
 leaves in the autumn trees, she would cry 
 out as to the sky. "Whatever your feelings 
 against the Indian may be, Moo-May was 
 capable of noble impulse and had a human 
 heart. In that heart I have hope, as I have 
 said. 
 
 ' The Indian war came, as you know. The 
 savages swept down on the settlements, 
 startling the air with their merciless war 
 whoops, and vanishing with their red scalps 
 lifted on poles which they bore through the 
 air. 
 
 "I was young then, and the first time my 
 heart palpitated with fear when I heard the 
 Shar-a-gar-gar of their war whoop. 
 
 "One day, on my journey to Kentucky, I 
 was out in the berry bushes, and my little 
 niece Sarah, whom I called my daughter,
 
 82 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 was with me. The war whoop sounded; it 
 seemed to come from the rocks. I caught 
 up the child, and fled towards a shelter, when 
 the savages crossed the path. Suddenly 
 Moo-May appeared. She said: 'Give me 
 the child/ She took Sarah from me. 
 
 " 'Shar-a-gar-gar!' The Indians were 
 upon me. I was stricken down. I. recov- 
 ered my senses slowly and rose up and 
 looked around. Moo-May was seated upon 
 the trunk of a tree that had fallen, and was 
 covered with mosses and running vines. The 
 Indians were gone, and Sarah was nowhere 
 to be seen. 
 
 " ' Shar-a-gar-gar!' Another band of 
 Indians came whooping down with red 
 scalps dangling in the air. I fell back, pre- 
 tending to be dead. The dreadful warriors 
 passed by like a hurricane. I rose up again. 
 Moo-May had gone. Where was Sarah? 
 My heart has been asking the question ever 
 since that hour. Had Heth been treacher-
 
 THE INFARE 83 
 
 ous to me, and gone with the whooping sav- 
 ages? 
 
 " Sarah's father came riding up on horse- 
 back. 
 
 " 'Where is Sarah?' he asked, almost 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " 'Gone!' said I, ' vanished.' 
 " 'Did the Indians carry her away?' 
 " 'No, Moo-May, the old Indian, had her. 
 I gave Sarah to her to hide.' 
 " 'Where is Moo-May?' 
 " 'I do not know vanished.' 
 " 'I will ride after the Indians.' 
 "He attempted to cross a stream. 
 ' ' Crack ! It was an Indian rifle. Sarah 's 
 father fell into the stream, and drifted 
 away. 
 
 "Where is Sarah? Ask the forest, the 
 
 winds, the streams. Ask Moo-May. Ask 
 
 the heart of a mother. Moo-May had been 
 
 a mother. 
 
 "There is her waiting plate. I have set
 
 84 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 it down amid the plates of others. If Sarah 
 be living, the hope to find her lies in the In- 
 dian mother's heart and in Wayne. I think 
 that Moo-May hid her behind the log till the 
 Indians passed by, then fled with her. 
 
 "That awful scene was five years ago 
 when Sarah disappeared in the storm of 
 warwhoops. I have never seen Moo-May 
 since. Did she give Sarah up to the sav- 
 ages, or hide her and protect her ? I do not 
 know. The plate waits. But the mother 
 that was in that Indian's heart, who herself 
 had lost a child, makes me hope for the re- 
 turn of Sarah from captivity." 
 
 She held up the waiting plate and called 
 out " Sarah! Sarah!" There was a deep 
 silence, when her lips trembled and she said : 
 
 " Nancy, you may sing now." 
 
 Nancy, timid and beautiful, stood up, her 
 eyes full of sympathy, her braided hair fall- 
 ing down her back. 
 
 Her voice rippled out like a song-bird that
 
 THE INFARE 85 
 
 had been bereft of its nest. She sang first 
 the ballad of Lord Lovell, which her ances- 
 tors had sung for hundreds of years, and 
 which is still sung in the mountains. Then, 
 when they wanted more, she sang "Barbara 
 Allen," and finally the "Nut-Brown Maid." 
 
 The table had been set bountifully. On 
 the new board was a barbacued sheep, bear 
 meat, venison, wild turkey and ducks, maple 
 sugar served in gourds, honey, fruits and 
 delicious drinks. 
 
 The house was not completed on the in- 
 side, and there was no stairway. The men 
 went up to the garret room on pegs, and 
 there slept at night on beds or bunks of 
 leaves or straw. 
 
 Thomas, who lived at a distance, stayed 
 over-night at the house. As he was ascend- 
 ing the pegs, a strange sound caught his 
 ears. It was the cry of a dog. He stopped 
 on the pegs, swung himself out, and said : 
 
 "Instinct is better than reason. I some-
 
 how feel that cry has some connection with 
 Sarah. " 
 
 "Sarah!" cried Nancy. " Sarah! Do 
 you think the Indian woman that carried 
 her away is near?" 
 
 The cry came again. Thomas shook one 
 hand, holding by the other to the peg: 
 "Listen!" 
 
 "Cry-cry-ee-ei!" It was a sharp, pitiful 
 sound. Again and again it rang, outhaunt- 
 ing the night. 
 
 "If I knew how to do it, I would give that 
 dog some of the barbacue," said the feeling 
 Nancy. 
 
 Thomas swung himself up the pegs into 
 the loft, and said: 
 
 "Goodnight, women folks." 
 
 The women who were to remain over 
 night with the family sat down to wonder 
 over what Thomas had said about the dog. 
 "Was the lost Sarah with the Indian woman
 
 THE INFARE 87 
 
 still, and was the dog that made this pecul- 
 iar sound with them both? 
 
 Nancy lay down at midnight to dream of 
 Sarah. Could she but find her, she would 
 have a sister, and what stories of the wilder- 
 ness the captive might tell. From that night 
 her mind followed as in a vision the sugges- 
 tion that Thomas had made.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 
 
 tt/^RY-OO-OO-OI!" 
 
 Vy ''There is that wolf-dog again," 
 said Mother Berry, a few days later. 
 " There he is, see, looking out of the thorn 
 bushes as if he were expecting me to call 
 him. Here, doggie, here!" 
 
 She stood in the door and waved her apron 
 in friendly fashion. 
 
 The wolf-dog came out of the thorn bushes 
 and at first moved towards her cautiously, 
 but his fears gained the mastery over his 
 inclinations and he moved back into the 
 bushes. Did some one call him back ? Had 
 he a master or a mistress there? If so, 
 who? 
 
 "I declare, I always feel as though there 
 
 89
 
 90 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 was either some good or some evil eye watch- 
 ing me out of my sight when that sound 
 falls upon my ear. That dog is owned by 
 some one who is invisible at least invisible 
 to me. I think whoever owns him feels 
 kindly toward me, and that's what makes 
 the dog act so friendly. The folks we do 
 not see make atmospheres for us. We feel 
 the friendliness of friends even when they 
 do not speak to us. I am going to put a 
 fresh locker on the hitching post, and call 
 out, 'Here, doggie, here!' 
 
 She brought a haunch of venison out of 
 the log cabin and set it up on the hitching 
 post and called again and again in such a 
 friendly tone that it set the call birds to 
 answering and inquiring. The blue jays 
 came out of the sunny woods and lit about 
 the place on the clumps of bushes. 
 
 Presently the wolf-dog came boldly out of 
 the bushes, seeming to feel that there was 
 no treachery in the voice that called him.
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 91 
 
 He approached the hitching post, seized the 
 fat haunch of the deer, unhitched it from the 
 nail, and bore it away to the cover of the 
 thorn bushes. 
 
 "S-S'sh, S-S'sh," said Mother Berry, "I 
 am going to follow him I" 
 
 She did, but when she came to the thorn 
 patch she found the venison upon the 
 ground. The dog had vanished. No one 
 was to be seen, but some one had been there, 
 for here was an open place among the thorn 
 bushes, and the leaves were gathered to- 
 gether in a sheltered place. Some one had 
 made a bed there and had watched the house 
 from it. Was the eye an Indian's? Was 
 it that of a man or a woman? Was it an 
 evil eye or a friendly one? 
 
 Mother Berry asked one more question 
 which many settlers would have asked, but 
 of which no one would think to-day : Was 
 the eye a witch's, or of some spirit of goo'd? 
 
 She believed that it was the eye of grati-
 
 92 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 tude watching her with good will and that 
 the strange wolf-dog followed that good will- 
 ing eye. Such notions were common in the 
 Wilderness, which was in fact full of re- 
 vengeful eyes which lurked in thickets to 
 do evil. But there was some satisfaction in 
 knowing that an Indian, if once a friend, 
 was always a friend. 
 
 Mother Berry had always treated Indians 
 well, although there was no particular In- 
 dian to whom she had attached herself. That 
 fact made the matter more mysterious; to 
 be followed by a friendly wolf-dog, with a 
 master or mistress unseen, now became the 
 mystery of her life. Many people have a 
 personality that they do not recognize them- 
 selves, and Mother Berry had a good heart 
 that others saw, but which was not recog- 
 nized by herself. A good heart is an un- 
 conscious influence. Mother Berry, "who 
 took to children, " carried an atmosphere 
 about her whose influence was indirect, but
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 93 
 
 produced a spark of the sunlight that shines 
 for all. Does the sun see himself shine ? 
 
 A few minutes later Thomas Lincoln ar- 
 rived, and when Aunt Berry gave her idea 
 that there was a good Indian watching over 
 them, he would have none of it. When 
 Nancy insisted that it might be so, Thomas 
 told them the story of his father's death as 
 his reason for hating all Indians. Nancy 
 was eager to hear the details of the story, of 
 which she had known only the main facts. 
 
 "I was seven years old," said Thomas, 
 "when my father went with his three sons to 
 fell some timber and make our clearing 
 larger. He and I were with the oxen at one 
 edge of the woods, while my brothers, Mor- 
 decai and Josiah, were grubbing a stump 
 some distance away. The log house was in 
 the center of the clearing, and we were 
 anxious to get many trees cut down so that 
 no Indian could hide in the woods and shoot 
 a person in the doorway. Also we wanted
 
 94 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 to be out of reach of the arrows which the 
 Indians could shoot for long distances. 
 Sometimes they would put lighted punk on 
 their arrows and shoot them onto the roofs 
 in the hope of setting the cabin afire. 
 
 "We had been at work some time, and 
 father had felled a large tree, trimmed the 
 branches, and cut the trunk into three logs. 
 The oxen were just hitched to one log and 
 father was punching the off steer with his 
 goad when I heard the crack of a rifle, and 
 father fell over at my feet. 
 
 "Small as I was, I at once knew that an 
 Indian had shot him, and I set up a cry. 
 My brothers were about twenty rods away, 
 but they at once knew what was the trouble. 
 
 " 'Run to the stockade for help,' said 
 Mordecai to Josiah, who immediately dis- 
 appeared in that direction, while Mordecai 
 got to the house as quick as he could. 
 
 "For some reason on that day no one had
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 95 
 
 taken a rifle, but even if they had it would 
 have been madness to stay in the clearing. 
 
 "When my father fell he knocked me over 
 and I was so scared that I lay still. He 
 made not a single sound. The rifle ball hit 
 him over the heart, and his warm blood 
 trickled all over me. 
 
 "I was almost beside myself with fear, 
 but I knew that it was dangerous to move. 
 Finally I managed to get my head up and, 
 looking around, could see no one. Then I 
 got up, thinking I would run for the house. 
 At that moment an Indian in full war paint 
 came out of the woods not twenty feet from 
 me. 
 
 "I knew at once that he intended to scalp 
 my father and carry me away as prisoner. 
 He had evidently reloaded his rifle, but car- 
 ried it by his side and made no effort to 
 shoot me. There were many stumps in the 
 clearing, and I thought maybe I could run
 
 96 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 zig-zag, hiding behind one after another, 
 and thus get to the cabin. 
 
 "As I turned to run I saw Mordecai's 
 rifle pointing out of the loop-hope near the 
 door. I was directly between him and the 
 Indian, and if he fired, I would be killed. 
 On this I fell flat on my face but the Indian 
 picked me up and carried me to where my 
 father lay. Mordecai's aim was sure. 
 Though he took the chance of killing me, he 
 fired and the Indian fell dead across the 
 body of my father. I was unhurt. 
 
 "I was now more scared than ever. What 
 if the woods were full of Indians ? I man- 
 aged to crawl on my stomach behind some 
 limbs from the tree we had just felled, and 
 waited to see what would happen. 
 
 "Soon another Indian appeared in the 
 woods looking anxiously from behind a 
 beech tree. Mordecai must have seen him, 
 for he fired, but did not touch the Indian, 
 who jumped behind the tree again. From
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 97 
 
 time to time some five Indians were seen in 
 different parts of the woods, but none came 
 out into view, for Mordecai fired whenever 
 he got sight of one, though he hit none of 
 them. I think they wanted to get the dead 
 body of their comrade, and might have at 
 last done so by sneaking along the ground, 
 when a shout came from the other side of 
 the clearing, and Josiah appeared with a 
 number of our neighbors. 
 
 "They did not come to where I lay at first, 
 but, in Indian fashion, spread out to en- 
 circle the clearing. They jumped from tree 
 to tree, making in the directions called out 
 by Mordecai from the cabin, but they were 
 not attacked. Evidently the Indians were 
 in no mood for a fight, and they disappeared. 
 The men followed them for hours, but they 
 had made good their escape toward the 
 Ohio. 
 
 "I reckon I lay there altogether an hour 
 before help came, but it seemed to me an
 
 98 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 eternity. Sometimes it seemed to me as if 
 my heart had stopped beating. Once I put 
 my hand there to feel, and it was covered 
 with the wet blood which had soaked my 
 shirt. When I looked at that red hand, 
 anger filled me until I thought I should 
 burst. My heart now throbbed as if it 
 would break my ribs. When Mordecai 
 found me my teeth were set so I could not 
 open them for a long time. And then and 
 there I swore vengence for my father's 
 bloOd. I was not old enough to fire a gun, 
 but from that moment it was my ambition to 
 kill an Indian. 
 
 "I never have killed one yet, for Mordecai 
 shot at all who came in sight, and though he 
 has dropped many of them, I will not be 
 avenged until I wash with Indian blood the 
 hand that was stained with father's." 
 
 Thomas had grown excited while talking, 
 and as he closed his story, he stood up, looked
 
 THE WOLF-DOG 99 
 
 for a moment at the forest, and disappeared 
 toward home without a word of farewell. 
 
 "Let us hope," said Mother Berry, "that 
 General Wayne will kill all the Indians nec- 
 essary so that Thomas need not have to get 
 vengeance on his own account." 
 
 "Yes,'" replied Nancy, "I don't blame 
 Thomas for his feelings, but I do hope he 
 won't kill anyone, if not in self-defense. He 
 is too good a boy for that." 
 
 Then she went on spinning. She did not 
 sing, but listened once more for the wolf- 
 dog's cry, and listened all in vain.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 INQUIRING FOR SARAH 
 
 ABOUT a month later a traveling back- 
 woodsman came to the house, with an 
 exciting story. He had seen an old Indian 
 woman and a little girl in a green thicket. 
 
 "Ah," said he, "but it was no common 
 face that she had, that black squaw. Her 
 eyes looked at you so queer and there was 
 something secret in them. The little girl 
 had blue eyes, and when you spoke to her she 
 turned her face to the black squaw's breast. 
 The crows flew around them cawing, and 
 the squirrels peeked at them from the 
 trees." 
 
 Nancy at once became greatly excited, and 
 
 called her aunt to hear the rest of the story. 
 
 101
 
 102 
 
 Mrs. Berry came running, throwing her 
 apron over her head for a hood. 
 
 " Where was it?" she cried. 
 
 "Oh miles away I could hardly find the 
 place again. It was not far from the Salt 
 Licks." 
 
 "Did you leave her where you found 
 her?" 
 
 "Who the little girl?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. I couldn't take her if I had 
 wanted to; besides I didn't know to whom 
 she belonged. I didn't even know you had 
 lost a little girl." 
 
 Mr. Berry now came hurrying at his 
 wife's call. 
 
 "What became of the little girl?" asked 
 he. 
 
 "Well, stranger, it was this way; believe 
 it or not; that don't matter to me. I found 
 the girl and the black squaw together, and I 
 said to myself that this was a stolen child, 
 that somewhere a mother had empty arms.
 
 INQUIRING FOR SARAH 103 
 
 So I said to the squaw 'That is a stolen 
 white child. ' 
 
 " 'Who told?' said she. 
 
 "' It tells itself, 'said I. 
 
 " 'No, no,' said she. 'I took child to save. 
 I lost mine ; no one likes empty heart. She 
 good child, she love me.' 
 
 "She sat there stolid. A wild partridge 
 came near in the silence, and fluttered across 
 the way. It was a still place, and the old 
 squaw sat silent. She seemed waiting for 
 something. 
 
 "Presently the little white girl started up 
 as though her quick ears had caught a sound. 
 She seemed about to speak, when the squaw 
 waved her hand, before her mouth. 
 
 "'Ihear ' 
 
 "The squaw waved her hand again, and 
 drew the white child down beside her. 
 
 " 'Hark!' said the girl. 
 
 "The squaw touched her lips. What did
 
 104 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 it mean? Were Indians coming? I could 
 hear nothing. 
 
 "But the white child sat as if listening. 
 
 "Then I thought that I heard a sound in 
 the distance. 
 
 " ' Stranger,' at last she said, turning her 
 black eyes to mine, 'here is a wild gourd 
 shell. Go down hill ; fill it with water from 
 spring and don't get kill by cattle running 
 to cow licks. ' 
 
 "I took the gourd and went down the 
 trail, which was trodden hard by the feet of 
 an hundred cattle. I found at the foot of 
 the hill a tract of thick bushes, and followed 
 the cattle tracks to a flowing spring. Near 
 it was a salt lick. 
 
 "As I came to the place, I heard as it were 
 a thunder of hoofs. Cattle run and plunge 
 when they begin to smell a salt lick. I saw 
 a great herd coming down a bank, dark as a 
 cloud, with plunging heads, and uplifted 
 tails. I stepped into a cluster of trees to
 
 INQUIRING TOR SARAH 105 
 
 avoid them. They stopped to drink at the 
 spring, and then rushed on to the cow licks. 
 
 "I found it hard to find pure, clear water, 
 but I did so at last and filled the gourd, and 
 returned with it to the log where the child 
 and squaw had been. The log was there, 
 but the squaw and the little girl had van- 
 ished. 
 
 "I inquired at a road house about the 
 squaw and the white child. 
 
 " 'I don't know,' said the tavern keeper, 
 'you can never tell; she appears often and 
 then she is gone. They say that she loves 
 the white child. Love? I would think as 
 much of a leather woman having a heart like 
 that. It is a mystery.' And that is all I 
 know, or can tell about the black squaw and 
 the little white girl. What do you know 
 about them 1 ?" 
 
 An exciting talk followed. The Berrys 
 'gave the man a supper and a wild-grass bed,
 
 106 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and he went away in the morning towards 
 the "far woods of the Indiana country." 
 
 Nancy arose early the next morning. She 
 had not slept. She stood on the doorstep for 
 a while, shaking her sunbonnet, and patting 
 Peidy. 
 
 "I am going away a while," said she to 
 Aunt Berry. 
 
 But she did not go alone.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL UNDER THE TREES 
 
 THE Berrys were about the door soon 
 after sunrise, preparing to go to the 
 great yearly camp-meeting. They were wait- 
 ing only for Thomas, and Nancy was fearful 
 that he might not come. But he did come, 
 and was eagerly welcomed by her. 
 
 "You have been promising to go in search 
 of Sarah for a long time. Now let me see 
 whether you can find her. But, mind, she 
 may be in the care of a good Indian, so don't 
 shoot unless attacked. 
 
 "Well," replied Thomas, "I hope to find 
 
 \ 
 
 her, and at least we can have a good time. I 
 am always better after a camp-meeting, 
 though I'm not sure that I wouldn't shut 
 out the daylight from an Indian yet. Sup- 
 
 107
 
 108 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 pose I were to find a squaw holding Sarah 
 in charge and that she were trying to make 
 into hiding, or would not give her up? I 
 wouldn't be responsible for what I would 
 do. I would remember that day when a 
 merciless red man shot my father." 
 
 At once they set out for the great camp- 
 meeting grounds, and found plenty of com- 
 pany. All the people who could possibly do 
 so were on the way. 
 
 Some rode in wagons and some were on 
 horseback, with baskets of food on their 
 pack saddles. The Berrys and Sparrows, 
 and the Hankses made a sort of family 
 party, and they had a merry time of it. The 
 weather was fine and the woods never looked 
 more beautiful. 
 
 They passed great ponds full of geese, and 
 saltlicks where deer were stalking. Wood 
 fowl with half grown broods were every- 
 where. The sky was purple and cloudless, 
 and all the air was like a sun-plain.
 
 Many Indian squaws liked to visit camp- 
 meetings, and find shelter on the borders of 
 the camp grounds, where they often sold 
 baskets and ornaments. These were harm- 
 less old creatures whose husbands were dead 
 and who never molested the whites, but often 
 gave them valuable information. Nancy 
 hoped by inquiring of all of these that she 
 might be able to find some trace of the squaw 
 who had the white child. All the squaws 
 she knew were fond of her, and she hoped 
 to get into the good graces of the rest. As a 
 rule, the Indians are very secretive, and they 
 do not like to talk about themselves, and so 
 Nancy made up her mind to be very cautious 
 in her questions so as not to arouse sus- 
 picion. 
 
 Camp-meetings under the influence of 
 Bishop Asbury, and later under the eccentric 
 Peter Cartwright, who was now a boy in this 
 neighborhood, began to be great centers of 
 resort in the beautiful groves of the mighty
 
 110 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 empire stretching from the Great Lakes to 
 the Mississippi. This movement under 
 Peter Cartwright, "the Kentucky boy," 
 spread rapidly. By some it was called the 
 "Cumberland movement/' by others "The 
 New Light Stir," as in New England in the 
 times of Jesse Lee. 
 
 The purpose of these great meetings of the 
 pioneers and borderers in the ancient groves 
 was to "get shouting happy," after the 
 views of some of the singular leaders. One 
 of these famous "elders," as they were 
 known, often became "shouting happy," 
 and reached a state of ecstasy that was some- 
 times out of his normal senses. His idea of 
 heaven was that it would be a great camp- 
 meeting of "shouting happy people" under 
 some Cumberland valley groves, or amid 
 farm gardens like those of the sunny and 
 glorious Shenandoah. And here let me say 
 that while I am not a Methodist, I have no 
 disposition to criticize the old camp-meet-
 
 THE CATHEDRAL UNDER THE TREES 111 
 
 ing, although it represented largely what we 
 to-day call the " emotional" in religion. 
 The camp-meeting of the Middle West 
 brought forth harvests of good; it gave to 
 the atmosphere the view that the great phi- 
 losopher Kant gave to Germany, that " spirit 
 is the only reality, ' ' that to have the right 
 spiritual gravitation is everything, and 
 "all else is dust." It was a school of life. 
 
 This great camp-meeting in southern 
 Kentucky, in the year before the treaty of 
 peace of Greenville, was notable because it 
 was conducted by Bishop Asbury. He was 
 a great believer in the value of music in re- 
 ligion, and always led the audience. One 
 of his favorites was : 
 
 "How happy, gracious Lord, are we, 
 Divinely drawn to follow thee, 
 
 Whose days divided are, 
 Between the mount and multitude. 
 Our days are spent in doing good, 
 
 Our nights in praise and prayer.
 
 112 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "The winter's night, the summer day, 
 Glide peacefully away, 
 
 Too short to sing thy praise. 
 Too few we find the happy hours, 
 And haste to join the heavenly powers, 
 
 In everlasting praise. ' ' 
 
 Nancy always enjoyed camp-meetings, not 
 only because she was by nature spiritual, but 
 because she learned some new hymns each 
 year, and people would come miles to hear 
 her sing them in the rude log churches near 
 her home. 
 
 Thomas Lincoln was inclined to be a 
 "Free Will Baptist," but attended the 
 camp-meetings and went to any "preach- 
 ing" in the neighborhood. The camp-meet- 
 ings were scarcely denominational. They 
 
 
 
 were social as well as religious gatherings. 
 The people came to them in wagons, on 
 horseback, and on foot, often from cabins a 
 hundred or more miles away, and camped
 
 THE CATHEDRAL UNDER THE TREES 113 
 
 near the grove where the meetings were 
 held. 
 
 They made great fires from the dry wood 
 for cooking, set up forked sticks and a green 
 pole across, and hung kettles on the pole. 
 In these they heated water and made por- 
 ridge, soups, and succotash, while they 
 roasted venison on a spit. They came ac- 
 companied by dogs, and it was difficult to 
 keep the dogs from stealing the deer meat, 
 of which they are passionately fond. 
 
 While the crowd was singing and shout- 
 ing, and all eyes were directed towards the 
 grand stand, the sly dogs would seize the 
 venison and drag it away with ki, hies, and 
 burned tongues. As it cooled they would 
 drag it farther and farther away, to the 
 spring, when the "tent masters" would come 
 running after them, with temptations to say 
 improper words, and crying: 
 
 "The dogs have got the meat. Stop them, 
 stop them!"
 
 114 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 The Wilderness, like that the Israelites 
 trod, abounded with quail as if sent from 
 heaven. 
 
 The people slept in tents, or on green pine 
 boughs in fair weather. They were broth- 
 erly and happy. They called each other 
 " brothers" and the memory of these green- 
 wood assemblies would often make the heart 
 of the lonely pioneer happy for a year. 
 
 Sometimes the men were on guard against 
 the Indians, but this year there were none 
 in the region. They were far to the north- 
 west, preparing for a final conflict with the 
 troops of Wayne. The land that had been 
 full of crimes committed by the Indians 
 was waiting now for a terrible struggle. 
 
 One evening, as all were resting near the 
 great camp-meeting grove, Nancy was 
 startled by the cry of a panther. 
 
 "Oh, Thomas," said she, "I have heard 
 that cry before, in the Wilderness Road. ' ' 
 
 When Nancy had passed over the "Wil-
 
 THE CATHEDRAL UNDER THE TREES 115 
 
 derness Road," from Virginia to Kentucky, 
 it was full of the terrors of wild beasts and 
 hostile Indians. 
 
 The dangers from animals had become 
 less. Now and then a panther, with the in- 
 clination to leap from the trees and break 
 the neck of its victim, might imperil the 
 way, but there were few. Bears still came 
 near the settlements, but they did not attack 
 anyone unless they themselves were at- 
 tacked. Nancy was not afraid of them at 
 aU. 
 
 " Thomas, look a-yonder!" cried Nancy. 
 
 Thomas looked. 
 
 A she-bear with her little cubs had come 
 from the woods towards the wagon. 
 
 "Oh, how cunning!" exclaimed Nancy. 
 
 Thomas stopped and raised his gun. 
 
 "Don't do that," said Nancy. 
 
 "Why, little woman?" 
 
 "The cubs are so cunning." 
 
 The she-bear stopped in the way. She
 
 116 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 had probably come out of her cave hunting 
 berries. 
 
 As Thomas lifted his gun, she rose up on 
 her haunches, and raised her paws like two 
 hands, in wonder. 
 
 She probably had never seen a gun, and 
 seemed by her attitude to say: "You are 
 not going to harm me and my family, are 
 you?" 
 
 "Don't fire," said Nancy, "the cubs are so 
 young. I have a great respect for the rights 
 of young children." 
 
 "But cubs are not children. It is the 
 purpose of all pioneers to rid the country of 
 varmints; I must fire, Nancy. It is my 
 duty ; we must wage a sharp warfare against 
 barbarism, like Wayne." 
 
 He held the gun. The bear once more 
 stood up like a woman. 
 
 "Don't shoot the Indian squaw," said 
 Nancy. "The bear trusts us, has faith in 
 us. We don't shoot Indians that have faith
 
 THE CATHEDRAL UNDER THE TREES 117 
 
 in us. I would never harm anything that 
 believed in me." 
 
 The gun wobbled. 
 
 Suddenly the bear dropped down on her 
 fore feet and skeeted into the berry bushes, 
 with her two cubs after her. 
 
 "You did that, Nancy, with your foolish 
 heart." 
 
 "What, Thomas?" 
 
 "Let the bear go." 
 
 "But she will never harm anyone." 
 
 "Her cubs may. A bear is a bear. Oh, 
 Nancy, you were never born for the wife of 
 a pioneer. You were born to spin flax in 
 the merry cabins and win the heart of every- 
 body." 
 
 They did not hear the panther again, and 
 were just going to sleep when once more a 
 sound was heard. This time it was the same 
 wolf-dog cry they had so often heard. 
 
 "Cry-oo-oo-oi!"
 
 118 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Aunt Berry leaped to her feet, and flung 
 out her hands. 
 
 "That is the same cry that we have heard 
 before. That cry has circled around' our 
 house at a distance for some years. It 
 ^haunts the air. That wolf-dog has followed 
 us all this distance, and I am more convinced 
 than ever that it has something to do with 
 Sarah. " 
 
 In the morning they heard the same cry 
 again. 
 
 " Thomas, " said Nancy, "you follow the 
 sound." 
 
 The morning prayers were beginning in 
 the great grove, where a sort of tent had 
 been made of green boughs. 
 
 A hymn was arising 
 
 "Lord, in the morning thou shalt hear.'" 
 
 Nancy joined the kneeling people, while 
 
 Thomas went out into the Wilderness trail. 
 
 He had not gone far when a sight startled
 
 THE CATHEDRAL UNDER THE TREES 119 
 
 him. It was that of an old Indian woman 
 plodding along with a stick, making a bed 
 of her back and crooning as she passed 
 along. In front of her ran a little dog 
 white, or nearly so, with a bushy tail. It 
 looked like a wolf-dog. The dog ran back to 
 the old woman when he saw Thomas and 
 circled around her. He suddenly stopped, 
 threw up his head and uttered the same 
 sound that Thomas had heard in the morn- 
 ing 
 
 "Cry-oo-oo-oi!" 
 
 The old woman stopped as she saw 
 Thomas approaching. She said : 
 " There are wolves in the timber." 
 " Where are you going ?" asked Thomas. 
 "To the meeting." 
 "What is your name?" 
 "Moo-May, they call me." 
 "What have you on your back?" 
 ' * That is my little white girl. She is sick, 
 has the fall fever, but she wanted to have
 
 120 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 her bed made in sight of the meeting, and 
 hear the preaching and the singing, and so I 
 am bringing her along. My back is 
 strong." 
 
 " Where did you find this girl?" 
 
 "I saved her from my own people. She 
 entered into my breast, as I had lost my 
 own. I hid her behind a log when my own 
 people fell upon the settlers, and hid her 
 away in the wood. Then I could not let her 
 go. She likes to hear preaching and sing- 
 ing, so I have brought her. I came alone 
 and reached the place last night. I take 
 care of her, and my little wolf-dog here he 
 takes care of me, so let us pass along." 
 
 Thomas looked at the sick girl. She was 
 a slender child and was suffering from the 
 malarial fever then common to the country. 
 
 "Did you ever know a family by the name 
 of Sparrow, in the Harding woods'?" 
 
 "No, not that I am sure of." 
 
 "Did you ever hear of a family by the
 
 THE CATHEDRAL UNDER THE TREES 121 
 
 name of Berry? Did you ever see a woman 
 by the name of Berry, in Harding woods?" 
 
 The old Indian turned around, and said: 
 
 "It is not for me to be talking to a 
 stranger as to whom I know. You go right 
 along, and I will go on my own way." 
 
 Thomas pretended to go on. He turned 
 back when he was out of sight of the Indian 
 woman and her tender burden. 
 
 He ran back to the place of the encamp- 
 ment. He called: 
 
 "Nancy!" 
 
 The girl came out to receive him back 
 again. 
 
 "I have found Sarah!" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "She is coming on the back of an old 
 Indian woman. The little dog is with 
 them." 
 
 "When will they come?" 
 
 "They will be here soon." 
 
 But they did not come. Nancy and
 
 122 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Thomas roamed the woods for them during 
 the meeting, but no trace of the Indian 
 woman, Sarah, or the dog, was to be found. 
 Even the peculiar cry of the dog was not 
 heard again. 
 
 The Berrys were broken-hearted with 
 disappointment, but still felt they would 
 find Sarah some day.
 
 SLEEPING UNDER THE WAGON 
 
 THEY had made their tent amid some 
 tall maples, a little distance from the 
 main grove. As a rule, on these trips people 
 slept for safety under the wagon that 
 carried their few belongings. The woods 
 were pleasant at night, but " scary," to use 
 the pioneer word. Bears would sometimes 
 follow them at a distance in day time, and 
 though they were harmless they scared the 
 children. The timber wolves were also 
 harmless, and there were but few venomous 
 snakes, but there was one animal that 
 caused Nancy to draw near the main wagon 
 when she heard its cry ; it was the panther. 
 On the second night of their stay in some 
 lone clump of timber on the still and level 
 
 123
 
 124 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 lands, the voice of the panther would be 
 often heard like a crying child. The horses 
 would first hear it and begin to beat their 
 feet on the ground. Then the cry would 
 pierce the air, and cause them to start and 
 tremble. There is hardly any sound of the 
 forests that so affects the nerves of men or 
 animals as the cry of the panther. 
 
 Thomas had been feeling anxious ever 
 since the night before, when they had heard 
 its first cry. This panther is more properly 
 called a lynx or wildcat, and is feared be- 
 cause it is very persistent. When hungry 
 it will attack anything, and is very difficult 
 to see, and it can jump with almost light- 
 ning rapidity. 
 
 "We shall rest without rocking to-night," 
 said Thomas, "but we will need to have one 
 ear open, for something has been following 
 us in a path through the trees." 
 
 "Have you seen anything?" asked Nancy. 
 
 "No, but the horses have felt it."
 
 SLEEPING UNDER THE WAGON 125 
 
 "A panther?" asked Nancy. 
 
 "It may be I cannot tell, but there is 
 something wrong in the air. The treetops 
 are as close as tents all along the way, and 
 a panther might hide in them, stretched out 
 like a snake." 
 
 The horses were uneasy, treading the 
 ground. 
 
 "Panthers do not need food at this season 
 of the year," said Nancy. 
 
 "A panther will seek the food that he 
 best likes at any season of the year. There 
 are big panthers that live in tree tops like 
 these some folks call them tigers. The 
 panther kills animals by leaping upon them 
 so as to break their necks." 
 
 Except for the cry of the night birds, 
 nature was silent; not a breeze stirred the 
 tops of the trees. But the horses continued 
 restless. Thomas repeated: 
 
 "There is something wrong in the air. 
 The horses sniff something. "
 
 126 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 He fell asleep in his own shelter, but 
 Nancy could hear the beating of the horses' 
 feet, and lay awake in the shelter set apart 
 for the women. 
 
 There fell on her ears a sound as of some- 
 thing creeping in the air among the tree 
 tops. She listened with intent ears. 
 
 i i Thomas ! Awake ! There is something ! ' ' 
 
 Thomas awoke and listened. 
 
 "The wind is rising," said he, and he be- 
 gan to doze. 
 
 "Thomas, I can hear it!" 
 
 "Kemember Stony Point!" gasped the 
 half-dozing Thomas in a high tone. ' ' There, 
 Nancy, all is right now these are the days 
 of Wayne." 
 
 "But, Thomas, Thomas, Stony Point was 
 lost to the British because they slept on, 
 and did not watch out. Varmints don't re- 
 member Stony Point. The British do that 
 and the Indians." 
 
 Thomas snored.
 
 SLEEPING UNDER THE WAGON 127 
 
 Suddenly there was a deep shadow in the 
 high air, and something seemed leaping or 
 falling. Nancy was watching through the 
 spokes of the wheels. 
 
 A piercing cry was flung out by what 
 seemed the leaping shadow, merciless, 
 exultant. 
 
 The whole company started. One of the 
 horses had strayed away some feet from his 
 tether, and was feeding on some green grass 
 under a clump of trees that rose like a huge 
 tower. He met the cry in the air with a 
 pain-fraught squeal and by frantic leaps. 
 
 The company started up in affright. An 
 animal had descended from the trees, by a 
 long leap, and had fastened itself to the 
 neck of the horse. It was a lithe but heavy 
 animal, and indeed as long as a tiger. 
 
 Thomas did not seize his rifle, but his 
 broad axe. In a few minutes the animal 
 lay dead on the ground, hacked by mighty
 
 128 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 blows, and the horse jumped about trem- 
 bling and bleeding. 
 
 "But there may be another panther 
 hiding in the trees," said Nancy. 
 
 "Yes, there may be at some other time, 
 but not now. There may always be some 
 other dangers, but there are no more 
 panthers here." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "On account of the atmosphere. If there 
 were another panther here, the other horse 
 would know it. Don't you see how steady 
 he stands now? He would know it if any 
 other danger were near." 
 
 Thomas lay down and was soon asleep. 
 The moonlight glittered on the trees, as on 
 a lake. The cool winds arose in the deep 
 night, but little Nancy could not sleep. 
 
 So she sang over and over some hymn like 
 this one of a later period :
 
 SLEEPING UNDER THE WAGON 129 
 
 "Lord, keep us safe this night, 
 Secure from all our fears, 
 May angels guard us while we sleep 
 'Till morning light appears. " 
 
 or the camp meeting hymn : 
 
 "Come, thou fount of every blessing, 
 Tune my heart to sing thy grace, 
 
 Streams of mercy never ceasing 
 Call for sounds of loudest praise. ' ' 
 
 In the morning there was a great honk- 
 ing of geese, and when Thomas awoke he 
 said: 
 
 "We must be near a goose-nest pasture. 
 Sleep well, Nancy?" 
 
 "Not a wink. I kept watch with the 
 Lord." 
 
 "Shows what a true heart you have. Go 
 to sleep, now, and I will take off the 
 panther's skin." 
 
 He went to work, when a great surprise 
 came to him. 
 
 9
 
 130 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 In the panther's heart was found an 
 arrow. How came it there? 
 
 "Nancy, some one is following us! 
 Nancy? Nancy?" 
 
 " Where?" cried Nancy, coming out of 
 her shelter with white face and flowing hair. 
 
 " Where?" 
 
 But no answer came back. Thomas could 
 not say, and the air was still with the fresh 
 glow of the morning. 
 
 How came the arrow in the heart of the 
 panther ? 
 
 The company wondered. They talked of 
 the mystery often when they were not at- 
 tending the services at the great stand. 
 
 "I suspect,'' said Nancy, "that some one 
 unseen fired the arrow as the panther leaped, 
 and it might be the woman who bore the 
 sick girl on her back. She may be hiding 
 near us. What if the sick girl should be 
 Sarah, as Thomas thinks she was? If that 
 were so, Thomas would surely forgive that
 
 SLEEPING UNDER THE WAGON 131 
 
 Indian, notwithstanding the murder of his 
 father." 
 
 The company returned to their homes 
 through the woods, still looking for Sarah 
 and wondering.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE MESSISAGO CHIEF 
 
 ONE day, after they had returned home 
 from the camp-meeting, Mr. Berry 
 came home excited. 
 
 "He is coming!" 
 
 "Who, Thomas'?" said his wife. 
 
 "One who will make the partridge fly and 
 the little quail run." 
 
 Thomas Lincoln came running to tell 
 Mother Berry the strange news. It con- 
 cerned Little Turtle, or Mis-ik-kin-ak-wa, 
 the Messisago Chief, or Chief of the 
 Miamis. He was no common chief. He 
 could reason like a statesman and speak like 
 an orator. He was the lord of the forest; 
 the victor over St. Clair. Just now he was 
 
 133
 
 134 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 on a mission of peace and had a letter from 
 General Wayne saying lie was to be well 
 treated. 
 
 He wore Indian moccasins, a blue petti- 
 coat that came half way down his thighs, a 
 European waistcoat and surtout; his head 
 was bound with an Indian cap that hung 
 half way down his back, and almost entirely 
 filled with plain silver broaches, to the num- 
 ber of more than two hundred; he had two 
 ear-rings to each ear ; the upper part of each 
 was formed of three silver medals, about 
 the size of a dollar; the lower part was 
 formed of quarters of dollars and fell more 
 than twelve inches from his ears one from 
 each ear over his breast, the other over his 
 back ; he had three very large nose jewels of 
 silver that were curiously painted. 
 
 He was one of the noted Indians of 
 American history. 
 
 He once went to Philadelphia, where he 
 met Volney, the author of the "Kuins of
 
 THE MESSISAGO CHIEF 135 
 
 Empires," who was traveling in America 
 at the time, and also had had interviews 
 with Kosciusko, who had presented him 
 with a robe of sea-otter skin. 
 
 His talks with Volney had won that his- 
 torian's admiration. 
 
 When Mr. Volney asked Little Turtle 
 what prevented him from living among the 
 whites, and if he were not more comfort- 
 able in Philadelphia than upon the banks 
 of the Wabash, he said : 
 
 " Taking all things together, you have the 
 advantage over us ; but here I am deaf and 
 dumb. I do not talk your language ; I can 
 neither hear nor make myself heard. When 
 I walk through the streets, I see every per- 
 son in his shop employed about something 
 one makes shoes, another hats, a third 
 sells cloth, and every one lives by his labor. 
 I say to myself, which of all these things can 
 you do ? Not one. I can make a bow or an 
 arrow, catch fish, kill game, and go to war ;
 
 136 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 but none of these is of any use here. To 
 learn what is done here would require a 
 long time. 
 
 "Old age conies on. I should be a piece 
 of furniture useless to my nation, useless to 
 the whites, and useless to myself. I must 
 return to my own country. " 
 
 He learned much in Philadelphia. So 
 much that, had the tribe heeded his counsel, 
 they would never have fought General 
 Wayne. He said: "We have beaten the 
 enemy twice under separate commanders. 
 We cannot expect the same good fortune 
 always to attend us. The Americans are 
 now led by a chief who never sleeps: the 
 night and the day are alike to him. And 
 during all the time that he has been march- 
 ing upon our villages, notwithstanding the 
 watchfulness of our young men, we have 
 never been able to surprise him. Think well 
 of it There is something whispers to me,
 
 THE MESSISAGO CHIEF 137 
 
 it would be prudent to listen to his offers 
 of peace." 
 
 Another chief arose to answer him: 
 
 "He speaks with the heart of a coward," 
 said he. "Who is this Gen. Wayne that we 
 should fear him 1 ? The hour of the Indian 
 has come. Who will lead us forth 1 ?" 
 
 " I, " said the lord of the Ohio. " I am no 
 coward. I only seek the good of my race." 
 
 But to return to Thomas and the strange 
 news he had to tell. 
 
 He came running up to the door. 
 
 "Little Turtle is coming!" he cried. 
 
 Aunt Berry was greatly excited, but not 
 Nancy. 
 
 "And now we will inquire of him/' said 
 Nancy. 
 
 "About what?" asked Mother Berry. 
 
 "Why, about Sarah; he may know." 
 
 "Would you dare to talk with him 1 ? He 
 could not understand you."
 
 138 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Thomas. "He takes an 
 interpreter with him." 
 
 A wooden trumpet blew. A horse came 
 cantering into the clearing, bearing a wily 
 Indian. 
 
 A band of Indians on horseback followed 
 among them. Little Turtle, who was a 
 giant, rode in front of the rest. 
 
 He was decorated with silver dollars. 
 
 Aunt Berry had a dish of pounded 
 parched corn in her cupboard, and she 
 brought it out and offered it to him. He 
 accepted it, shaking his head and jingling 
 the dollars on the cords of his cap. 
 
 She spoke to his interpreter of Sarah. 
 
 The chief shook his head. Suddenly he 
 seemed to understand. 
 
 "I send her back," said the interpreter 
 for the chief. "Let your boy go with me." 
 He meant Thomas. 
 
 Aunt Berry shook her head. 
 
 "No spare."
 
 MOTHER BERRY OFFERS LITTLE TURTLE A 
 DISH OF PARCHED CORN
 
 THE MESSISAGO CHIEF 139 
 
 "You no send?" 
 
 "I can no send." 
 
 The Indians set up a fearful yell and 
 vanished through the trees. 
 
 "I could not afford to lose two," said 
 Aunt Berry. " There was red in his eyes. 
 My heart said no my inner life tells me 
 the truth. Little Turtle will never defeat 
 Wayne. It is Wayne who will send Sarah 
 back." 
 
 Little Turtle came back no more. He 
 failed in his peace mission to the Southern 
 Indians, and so went back north to his own 
 tribe, determined to make the best fight he 
 could. He knew it would be a desperate 
 affair, for Wayne now had a large army, 
 including more than a thousand Kentuck- 
 ians who knew how to hunt Indians better 
 than the regular soldiers. 
 
 And now it was known that the battle 
 must soon be at hand. The soldiers had 
 been gone a long time, and rumors came oc-
 
 140 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 casionally that they would soon catch up 
 with the Indians. 
 
 Nancy watched daily at the door for a 
 chance bearer of news. Did a man come 
 riding along the road, she would hail him to 
 ask if he had any news from Gen. Wayne. 
 She expected that the latter would engage 
 the forces of Little Turtle and defeat them, 
 and then some soldiers would appear bear- 
 ing the empty plate, and bringing home 
 Sarah from captivity. If it should be, she 
 would judge all Indians to be like Moo-May 
 with a remnant of good in their hearts. 
 
 Her theory was that Moo-May had pro- 
 tected Sarah, and had come to love her on 
 account of the loss of her own child. Since 
 the camp-meeting Mr. Berry had hunted 
 over nearly the whole of Kentucky for 
 another sight of Moo-May, but she had dis- 
 appeared as if the ground had opened to 
 receive her. The Berrys were heart-broken 
 over the thought that they had been so near
 
 THE MESSISAGO CHIEF 141 
 
 their child and lost her again, for they felt 
 certain the little girl was Sarah.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MAD ANTHONY WAYNE 
 
 AND now we must follow General Wayne 
 in his pursuit of the Indians under 
 Little Turtle. 
 
 It was said of General Washington that 
 he seldom became angry; but when he did 
 his wrath was terrible. When he heard how 
 General Arthur St. Glair had been defeated 
 by the Indians he did two things. First, he 
 gave vent to his passion in a way that awed 
 his secretary, who was present. Then he 
 sent for General Anthony Wayne to punish 
 the Indians. 
 
 Not only was Wayne a great soldier, but 
 his name gave the people confidence. They 
 felt sure he would not fail, for in spite of 
 
 143
 
 144 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the foolish name of "Mad Anthony" which 
 people gave him, he was as prudent as he 
 was brave. 
 
 Major Andre, the spy who was hanged 
 during the revolution, wrote of him : 
 
 "And now I've closed my epic strain, 
 
 I tremble as I show it, 
 Lest the same warrior-drover (Wayne 
 
 Should ever catch the poet." 
 
 The same warrior-drover Wayne did 
 catch the poet, and was one of the officers 
 whose names are associated with the execu- 
 tion of Andre for his share in Benedict 
 Arnold's treason. 
 
 At Brandywine, at Monmouth, at Valley 
 Forge, and Yorktown, his success was 
 notable, and his soldiers loved him. 
 
 " Dandy Wayne," the soldiers sometimes 
 called him, for he favored the use of bright 
 uniforms and was always trying to get the 
 best for them.
 
 MAD ANTHONY WAYNE 145 
 
 The Indians called him "the snake," and 
 the people who saw him on the march, the 
 "wind" and the "tornado." 
 
 He was born in East Town, Chester 
 County, Penna., in 1745. His ancestors 
 were Irish, and had known service at Boyne 
 Water. He was a farmer's son, was edu- 
 cated at the Philadelphia Academy, and be- 
 came a land surveyor and legislator, and 
 was for the day a rich man when war was 
 declared. He entered the Revolutionary 
 army and rapidly rose to distinction. Wher- 
 ever he went he bore the banner of victory, 
 and he gave all his fortune to the cause. 
 
 After Yorktown he was sent south to join 
 Gen. Nathanael Greene against the British 
 and Creek Indians in Georgia. Here, too, 
 he organized victory. He struck, and the 
 Creeks disappeared. The Georgians liked 
 him so well that he lived there for a while 
 after peace was made with great Britain. 
 
 He answered Washington's summons at 
 10
 
 146 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 once. The tribes lie was to subdue were 
 powerful, wily, filled with the spirit of re- 
 venge and exultant over their recent vic- 
 tory. If Wayne could subdue them, the 
 middle West would be open to civilization. 
 Detroit might become a city, Louisville, St. 
 Louis, Chicago (Fort Dearborn), Vin- 
 cennes, Marietta, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, 
 a hundred settlements on the trail might 
 grow into towns; the Cumberland Gap 
 might become a gateway to a new immigra- 
 tion, the woods might fall, the prairies 
 might twinkle with lights, and a gigantic 
 empire arise and welcome the world. 
 
 The Indian tribes were incited against 
 the borderers by the English in Canada and 
 at various posts in our country which they 
 had not given up. They bore English arms. 
 After the defeat of St. Clair, Kentucky, 
 Ohio and Indiana were often ravaged by 
 Indian bands who would swiftly descend on 
 a settlement, kill and scalp the men, while
 
 MAD ANTHONY WAYNE 147 
 
 women and children were taken captives. 
 Wayne marched into this region of fire and 
 blood. He built a fort near Greenville, 
 which he called Fort Recovery. He pushed 
 forward to the Miami River, and established 
 Fort Adams and Fort Miami. He did not 
 move in a hurry. His idea was to be always 
 prepared and never to retreat an inch. It 
 took him a long time to train his soldiers 
 so that they could fight Indians. Wherever 
 he went he had to build roads and forts, so 
 that he could have his ammunition and pro- 
 visions safe. But he never took one back- 
 ward step. The Indians soon called him 
 "the General that never sleeps," and this 
 was almost literally true. 
 
 When an army is asleep, sentinels are al- 
 ways kept on guard so as to prevent sur- 
 prise. The penalty of sleeping on sentinel 
 duty is death, for it might mean many 
 deaths if an enemy should get past a sen- 
 tinel. Every night, as soon as his soldiers
 
 148 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 were asleep, General Wayne would go 
 around to see if all his sentinels were on 
 duty. He would spend the night doing this, 
 to be sure the Indians could not surprise his 
 little army as it lay encamped in the woods. 
 
 Many children who read this story have 
 traveled in Ohio and Indiana on swift rail- 
 way trains. They have seen the beautiful, 
 farms, villages and cities in those states. 
 But they cannot imagine how in Wayne's 
 day all this country was covered with a 
 dense forest. There were no towns, no 
 bridges over the rivers, and no roads except 
 as the soldiers built them. This was a slow 
 task, but when Wayne did anything it was 
 thorough. 
 
 Slowly he built his roads and forts north- 
 west from Cincinnati until he reached the 
 country where the Indians must either fight 
 or go farther west.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE BATTLE OF FALLEN TIMBERS 
 
 WE have now to tell about General 
 Wayne's great victory over the In- 
 dians at Falling Timbers. It is not only 
 an interesting story, but it bears directly on 
 our narration of Nancy and Thomas. Had 
 not Wayne succeeded, it seems likely that 
 Abraham Lincoln would have never left 
 Kentucky and might possibly have never 
 reached the prominence he achieved as in 
 many respects the greatest of all Americans. 
 Seventy-five years after Nancy gave her 
 pewter plate to Wayne, her son was uni- 
 versally declared to have been not only the 
 greatest, but one of the best of men. Not 
 only did this opinion prevail in the United 
 
 149
 
 150 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 States, in North and South alike, and espe- 
 cially among those who fought against him, 
 but in the palaces of kings and emperors of 
 Europe, among the good and great the good 
 and once unknown name of Lincoln was 
 spoken then as ever since with reverence 
 and almost adoration. He loved all, and he 
 suffered all, and he accomplished more for 
 the real good of humanity than almost any 
 other man who has ever lived. 
 
 In saying that Wayne's victory was in a 
 considerable degree responsible for Lin- 
 coln's rise to power, it is freely confessed 
 that God overrules many things for good 
 and that He works out His purposes in His 
 own way. God might not have called Lin- 
 coln to the task which he performed because 
 circumstances might have designated an- 
 other. Nor can we believe, in any event, 
 that Lincoln would have failed to be a great 
 and good man. It is possible that under 
 other circumstances he might not have been
 
 THE BATTLE OF FALLEN TIMBERS 151 
 
 the chosen instrument for accomplishing 
 God's purposes in America. 
 
 So far as human eye can see, the victory 
 of Wayne over the Indians made the oppor- 
 tunity by which Lincoln, through a variety 
 of circumstances, rose to supreme human 
 authority and greatness in this country. 
 Wayne's victory led Abraham Lincoln from 
 Kentucky, through Indiana, to Illinois, and 
 thence to greatness in the popular estima- 
 tion. 
 
 Twice had Washington sent armies 
 against the Indians of the Northwest, and 
 twice had they met defeat near the borders 
 of Indiana and Ohio. Both times the In- 
 dians were under Little Turtle, one of the 
 greatest of Indian generals. We must 
 credit him with his undoubted abilities. 
 Yet can we doubt that, if white men had al- 
 ways been just and kind, the wars would 
 never have occurred. 
 
 General Harmar fought and lost at the
 
 152 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Maumee, or Miami, in a battle that was 
 perhaps almost the most disastrous in our 
 annals. After him, General Arthur St. 
 Clair fought, and the disaster was even 
 greater. Little Turtle had in both cases 
 won on the merits of his superior strategy. 
 The country was then as distant in time 
 and difficulty as Alaska is now even more 
 so. He fought a good fight and is now re- 
 spected. 
 
 But Wayne's plan was different. He de- 
 termined to meet the Indians on their own 
 grounds. He trained his men. He took 
 Kentuckians on horseback, and, after fail- 
 ing to make a peaceful settlement, he fell 
 upon Little Turtle and his braves at day- 
 light and served them as they had served 
 the whites. It was cruel in one sense, but 
 in war there must be cruelty. He surprised 
 the Indians, cut them down relentlessly, and 
 followed them up so sharply that, as we 
 shall see, peace resulted.
 
 THE BATTLE OF FALLEN TIMBERS 153 
 
 The Indians had undoubtedly been en- 
 couraged and helped by the British," many 
 of whom fought with them ; but the victory 
 of Wayne was complete, and after his day 
 Indian wars belonged to the farther west. 
 
 These things were not done suddenly. It 
 took time, but all this while Nancy Hanks 
 continued to watch from the door and win- 
 dow for the return of Sarah. She fancied 
 that the squaw's heart would cling to Sarah 
 until she was compelled to surrender her. 
 
 One day a man rode by. He lifted his 
 hand as he passed and cried out : 
 
 "Mad Wayne has triumphed again! 
 Where are the Indians now? Ask the 
 autumn leaves. The captives will all be re- 
 turned. They have made a treaty to return 
 the captives. Watch out for your own girl 
 Sarah!" 
 
 He was a stranger, but the story of Sarah 
 was known through all the country round. 
 
 The heart of Nancy again danced for joy.
 
 154 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 At the passing of every party in a wagon or 
 on horse-back she looked for the return of 
 Sarah. How would she come?
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE TREATY OF GREENVILLE 
 
 44 A TEE ATY of peace! All the captives 
 -L\_ are to be returned!" So shouted 
 an Indian runner near the home of the 
 Berrys. 
 
 The year 1795 brought the famous treaty 
 of Greenville, which at last made the West 
 a safe place for the whites to live in. Early 
 in the year, the leading Indians began to 
 manifest a subdued spirit, and to seek from 
 Wayne a council for permanent peace. The 
 Delawares, Ottawas, and Pottawattomies 
 came to him with friendly words. Wayne 
 kindled council fires, and covered them up, 
 after smoking the pipe of peace. This 
 meant that he wanted peace, though he told 
 
 155
 
 156 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 them all he would fight as long as any of 
 them. 
 
 At the end of June, thirty-four Chippe- 
 was arrived from Michigan for a peace con- 
 ference. This was important, for the tribe 
 was the strongest in the Northwest, and all 
 others would be likely to follow them. 
 Wayne saw that the Fourth of July that 
 year could be made glorious, that it could 
 be made an event ever to be sacred to the 
 memory of the American Union. He said 
 to the assembled chiefs on July 3rd : 
 
 "You are welcome to my heart. I kindle 
 the council fires with a willing hand. You 
 will be protected here. 
 
 "To-morrow is July Fourth, the day on 
 which this nation proclaimed herself free 
 from Great Britain. We celebrate it with 
 the booming of cannon and parades. But 
 do you not fear. The parade is not intended 
 to do you harm. Join with us in the cele-
 
 THE TREATY OF GREENVILLE 157 
 
 bration. You will be one with our nation 
 
 now." 
 
 That Fourth was a celebration not only 
 of Independence, but of the first session of 
 the Council of Greenville. 
 
 Wayne summoned all the tribes of the 
 Northwest after that memorable Fourth. 
 They came during the months that followed. 
 The council fires were kindled and raked up 
 again. 
 
 On the 3rd of August, 1795, the great 
 Treaty of Greenville was signed. There 
 were present representatives of chief -men 
 from the Wyandots, the Delawares, the 
 Shawanese, the Ottawas, the Chippewas, 
 the Pottawattomies, the Miamis, the Kicka- 
 poos, and lesser tribes, the delegates alone 
 numbering more than a thousand men. 
 They had concluded to stop fighting. They 
 saw that it was no longer any use. 
 
 By that treaty the Indians agreed to sur- 
 render all the captives in the wilderness of
 
 158 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the Ohio. This was important, as there 
 were many of these who had been captured 
 in many states. 
 
 The news spread through all the settle- 
 ments. Little Nancy soon heard and 
 cheered the name of Wayne. 
 
 Can we wonder that Pennsylvania re- 
 ceived back "Mad Anthony" to her borders 
 with ringing bells, thunders of artillery and 
 strewing of flowers ? 
 
 After this great treaty came what may be 
 called the "Days of Wayne in the Wilder- 
 ness." The forest that had rung with the 
 warwhoop grew still; its shadows were 
 those of peacefulness. The man of the 
 White Cockade, as Wayne was called, dis- 
 appeared in part from these scenes; his 
 death in 1796 was followed by an inrush of 
 people who talked of him as though he was 
 still living and made the poor Indian cower 
 at his name. The smoke of new chimneys 
 now filled the sky, like civilization on the
 
 THE TREATY OF GREENVILLE 159 
 
 march, from the great lakes or inland seas 
 to the Mississippi. 
 
 When little Nancy heard the provisions 
 of the treaty she leaped again for joy. She 
 set her spinning wheel by the door, and 
 spun more lively than ever. 
 
 The empty plate might come back again. 
 She sang daily the old Handelian song 
 found in old music books: "See, the Con- 
 quering Hero Comes!" and the hymn 
 stanza : 
 
 ' ' How long, dear Saviour, oh, how long, 
 
 Shall that bright hour delay! 
 Fly swift around, ye wheels of time, 
 
 And bring the welcome day!" 
 
 She had never spun so lively before. The 
 very birds came to peek at her as she sat by 
 the door which opened towards the deep 
 green summer woods.
 
 A STRANGE INDIAN WAYFARER 
 
 WE have said that many white women 
 and children were taken captive by 
 the Indians, and it was remarkable how the 
 squaws often became intensely fond of the 
 pale-faced children. There were many In- 
 dians wandering with white children in the 
 wilderness around what is now Fort Wayne, 
 the Summit City, but what was then a 
 stockade for the defence of the pioneers of 
 the Middle West. The stockade stood in an 
 almost direct line between what is now 
 Buffalo and Chicago, and was a place of 
 refuge for the volunteer army of pioneers 
 who were making homes between the great 
 rivers tributary to the Mississippi and the 
 Great Lakes. 
 
 11 161
 
 162 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 It was a country of wonderful beauty, of 
 giant forests, of occasional rich prairie 
 lands, of noble animals and wild fowl. The 
 prairies were seas of flowers. The ancient 
 trees around the rivers and lakes were 
 towers of green. Here the red man had 
 roamed free for unknown periods, hunting 
 and fishing, holding his green-corn dances, 
 and pipe festivals, under the full moon 
 which to him was a night sun. It is not sur- 
 prising that he did not want these haunts 
 disturbed. 
 
 The country was bounded by the Missis- 
 sippi and the northern lakes, or inland seas. 
 To the south rolled the Ohio, with banks of 
 verdure and Indian maize fields. The great 
 animals were not yet gone, but were disap- 
 pearing under the marksmanship of the 
 settlers. 
 
 Captive white children soon came to like 
 the Indian life, which was friendly, large, 
 and free. It was easy for a white child to
 
 A STRANGE INDIAN WAYFARER 163 
 
 learn the life of an Indian, far easier than 
 for an Indian child to become like a white 
 one. The children who were brought up in 
 captivity and rescued, were often reluctant 
 to return to civilization ; a life of nature had 
 more charms for them than the habits of 
 restraint. 
 
 After the camp-meeting incident Aunt 
 Berry was more careful than ever to feed 
 every Indian that came to her door, and 
 question him in regard to the captives of 
 the wilderness. Had he seen a lone Indian 
 woman with a little white girl ? 
 
 One day, an old Indian came to the cabin 
 walking slowly, with a great stick for a 
 cane. He sat down beside the door. Nancy 
 gave him something to eat and said to her 
 aunt: 
 
 "Now we may have news of Sarah. " 
 
 She spoke to the Indian in a pleasing 
 voice and asked : 
 
 "Have you come from far$"
 
 164 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "From the great cornfields the region 
 of the Miamis, where the plums, the black- 
 berries grow." 
 
 "Do you ever meet captive children by 
 the way white children?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, they are to be seen here and 
 there in the towns." 
 
 "Did you ever meet an Indian mother, 
 with a little white girl?" asked Nancy. 
 
 "She loved the little girl," said the In- 
 dian, slowly, "looked into her eyes." 
 
 "Then you have met such a woman," said 
 Aunt Betty. 
 
 "An Indian mother loves her heart 
 burns with love." 
 
 Nancy, all emotion, began to tremble and 
 cry. 
 
 The Indian sat stolid for a time, then 
 said to Nancy: 
 
 "She was your little sister?" 
 
 "Who?" cried Nancy. 
 
 "The girl with the Indian mother?"
 
 A STRANGE INDIAN WAYFARER 165 
 
 "Then you have met an Indian mother 
 with a little white girl like me 1 ?" gasped 
 Nancy. 
 
 "An Indian mother, her own child gone, 
 laid away under the blanket of earth, where 
 the dews weep, and the flowers are wet in 
 the morning. I lend her my blanket in the 
 rain." 
 
 "You have met such a woman on the way ? 
 You are a good Indian, I know," said 
 Nancy. 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "You said that you lent your blanket to 
 the child in the rain. You have a heart. 
 Where did you see the Indian mother and 
 the captive girl?" 
 
 "Did I say that I had met an Indian 
 mother and captive girl? I came from the 
 cornfields. ' ' 
 
 "Let me go there with you." 
 
 "It is a long way. What for would you 
 go?"
 
 166 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 " To find her, the girl." 
 
 "I see, but she is loved now her Indian 
 mother holds her in her arms, and sings to 
 her. Can you sing?" 
 
 "Come into the house," said Aunt Betty, 
 "and I will let you lie down by the fire. 
 The night will be cold." 
 
 He followed Aunt Betty into the house, 
 but said nothing more. 
 
 "I do believe that he has seen Sarah," 
 said Aunt Betty to Nancy. 
 
 "Let me go back with him," said Nancy. 
 
 "Back where?" 
 
 "To the land of the cornfields. If I could 
 only find her, I would have a sister." 
 
 "And I another little daughter like you, 
 but the Indian woman would not give her 
 up. As the wayfarer says, an Indian moth- 
 er loves." 
 
 "I have a plan. It thrills me. Oh, it 
 makes my heart dance!" 
 
 "What is it?"
 
 A STRANGE INDIAN WAYFARER 167 
 
 "I will bring her back with me!" 
 
 "Who!" 
 
 "Why, the Indian woman. " 
 
 "I would give her a home for the sake of 
 Sarah. " 
 
 "But the Treaty of Greenville will com- 
 pel the Indian mother to surrender Sarah. ' ' 
 
 "How will she know to whom to return 
 her?" 
 
 "We all think she knows to whom Sarah 
 belongs. Who fired the arrow when the 
 panther leaped upon the horse at the cam- 
 meeting ground?"
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE KIKAPOO 
 
 PT1HE Indian wayfarer called himself 
 JL the Kikapoo. He was a medicine- 
 man, and had been to attend a Beggar 
 Dance, which was often followed by sick- 
 ness, because the medicine-men ate nothing 
 for days and danced nearly all the time. 
 
 He stretched himself before the fire on 
 some straw matting. He talked slowly, as 
 if almost compelled to speak. He said: 
 
 "I have been to persuade the Indians to 
 give up the Beggar Dance, now that the 
 Treaty has been made. That dance lowers 
 them. After it they fall sick." 
 
 "What is the Beggar Dance?" asked 
 Nancy. 
 
 169
 
 170 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "The Indians dress in rags," said he. 
 "They whirl with torches and cry out as if 
 mad. I know now that it is a bad habit. 
 It has done the Indians no good. We must 
 now live like the white man." 
 
 Aunt Betty saw that he was a true forest 
 philosopher. 
 
 "Do you think," said Nancy to the Kika- 
 poo, "that I might find Sarah, if I were to 
 go all alone to look for her?" 
 
 "Who is Sarah?" asked the Kikapoo. 
 
 "My cousin sister. Old Moo-May, a 
 good Indian woman, we think, rescued Sa- 
 rah, as we hope, from a murdering Indian 
 band and then carried her away. We think' 
 it was she you met." 
 
 "No, no, little girl, Moo-May would never 
 give her up. She loves the girl. I could 
 see that. She looks into her eyes. Indians 
 love by looking into the eyes. They see the 
 soul down there." 
 
 "But if Aunt Betty Mother Betty
 
 THE KIKAPOO 171 
 
 were to go with me, would she not give up 
 little Sarah*?" 
 
 "No, no, if you and Mother Betty were 
 to find Moo-May she would never give up 
 your sister." 
 
 "But we would persuade her to do so. I 
 know the trails through the blazed wood." 
 
 "No, no, no. You two would never find 
 Moo-May. If she were to see you she would 
 vanish. She goes and looks into cabin win- 
 dows nights, and the people go out to talk 
 with her; she is not there. She vanishes. 
 The ground swallows her." 
 
 "But," said Nancy, "let me go with you 
 you are an honest Indian. I would not 
 be afraid to follow you." 
 
 "My little girl, suppose you found Sarah, 
 old Moo-May would seize you and run, and, 
 I am sorry to 'say it for your sake, I think 
 that Sarah had rather follow old Moo-May 
 into the wilderness of the great rivers than 
 go with you back to the clearings."
 
 1Y2 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Uncle Berry might go on horseback and 
 find her at Miami. " 
 
 "No, no, they would hide among the corn. 
 The All-Spirit covers those who hide among 
 the corn. The corn hears, it trembles, it 
 hides." 
 
 "You are a medicine-man," said Nancy. 
 "Tell us how we can find Sarah." 
 
 "I will teU you," said the Kikapoo. "It 
 is revealed to me by the spirit that speaks 
 within." 
 
 "Tell us, tell us," said Nancy. 
 
 "Find old Moo-May, and invite her to 
 come and make her home with you. Don't 
 mention Sarah. She would follow her. Go 
 to Moo-May and say to her that you feel 
 grateful to her for saving the life of your 
 little sister, and that you want her to find 
 her shelter always beneath your roof. She 
 will come." 
 
 "That was my own plan," said Nancy, 
 joyfully.
 
 THE KIKAPOO 173 
 
 So the news went about in that colony of 
 cousins, among the Sparrows, Berrys, 
 Mitchells and Hankses, that the lost Sarah 
 was probably alive, and had been heard 
 from, through the wayfarer. 
 
 In the meantime there was often heard 
 in the distant timber, in the late evening, 
 the cry of a dog, ending in "oi." 
 
 "That is the same dog," said Mr. Berry. 
 
 Nancy would cease spinning, if the wheel 
 were not already still, and go to the door 
 and listen. 
 
 The moon would rise over the high trees, 
 the great sea-land of the forest. As often 
 as she heard the cry of the dog, she would 
 say " Sarah." But there would be no re- 
 sponse and many nights would pass without 
 her hearing the cry.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SARAH ? 
 
 rilHE Berrys with Nancy and Thomas 
 _A_ Lincoln made a long trip to Green- 
 ville to be present at the return of the cap- 
 tives according to the promise of the In- 
 dians. With them were many others in 
 search of long lost ones. 
 
 The party after a long journey came to a 
 collection of huts which formed one of the 
 many Miami villages where the exchange 
 was to take place. 
 
 It was a gala day when they arrived, a 
 corn dance. In mid-summer there had been 
 a " green-corn dance" there, but this was a 
 harvest dance, and the dancers were be- 
 decked with sheaves of corn. It was all 
 
 175
 
 176 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 like an animated cornfield. The drum 
 sounded and rude pipes were played, and a 
 cornfield rose up and seemed to move about 
 in fantastic waves. The sun shone clear 
 with the Indian summer lustre ; the crickets 
 chirped in the cool grass. Although there 
 had been recently a hostile time, content- 
 ment and happiness filled the village. 
 
 Early the next morning, white people hur- 
 ried into the town and many Indians came 
 to the place of the harvest corn dance, bring- 
 ing captives with them. 
 
 It was a touching scene that occurred at 
 the high noon of that day. Mothers were 
 there in search of daughters and fathers 
 looking for lost sons. Some of these stolen 
 children had been absent from home for 
 years, and their own parents were hardly 
 able to recognize them. 
 
 The recognitions were joyful. Boys 
 rushed into their fathers' arms, yet several
 
 SARAH? 177 
 
 of these boys seemed reluctant to go back 
 into civilization. 
 
 Most of the people who came in search of 
 lost children recovered them. There were 
 some exceptions. One was an aged widow, 
 tall and thin, whose feeble limbs had scarce- 
 ly been able to sustain the long journey. 
 
 She searched among the returned captives 
 with distended eyes. 
 
 "Who do you hope to find?" asked Moth- 
 er Berry of the lone widow. 
 
 "My daughter, my only daughter. She 
 is all that I have for my old age. I would 
 be willing to die, if I could see her once 
 
 more.' : 
 
 An Indian in paint and feathers ap- 
 peared. 
 
 "Good woman, your daughter has gone 
 to the souls in the south" (heaven)". 
 
 "How do you know?" said the lone wom- 
 an, eagerly. 
 
 "Do you see this little girl? She is the 
 
 12
 
 178 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 daughter of your daughter. When your 
 daughter was dying, she said: 'Take my 
 little one to my mother/ I have brought 
 her to you." 
 
 "How can I know this?" 
 
 "Lucy" 
 
 "That is my name," said the woman. 
 
 "Little Lucy, sing one of your mother *s 
 songs. " 
 
 Little Lucy sang: 
 
 "When shall we three meet again? 
 When shall we three meet again? 
 Oft shall glowing hope aspire, 
 Oft shall wearied love retire, 
 Oft shall death and sorrow reign 
 Ere we three shall meet again. 
 
 ' ' Though in distant lands we sigh, 
 Parched beneath a hostile sky ; 
 Though the deep between us rolls, 
 Friendship shall unite our souls 
 And in fancy's wide domain 
 There we three shall meet again.
 
 SARAH? 179 
 
 " When the dreams of life are fled, 
 When its wasted lamps are dead, 
 When in cold oblivion 's shade, 
 Beauty, health and fame are laid, 
 Where immortal spirits reign, 
 There we three shall meet again ! ' ' 
 
 The lone widow intently watched the ex- 
 pression of the girl's face. 
 
 "I can see it, I can see it," she cried, "my 
 own Lucy's face is there, that was my Lu- 
 cy's song. What will I do? I must not 
 take her away from you." 
 
 "Go to your home, good woman," said 
 the Indian, "take little Lucy with you, and 
 this right arm will always provide for you 
 both." 
 
 But Sarah? They heard vague reports 
 of an elderly Indian woman who had been 
 seen wandering with a white girl not a 
 "little girl," whispered the rumor, but a 
 "white girl," and one of the reports was 
 that the Indian woman seemed to be very
 
 180 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 fond of the girl, and another report was 
 that the white girl seemed to be "very de- 
 voted to her Indian mother." 
 
 They returned home, Mother Berry and 
 Nancy, a long, weary way. But the woods 
 were in mid-autumn splendor, and though 
 they had not found Sarah, the hope of find- 
 ing her made light their hearts.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE RETURN OP SARAH 
 
 rwas a clear bright day in the timber, the 
 leaves were coloring, the locusts singing 
 at the Beechlands. 
 
 A horn rang out on the still air. Nancy 
 heard it, and ran to open the door, and be- 
 held something that caused her to cry out 
 in surprise and joy. 
 
 A man on horseback was coming through 
 the timber. He carried a flag; on the flag- 
 staff was something that glittered, like an 
 old Roman emblem on a staff. Nancy saw 
 that it was an empty plate. 
 
 Behind him rode a girl on a pony; she 
 looked like an Indian girl. Was it Sarah? 
 
 Behind them both walked a bent Indian 
 
 181
 
 182 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 woman, with a medicine-man who resembled 
 the Kikapoo who had said that to get Sarah 
 back one should offer the Indian woman a 
 home at the cabin with Sarah. 
 
 "Aunt Berry," cried Nancy, "something 
 has happened something great is coming, 
 come and see. It is Sarah! It is Sarah! I 
 feel that Sarah is coming!" 
 
 Aunt Berry came running to the door. 
 
 "I do believe it is Sarah," she said, "but 
 she is an Indian, or that girl seems to be. 
 And that is old Moo-May. She is coming 
 to make her home here with us, for that 
 surely is the Kikapoo, and that was his plan 
 to get Sarah back." 
 
 She stood staring, and the strange com- 
 pany approached. The horn rang out 
 again. It seemed to be blown by a soldier 
 a soldier of Wayne. 
 
 "Yes," continued Aunt Berry, weeping 
 for joy, "that is a party bringing Sarah
 
 71 
 
 3 
 f 
 
 m 
 
 I
 
 THE RETURN OF SARAH 183 
 
 home, see the empty plate like a military 
 standard. Wayne has sent it." 
 
 The company drew near. The horses 
 acted as if proud of their commission, which 
 they seemed to understand. They bowed 
 their heads nobly and lifted their feet high. 
 A little wolf-dog followed them. 
 
 The girl on the second horse looked in- 
 tently towards the cabin. 
 
 "That can't be Sarah," said Aunt Berry. 
 "She is feathered." 
 
 Suddenly the feathered girl leaped from 
 the pony, and came running towards the 
 cabin, with wide arms. Her head, indeed, 
 was plumed, and she wore a buckskin 
 sacque trimmed with feathers of bright 
 birds of the forest. 
 
 She called "It is I," and again: "I am 
 Sarah Sarah! I have come to you all." 
 
 Then she ran into the arms of Aunt 
 Berry. 
 
 "My Indian mother is coming to live with
 
 184 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 me, when her son returns from the Miami 
 see she is coming ; she saved me ; she hid me 
 behind the log she ran with me through 
 hidden ways. She has been good to me 
 better to me than to herself. The Kikapoo 
 he said you would give my Indian mother 
 a home with me. I am so glad what kind 
 hearts there are in all the world." 
 
 Aunt Berry wept long then said: "This 
 is Nancy Hanks, your cousin; she kept a 
 plate waiting for you and she sent it away 
 and put another in its place. We have al- 
 ways known you would come back to us." 
 
 Moo-May came hobbling up to the door 
 with a face full of joy. 
 
 "Greeting, friends," she said, though in 
 broken words which we make clear. "When 
 the Kikapoo brought me word that you 
 would take me to live with Sarah, I gave 
 her up Sarah lives in my heart, and I 
 could not live without Sarah. I have a son 
 that has not returned from Fallen Timbers.
 
 THE RETURN OF SARAH 185 
 
 I am going back to look for him, and then 
 I am coming to live with Sarah a part of 
 the time, and she shall take the place of my 
 own little girl that died. You will be good 
 to me." 
 
 "We will always be good to you," said 
 Aunt Berry. "I take folks to live with me 
 that have no home. I see that you have 
 been like a mother to Sarah." 
 
 "I will come to your wigwam, and she 
 will live, wherever I be, in the wigwam of 
 my heart." 
 
 The next morning Moo-May went away 
 to look for her son. 
 
 She left the door slowly, walking back- 
 ward. 
 
 "Sarah, if my son be dead, I will come 
 again and will always follow you, or do 
 whatever you ask me to do. I go, I go, but 
 my heart stays with you. But I will fol- 
 low, follow." 
 
 Backward, backward, she walked till her
 
 186 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 withered form faded from view in the tim- 
 ber, saying, "I go I follow." 
 
 Sarah and Nancy now became as sisters 
 to each other, and as such were known in all 
 the cabins. The talk of the colony of cous- 
 ins now was of moving into the heavy tim- 
 ber lands of Indiana. 
 
 "If I marry and go into the timber 
 lands," said Sarah to Nancy one day, "my 
 old Indian mother shall go with me. She 
 knows the woods after the way that an ani- 
 mal knows the woods, she has the instinct of 
 the forest, and if you marry and go to Indi- 
 ana, I will tell old Moo-May to follow you 
 at a distance all the way, and be like an angel 
 to you, like the angel of Hagar in the wil- 
 derness. Such things do happen. Did you 
 hear what she said in a kind of soul-voice 
 fraught with meaning l Follow, I fol- 
 low?' " 
 
 A month passed. Moo-May did not re- 
 turn. But the Kikapoo came back one day
 
 THE RETURN OF SARAH 187 
 
 to say that the old Indian had found her 
 son through his dog ; that the brave had been 
 wounded, and that he could not live long, 
 and that she must stay by him to the end. 
 She was true to her own. 
 
 " Moo-May, Moo-May," said Sarah one 
 day, "I love her heart. I must go to the 
 Miami, and visit her." 
 
 She did, and Nancy went with her, and 
 found it as the Kikapoo had said. 
 
 "He will go to the South Land (heaven) 
 before the leaves fall again," said the squaw. 
 I will cover him with the blanket of new 
 leaves, then these old feet shall follow, fol- 
 low, follow the wish of your heart, my own 
 Sarah ; follow, follow, follow on to the end. 
 Then I too will go to the South Land, and 
 follow the sun. But I follow, follow al- 
 ways." 
 
 A kind of spiritual light shone in her 
 leathery face ; the light of a great heart that 
 had grown.
 
 188 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "I will come to you when the winter is 
 cold," said Nancy, "and bring food to you, 
 and cheer you when you are lonely." 
 
 The old Indian rose from her seat. 
 
 "Is that your heart? Was there ever 
 such ? You, you must be like Sarah. That 
 melts my heart I will follow you, too." 
 
 The two girls went back to her cabin in 
 the winter, and the old Indian came to love 
 Nancy as well as Sarah. Nancy went to 
 her in the spring. She found that the 
 brave, her son, had just died withered 
 away. She helped Moo-May to bury him. 
 Then Moo-May took her staff, and followed 
 Nancy to her home, to Aunt Berry's, the 
 cousin who "took folks to live," and in tak- 
 ing Nancy made her life touch the great 
 heart of the world's future, though she 
 knew it not. 
 
 Moo-May had a lithe bow and some slen- 
 der arrows which she carried on her shoul- 
 der. The little bow of sassafras was very
 
 THE RETURN OF SARAH 189 
 
 powerful and the arrows very deadly. She 
 could bring down a panther with the bow 
 and arrows if she could have a clear aim 
 at him in the tree. The same weapons 
 would cause an eagle to fall. But she 
 spared animals that she did not need for 
 food or feathers. She had a heart to spare, 
 to heal, to lift. She seldom took an arrow 
 out of her quiver. She held the beasts and 
 birds to be a part of the forest. 
 
 Her little bow was like magic. It was 
 so fashioned as to send an arrow with great 
 force to unexpected heights and lengths. 
 
 "If ever you should be in danger," she 
 used to say to Nancy, "trust to my quiver. 
 There is nothing in the forests or in the 
 air that can stand against my arrows see 
 how they are tipped." 
 
 The arrows were tipped with some kind 
 of a clear, pearly stone. They were very 
 beautiful, when the sun shone upon them. 
 They were winged with eagles' feathers.
 
 190 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 In her superstition, she seemed to believe 
 that a magic power was in them. 
 
 Moo-May went back to the Miami after 
 following Nancy home. She wished to sing 
 the death song with the braves at the annual 
 feast for the dead ; for the peace of the souls 
 of those who had gone "to the South Land." 
 
 One day, late in summer, her bent form, 
 followed by a dog, was seen in the glinting 
 light of the border of a shrub-land near 
 Aunt Berry's cabin. 
 
 "What is that?" asked Aunt Berry of 
 Sarah. 
 
 "It is an old Indian squaw and her dog. 
 It is Moo-May." 
 
 "She is withered she creeps," said Aunt 
 Berry. "Go out and ask her what we can 
 do for her. Bring her to the steps." 
 
 Sarah went into the open. 
 
 The Indian woman lifted her hands. 
 
 "Sarah," said she, "we have sung the
 
 THE RETURN OF SARAH 191 
 
 death song. You are the light of my life, 
 the heart of my heart now." 
 
 "Come into the house," said Sarah. "I 
 owe everything to you." 
 
 "No, no no come in. Trouble dwells in 
 houses. I follow. I have nothing to do but 
 follow now where you go I will follow you 
 out of sight with feet unseen." 
 
 "Mother?" said Sarah. 
 
 "Do you call me that? Oh, light of my 
 life, heart of my heart, you shall take Ms 
 place, and I will follow, follow, as the blue 
 swallow follows the sun." 
 
 Sarah led her to the log step of the cabin, 
 but she would not go into the cabin. She 
 lay down on the step at night. In the morn- 
 ing she was gone. 
 
 A curious thing of this wandering visit 
 was the dog. He held aloof from the old 
 Indian woman as if waiting directions. He 
 pressed hard on her feet. As she lay down
 
 192 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 beside the log at the door, which served for 
 a step, Moo-May said: 
 
 "Him strange dog wolf-dog. "Wolf- 
 dog was hissen. The dog he followed me 
 when I was hiding." 
 
 Sarah knew the meaning of the word 
 "hissen." The wolf-dog had been owned 
 by her eldest son, who had perished soon 
 after the battle at Fallen Timber. 
 
 Sarah brought a bone out to the animal. 
 The wolf-dog took it to his mistress for per- 
 mission to eat it. 
 
 "Eat it," said the squaw. 
 
 The dog seemed glad to do so. He seized 
 the bone eagerly. 
 
 Nancy watched the curious animal. He 
 was nearly white, long, lank, with silken 
 hair that was like pale amber in patches. 
 His face was wonderfully intelligent, his 
 eyes were large and his nose long. 
 
 "A wolf-dog!" said Nancy. "Does he 
 bark?"
 
 THE RETURN OF SARAH 193 
 
 "He speaks," said the old woman. 
 "Here," she said, "speak." 
 
 The dog lifted up his head, and uttered a 
 sound like the blowing of a conch shell. It 
 was a peculiar, penetrating sound; a far- 
 away cry it seemed to catch the air. 
 
 "I have heard that howl before," said 
 Aunt Berry. 
 
 "He loved my young brave," said the In- 
 dian "guarded him, was found by his 
 bones." 
 
 She swayed to and fro. 
 
 "All I had Fallen Timber, Wayne. I 
 found him there, the wolf-dog under the 
 timbers, watching watching by his wound- 
 ed body. He knew me he followed me ; he 
 keeps me from danger. He guarded Sarah. 
 My young brave's spirit, it follow him. No 
 harm can fall to me while the wolf-dog he 
 follow ; till I go to the silent hunting ground, 
 no harm follow me. The panther hide in 
 the trees, no harm, no harm the wolf-dog 
 
 13
 
 194 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 he tell me. The rattle-snake coil ; no harm, 
 no harm. He put up his paw. The wolf 
 he howl when the snow falls on the pines 
 no harm, no harm. The wolf-dog he an- 
 swer him. When I die, he will watch, and 
 he will die watching, where I die. He 
 starve by me watching when I lift up my 
 hand no more, and eat no more. He keep 
 away the lynx and the hawk and the car- 
 rion crow. He have the heart of the Great 
 Spirit. I fear nothing. My boy, he fol- 
 low him, when the Great Spirit he spreads 
 out the sky and lights the candles of the 
 stars. I follow you, he follow me, and the 
 still feet of my own follow him, and the 
 Light of the stars he follow all." 
 
 The dog stretched himself close beside 
 her, and found a bed in the rags of her 
 clothes. 
 
 "Was he a wolf once?" asked Nancy. 
 
 "Yes, yes, a wolf once. We all were. A 
 wolf that becomes a dog is a good dog to
 
 THE RETURN OF SARAH 195 
 
 have; lie knows the forest he knows what 
 we cannot know. Slyly I call him, he 
 knows what I cannot know, and I know 
 what you cannot know, and the Great Spirit 
 he knows all. I saved Sarah ; we love those 
 we save as much as those who save us love 
 us. Anyone is safe that I follow with un- 
 seen feet ; no harm in the forest can happen 
 to him. We follow you." 
 
 "Or my sister, if I direct you?" asked 
 Nancy. 
 
 "Yes, your will is mine." 
 
 "Or my brother?" (cousin). 
 
 "Yes, only you say so." 
 
 "Or this little girl or boy?" referring to 
 her aunt's children. 
 
 "Yes, boy. I had a boy. Where is he 
 now? Ask the Fallen Timbers. I had kin. 
 Where are they now ? Ask the Fallen Tim- 
 bers. I had a tribe. Where is it now ? Ask 
 the Fallen Timbers. The war whoop rang 
 out where is it now ? Ask the Fallen Tim-
 
 196 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 bers. I wander. Nothing is left for me but 
 
 the wolf-dog, and the tents of the dead." 
 She added, holding up her hand: 
 "I and the wolf-dog have followed yon 
 
 at most times since you first heard his voice 
 
 crying out in the Wilderness I"
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 SARAH'S STORIES OF THE DEEP FORESTS 
 
 NANCY was happy now. She found in 
 Sarah just the sister that she had im- 
 agined she would find, and it was her de- 
 light to teach her how to spin and how to 
 sing the camp-meeting songs and wood songs 
 that she herself had learned. 
 
 The two had one heart; they loved the 
 birds and little animals together, and Sarah 
 told little Nancy stories of the wonderful 
 things that the little dog had done in the 
 deep woods. 
 
 They were inseparable. New houses or 
 cabins were rising, and the house raisings 
 were the notable events in the woods. The 
 people invited Sarah and Nancy to them, 
 
 197
 
 198 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and the Indian and the dog would follow 
 them when they went to such gatherings of 
 these backwoods people. The girls would 
 sing the backwoods songs, and Nancy be- 
 came the favorite of all the country round. 
 
 It was the delight of Nancy to hear Sarah 
 tell stories of her life in the woods, after she 
 became a captive. 
 
 The two girls would sit down together 
 interlocking arms before the door of the 
 cabin. Peidy would come up from the wood 
 meadows and stand beside them, and the lit- 
 tle wolf-dog lie down near them, at the feet 
 of the Indian woman, who seemed happy 
 and contented in her new surroundings. 
 
 Thomas Lincoln would sometimes be 
 present, and add queer words to her narra- 
 tives, punctuating it as it were with his own 
 native art. 
 
 She would tell tales of the squaw, or her 
 Indian mother, as she acted her protector in
 
 SARAH'S STORY OF THE FORESTS 199 
 
 the salt licks and among the ponds of the 
 wild geese. 
 
 "You should have heard me cry out on 
 the brinks of the ponds. Then the whole 
 pond would arise on white wings, and the air 
 would be filled with honkings, and the place 
 would grow dark with the flocks. I liked to 
 cause the geese to rise in this way, and to 
 startle the deer that came to the licks. 
 
 "I once went out to play with the deer by 
 making them run, when a stag turned upon 
 me, and came toward me, lowering Ms horns. 
 Then my mother rose up and motioned him 
 away. He moved back, but a fawn came 
 toward him for protection and the little 
 wolf-dog barked at the fawn. The deer 
 seemed to feel that he must protect the little 
 fawn, and rushed back again, and threatened 
 to lift me on his horns. He must protect 
 the fawn and mother must shield me, and 
 the deer and mother stood facing each other,
 
 200 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 each having one purpose in his and her 
 hearts. 
 
 " Suddenly there was a tearing sound in 
 the thickets. A black buffalo came plunging 
 through them. The deer and the fawn 
 turned to run, and my mother seized me by 
 the hand and found shelter behind the trees. 
 The buffalo tore on and passed out of sight. 
 Then the deer stopped and looked back to 
 mother, and mother looked at her. The deer 
 had protected the fawn, and mother had 
 done the same by me. Mother looked at the 
 fawn and the fawn looked at mother. The 
 deer seemed to understand that he and 
 mother had done the same thing, and the 
 deer walked slowly by us, followed by the 
 fawn, with something in her eye that said: 
 'You will not harm me now.' 
 
 "I shall never forget that look in the 
 deer's eyes. It was just like a look out of a 
 human heart. 
 
 " Mother looked friendly towards the deer
 
 SARAH'S STORY OF THE FORESTS 201 
 
 as he passed. They parted friends, and even 
 the little wolf-dog ceased to bark. 
 
 "I had delightful times some days playing 
 with the animals. I learned how to attract 
 them towards me and to play with them. 
 Mother had a whistle by which she called 
 the birds to her, and it made her happy to 
 have a bird come to her and to please me. 
 
 "The blue jay was her bird in the woods. 
 It would stop and lift its crown of feathers 
 when it heard her whistle. Then mother 
 would whistle again and the bird would 
 drop nearer on the boughs and make a sound 
 like the turning of a small crank. 
 
 "The little whistling quail would venture 
 near us, and once we saw a white partridge. 
 
 "We were always happy on the sunny 
 days in the woods. 
 
 "On rainy days we would seek shelter in 
 the rocks and watch the beavers do their car- 
 pentry work. The little rabbits would frisk 
 around us, and I sometimes would play still
 
 202 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and catch one by his little bobbing tail and 
 let him go again. 
 
 "We had happy hours in the woods, an'd 
 mother was always faithful to me and used 
 to croon when I laid my head on her breast. 
 There is a friendship to be found in the 
 woods that only a few can know. My Indian 
 mother loved the animals, and that I think 
 was one of the reasons that she so loved me. 
 
 "The old women," said Sarah, "would 
 make journeys to the Indian cornfields when 
 they would go apart to the Indian mills on 
 the rocks and have a feast. As they began 
 to pound the corn the little chipmunks 
 would gather around them, and sometimes 
 venture to their laps and perch upon their 
 shoulders, eating the corn they had stolen, 
 and putting up their paws while doing this, 
 like little hands. Some of the chipmunks, 
 or striped or ground squirrels, as they some- 
 times were called, could fill their pouched
 
 SARAH'S STORY OF THE FORESTS 203 
 
 mouths full of corn and run away to hide it 
 for future use. 
 
 "One day Moo-May saw a little chipmunk 
 hiding corn under a rock. 
 
 " ' There is a wonder,' she said. 
 
 " ' What is it that is a wonder V I asked. 
 
 " 'Who taught that young squirrel to hide 
 the corn? Not its mother; it is not a year 
 old/ 
 
 " 'The knowledge was born in him/ said 
 the Indian, and then she crooned an ancient 
 song of gratitude that all things were or- 
 dered so wisely. 
 
 "Once a rattlesnake was seen in the sunny 
 entrance to the cave. It coiled as if to spring 
 and bite. 
 
 " 'Let your anger burn hot now, 1 said 
 Moo-May. 'We have anger just the same, 
 and it is poison ; it will one day destroy our 
 race, I fear, but I will fix you.' 
 
 "She took from her pouch a small quid 
 of tobacco and put it upon the end of a stick.
 
 204 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 The snake prepared to spring when she 
 dropped the quid from the end of the stick 
 into its mouth. It never sprang. It un- 
 coiled and died." 
 
 The little wolf-dog was indeed a very 
 beautiful creature. It did not belong to the 
 grey and gaunt timber wolves ; it was nearly 
 white like the wolves of the head-waters of 
 the Missouri, and had a certain brightness 
 and alertness like those wolves which often 
 were made favorites of the Indian women 
 who captured them when young. 
 
 A young wolf may be easily trained, and 
 when so it becomes greatly attached to its 
 master or mistress. But the white wolf 
 which is found on the Missouri River and 
 which possibly came to inhabit those regions 
 by migrating from the snow regions of the 
 north, is particularly intelligent and beau- 
 tiful. This young wolf, in addition to his 
 fleecy fur, had a bushy tail and, instead of 
 the sneaking look of the common timber
 
 SARAH'S STORY OF THE FORESTS 205 
 
 wolf, carried his head like a red fox, with a 
 winning look of animal intelligence. Those 
 who saw him called him the white wolf-dog, 
 although the little animal was not wholly 
 white, but had an amber or grayish back ; it 
 had a winsome and attractive manner, which 
 was quite unusual to the wolf tribe. Its cry 
 was also peculiar. It was pitiable, solitary, 
 and seemed to plead for something that it 
 could not find. 
 
 " There is something in that wolf's cry 
 that goes to my heart," said Mrs. Berry to 
 Nancy. "I could trust that little creature 
 if I had him ; he would not run away. That 
 is saying much of a wolf." 
 
 Let us tell you some of the stories of those 
 days of charm in the Kentucky wilderness, 
 such stories as these young people delighted 
 to tell.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE CAPTIVE DAUGHTER 
 
 THOMAS LINCOLN'S ancestors, as we 
 have told you, were acquaintances and 
 friends of Daniel Boone, the pioneer of Ken- 
 tucky. They were most of them natural 
 story-tellers, and Thomas Lincoln inherited 
 their love of heroic lore, and liked to relate 
 the old Kentucky stories. 
 
 Now that Sarah had returned, there was 
 one story that he particularly liked to tell, 
 reclining on the grass, with Peidy in hear- 
 ing, if not quite understanding him, and the 
 frisky little dog leaping up in astonishment 
 when he waved aloft his sprightly, horny 
 hands. 
 
 It was a midsummer evening before the 
 
 door at Beechlands. 
 
 207
 
 208 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "I can tell you a story, now, I can," said 
 Thomas, "that is even almost equal to your 
 own. Sit down, girls, and hold each other's 
 hands tight, and, Peidy, chew your cud, and, 
 little dog of the bad ancestry, you prepare 
 to punctuate my story by bobbing your tail 
 and saying 'yip, yip!' when I get excited. 
 
 "Well, are your ears all hollow now? 
 Daniel Boone had a daughter, a girl about 
 Sarah's age. On the 7th of July, 1776, just 
 after Independence Day, she and two other 
 girls went out on the river near Boonesboro, 
 and got into a canoe to amuse themselves. 
 They were having a lovely time when they 
 saw the bushes stir, and then now, little 
 dog, it 's time for you to jump and put in an 
 exclamation point and then there appeared 
 a painted face in the bushes, and a red hand 
 reached out towards them, and made a mo- 
 tion of silence. 
 
 The girls were too frightened to make a 
 noise. They hugged each other in terror.
 
 THE CAPTIVE DAUGHTER 209 
 
 "The red hand beckoned. They stopped 
 the boat, the Indian leaped on board, and 
 paddled them to the opposite shore. There 
 he met with a number of comrades who had 
 been watching and waiting. 
 
 "The red savage, with a tomahawk 
 grasped in his hand, pointed out to the girls 
 that they must follow the band of Indians. 
 
 "The girls wept and their hearts almost 
 stood still. They came to a buffalo path, 
 and came to a canebrake, where the Indians 
 had to hide their tracks by separating. 
 
 "Night came to Boonesboro. The three 
 girls did not return. Their parents went out 
 to look for them, and found the boat gone. 
 
 " 'They have been carried away by the 
 Indians,' said Daniel Boone. ' We must find 
 them, and turn those who captured them into 
 the dust.' 
 
 "He enlisted eight men for the expedi- 
 tion, and they started off at daylight. They 
 tracked the Indians to the cane. 
 
 14
 
 210 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Boone was skilled in woodcraft. He un- 
 derstood why it was that the Indians had 
 separated, but he noticed that all the feet 
 were turned in one direction and he made a 
 detour of some thirty miles and came upon 
 the trail over which the Indians with their 
 captives were now passing with unsuspect- 
 ing feet. 
 
 " 'We must go cautiously now/ said 
 Boone, 'or we shall bring danger upon the 
 captives. Still! Still! we will need only 
 eyes, and the stealth of the panther. Still, 
 still !' 
 
 "They passed on with great caution, and 
 presently saw the Indians in the distance, 
 preparing to encamp. The girls were with 
 them. 
 
 " 'We must approach so near unseen that 
 we can fall upon them so suddenly that they 
 cannot harm the little girls. Approach un- 
 der the cover of the thickets, close in on
 
 THE CAPTIVE DAUGHTER 211 
 
 them, then fire and seize the girls while the 
 red-skins run.' 
 
 1 'The Indians were preparing the evening 
 meal. They were happy and capered about. 
 
 " Flash, bang! 
 
 " ' Charge!' shouted Boone. 
 
 "The eight men charged upon the aston- 
 ished Indians, whose feet flew as though 
 they had wings. 
 
 "Boone seized his little daughter and bore 
 her away. His comrades led away the other 
 captives. The Indians flew from the assail- 
 ants, and Boone prudently rushed away 
 from them. Both parties were glad to say 
 good-by. And when they got back home the 
 fame of Boone was greater than ever. 
 
 "Sarah," he concluded, "the case was like 
 your own, but you did not come back in ex- 
 actly this way. You were a captive, but the 
 true heart of Moo-May was always yours, 
 and always beat true to you, didn't it, wolf- 
 dog?"
 
 212 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 And the little wolf-dog danced up and 
 down and sideways, and cried out "Yip, 
 yip!" which in his own language signified 
 "Yes, yes/' 
 
 It was now Sarah's turn to relate one of 
 the stories of those years in the woods with 
 Moo-May. 
 
 "We used to go berrying in midsummer," 
 said she, "and, strange as it may seem to 
 you, and to me now, we found bears in the 
 berry pastures, and we did not fear them. 
 They berried standing up. They looked like 
 men in fur coats. My Indian mother never 
 feared bears in the hot season, and when it 
 began to cool and the wild grapes followed 
 the blueberries, she had only to look a bear 
 in the eye to cause him to move away from 
 us. 
 
 "One midsummer day we were out berry- 
 ing in the open. I discovered a large hillock 
 of blueberries, and the berries were large 
 and luscious. I was filling my basket eager-
 
 THE CAPTIVE DAUGHTER 213 
 
 ly, for we were gathering berries in large 
 quantities to dry on the rocks, when I heard 
 a rustling in the bushes and saw a huge 
 brown bear before me gathering berries. He 
 did not heed me, nor I him. We were get- 
 ting along well together, for there were ber- 
 ries enough for us both, when some drops of 
 rain began to fall which turned me towards 
 a cavern in some rocks. The bear did not 
 heed the rain. But the clouds hung low, and 
 soon overcast the sun, and a long pealing 
 thunder rolled along the earth from out a 
 low cloud. 
 
 "I hastened into the cavern where Moo- 
 May was at work. 
 
 "A terrific peal of thunder seemed to 
 plough up the earth. The lightning that fol- 
 lowed was blinding. I heard a noise behind 
 me, and saw the bear following me as if for 
 protection. He hurried after me into the 
 cave. 
 
 " Another roll of thunder followed which
 
 214 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 shook the very rock, and a high tree near by 
 was struck by the lightning. This terrified 
 the bear more than before, and he hugged 
 my steps, panting like a dog. 
 
 " ' Don't be scared at the bear, Sarah, 'said 
 Moo-May, 'he won't hurt you, and take 
 heart, child, the cloud is lifting.' 
 
 "I threw myself at the feet of Moo-May 
 in terror of the storm, not of the bear, and 
 the bear dropped down at a little distance 
 from each of us, and hung out his tongue, 
 panting. 
 
 " Suddenly the cloud broke into dark 
 masses. The sun came out, the wet bushes 
 glistened. 
 
 "The bear rose up. Moo-May bent her 
 eye upon him, and he moved out of the cav- 
 ern towards the wet bushes. He looked con- 
 tented, as he swaggered along. He evident- 
 ly regarded us as benefactors who had saved 
 him. I presently followed him back to the 
 bushes, and towards nightfall, when I had
 
 THE CAPTIVE DAUGHTER 215 
 
 filled my basket with berries, I returned to 
 the cavern in the rocks and left the brown 
 bear still picking berries. In the morning 
 he was nowhere to be seen. I shall never 
 forget that day in the woods." 
 
 Sarah liked to recall those days when all 
 nature and even the bears seemed friendly, 
 when she passed her hours, as it were, under 
 the friendly sun, and looked for the white 
 partridge and the blackbird which her In- 
 dian mother said were good signs. The 
 story-telling on the evenings that followed 
 her rescue was a delight. She and Nancy 
 learned the famous camp-meeting songs to- 
 gether, and when they went to these meet- 
 ings they made the woody ways or the camp- 
 meeting grounds ring with their lively 
 voices. 
 
 There was a charm about this rude life. 
 The spirit of nature was in it. The sun 
 seemed a part of it, the clouds, the tempest, 
 the falling snow. The birds and little ani-
 
 216 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 mals, the flowers and great trees all seemed 
 a part of it, and they too a part of the living 
 universe.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 WAYNE COMES BACK 
 
 GREAT news! 
 " Hurrah," cried Thomas. 
 
 "Let the woods ring," said Nancy. 
 
 "Yes, you shall make the woods ring." 
 
 Wayne was coming back he was to 
 march with a part of his army, not ten miles 
 from Beechlands. He was to receive a wel- 
 come there. It was to be given to him in 
 honor of the great events of the Fourth of 
 July. The flag was to be raised and every- 
 one was to have a jollification. 
 
 "I can seem to feel the country growing, 
 since Sarah came back," said Nancy. "I 
 wish I could only do something for my coun- 
 try." 
 
 217
 
 218 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 " There is one thing that you and Sarah 
 can do," said Thomas. 
 
 " And what is that?" 
 
 "You can sing. We can send the flag up 
 into the blue air of Kentucky so that it may 
 shine above the tree tops, and when Wayne 
 approaches, you and Sarah can sing. I can 
 feel the country growing. The Middle West 
 is won to the flag; the vast mountain and 
 river land from the Missouri to the Pacific 
 is won to the flag. Sing it, Nancy ; sing it, 
 Sarah!" 
 
 "And what shall we sing?" 
 
 "Sing See, the conquering hero comes!" 
 
 "Will they let us?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. All the country around de- 
 lights to hear you sing. Think of how they 
 have welcomed you at the camp-meeting." 
 
 It was a glorious autumn day. The flag 
 was lifted into the blue air. 
 
 Wayne approached in the glimmering dis- 
 tance. The migrating birds were chipper-
 
 WAYNE COMES BACK 219 
 
 ing in the forest. A thousand people had 
 gathered there. 
 
 The two girls came forward on the plat- 
 form, and Nancy, a Jenny Lind of the for- 
 est, pealed forth the song of the Maccabean 
 heroes : 
 
 "See, the conquering hero comes, 
 Sound the trumpet ; beat the drums ! ' ' 
 
 Men wept, horses pranced and neighed. 
 Then an old Kentucky pastor said : 
 
 "Let us bow in prayer and invoke the di- 
 vine blessing on the growing country. It 
 has now grown from the Ohio to the Mis- 
 souri and from the Missouri to the sea!" 
 
 "Let us kneel," said Nancy to Sarah. "I 
 can feel my country growing, my country, 
 O my dear country!" 
 
 The pastor knelt in prayer. 
 
 The very leaves on the boughs seemed to 
 listen while he prayed. 
 
 And Wayne Mad Anthony knelt with
 
 220 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the rest. He, too, could feel the story of the 
 " growing" country. Was he not master of 
 the country by the peace-treaty ? 
 
 It was a glorious day under the trees. The 
 leaves fell about the multitude like showers 
 of golden flakes. It was at the parting of 
 savagery and civilization. 
 
 Wayne returned to Pennsylvania, and was 
 thus hailed as a hero. Guns boomed and 
 rockets flared to welcome him. Festal tables 
 were spread for him, amid triumphant mu- 
 sic and ringing of bells. He died at Presque 
 Isle (Erie) in December, 1796. 
 
 And here we must say good-bye to little 
 Nancy Hanks, already budding into woman- 
 hood. Hereafter it is Nancy the woman 
 grown of whom we have to tell. For some 
 years she lived at Beechlands and became 
 more and more popular with everyone for 
 her sunny disposition, her sweet voice and 
 her loving nature. She and Thomas Lincoln 
 grew to be better friends, and in due time
 
 WAYNE COMES BACK 221 
 
 they became engaged. Neither was rich in 
 the modern sense, but in those days people 
 thought less of property than of each other. 
 In later years it was frequently said that 
 Thomas was lazy and a poor choice for such 
 a bright girl as Nancy. We now know that 
 Thomas was a decent, sober man, though he 
 never had the faculty of making great head- 
 way in the world.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S MOTHER 
 
 THOMAS LINCOLN married Nancy 
 Hanks in 1806. The marriage took 
 place at the home of Richard Berry, near 
 Beechlands. 
 
 "The cabin in which Nancy and Thomas 
 were married still stands in Beechlands, 
 near Springfield. One of their old neigh- 
 bors once said: 'It was a large house for 
 those days, when men slept with their guns 
 under their pillows. It was twice as large 
 as the meeting house. 1 
 
 "The marriage was fixed in the memory 
 of the old inhabitants by a grand inf are. 
 
 "Christopher Columbus Graham wrote of 
 this celebration: 
 
 223
 
 224 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 " 'I came to the Lincoln-Hanks wedding 
 in 1806. Eev. or Judge Jesse Head was one 
 of the most prominent men there, as he was 
 able to own slaves, but did not on princi- 
 ple/ " 
 
 It was celebrated in the boisterous style 
 of one hundred years ago, and was followed 
 by an infare given by the bride's guardian. 
 To this celebration came all the neighbors, 
 and even those who happened in the neigh- 
 borhood were made welcome. There was 
 bear meat ; venison ; wild turkey and ducks ; 
 eggs, wild and tame, so common that you 
 could buy them at two bits a bushel ; maple 
 syrup in big gourds; peach and honey; a 
 sheep that the two families barbecued whole 
 over coals of wood burned in a pit, and cov- 
 ered with green boughs to keep the juice in. 
 
 Thomas had little or no education; he 
 probably did not know how to spell. She 
 had a fair education and was ambitious.
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S MOTHER 225 
 
 Three years afterward Abraham was born 
 to them. 
 
 She formed a home school which included 
 her rugged husband and little Abraham, des- 
 tined to be the illustrious president. The 
 boy was facing the future of a great coun- 
 try. What might not that future be ? Nan- 
 cy had already sent her little daughter, who 
 was her eldest child, to a neighborhood 
 school ; and the latter took her little brother 
 with her. 
 
 Abraham was a restless and inquisitive 
 boy at school, but birches of the right size 
 and quality were plentiful, and his teacher 
 did not use them sparingly. 
 
 Nancy took up the work of her husband's 
 education in her home and taught him all she 
 knew, and Abraham as much as she could of 
 what she wished him to know. She helped 
 Thomas to spell his Bible through. He 
 knew less of the ocean than of the sky, less 
 of the great men of the world than of Little 
 
 15
 
 226 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Turtle.- Abraham was a sad boy most of the 
 time, though he liked fun occasionally. He 
 loved his mother's voice. That was a mem- 
 ory that entered into his soul. Her evening 
 hymns, how they interpreted to him the 
 great mysteries that he did not understand ! 
 Here is one of the hymns of the Wilder- 
 ness, of Wayne's times, that Nancy may 
 have sung, or hymns like it : 
 
 1 ' The day is past and gone, 
 
 The evening shades appear, 
 Oh, may we all remember well 
 
 The night of death draws near. 
 
 "And when our days are passed, 
 
 And we from time remove, 
 Oh, may we in thy bosom rest, 
 
 The bosom of thy love." 
 
 Abraham said after he became president 
 that he owed everything he had achieved to 
 his angel mother. And indeed she was be- 
 loved by everyone.
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S MOTHER 227 
 
 Was anyone in the great neighborhood 
 sick, Nancy went there. Was anyone in 
 need of anything, there went her heart, her 
 hand and feet. She was a beautiful woman 
 in form and face, beautiful in every way. 
 
 She loved to make Thomas and Abraham 
 happy, and so was happy herself, realizing 
 that to live for others' welfare is to secure 
 one's own. 
 
 Did she ever dream that Abraham her 
 little Abraham would be named with Peri- 
 cles, the Gracchi, Alfred the Great, Simon 
 de Montfort, Hampden, Washington, and 
 the other great and illustrious of the earth ? 
 That her good heart would live in his, and 
 that the world would beat to it, and that 
 when he should die, the inmates of palaces 
 should weep, and that the emancipated race 
 would make him their watchword and ideal $ 
 
 Sing on, gentle Nancy, in the shadows of 
 the ancient trees that shine in the sun. It 
 is the hearts of mothers that make men, and
 
 228 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 those who sympathize most with mankind 
 live the longest in human memory. The vic- 
 tors for whom pyramids arose are forgotten, 
 but the heart of thy son, who bore to the 
 world the heart, will outlive the builders of 
 pyramids and the pyramids themselves. 
 Sympathy lives longest of anything on 
 earth, and he who gives the most of love to 
 men receives the most from God. 
 
 Thomas Lincoln, who had been left poor 
 by his rich father, on account of the law 
 which gave the eldest son, Mordecai, the 
 family estate, made a poor living as a car- 
 penter because so few needed his services. 
 He resolved to go out into the wide world of 
 the Wilderness, and seek his fortune, and 
 make his lovely wife happy. 
 
 Their little girl was now dead and was 
 buried under the trees near the house. 
 Thomas decided to emigrate to Indiana, to 
 take up land, and it nearly broke his young
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S MOTHER 229 
 
 wife's heart to think of going away and leav- 
 ing that little grave. 
 
 "It is all best for us that we go, Nancy/* 
 said Thomas. " It is a beautiful place where 
 we are going to live; nature has done so 
 much for it that it makes the birds sing 
 lovely there. It is all for the best that we 
 go." 
 
 "But, Thomas, the grave of our first born 
 under the trees'? How can I leave that?" 
 
 "Your heart cannot leave it, Nancy, nor 
 mine, but it will be better for our boy Abra- 
 ham that we go. We ought to do that which 
 will be best for our children. That was why 
 the Pilgrim Fathers crossed the seas to 
 make a better home for their children. " 
 
 "I will go, Thomas. I would walk all the 
 way beside the team for Abraham's sake, 
 but Sarah, my cousin Sarah, she has been a 
 sister to me." 
 
 "We must give up all, relatives, friends,
 
 230 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 all, and seek to better our lives for Abra- 
 ham's sake." 
 
 "Try your fortune here once more, before 
 we leave all," said Nancy. "That little 
 grave ! That little grave ! ' ' 
 
 "Well, I will, Nancy. You know that I 
 have ideas. Now one of these is that if a 
 flat-boat were to be built narrow, it would 
 make a better market boat. I am going to 
 build such a boat and venture on it to New 
 Orleans." 
 
 He built the boat. His neighbors laughed 
 at him while he was building the queer-look- 
 ing craft. 
 
 "It will tip over, neighbor Lincoln," said 
 they. 
 
 "No, it will run its nose through the snags 
 like a crane's bill." But he forgot ballast. 
 
 He loaded his narrow boat with provisions 
 of beef, deer, and buffalo, with piles of furs, 
 coon skins, and gentian root. It was a fa- 
 mous load, but he had forgotten the ballast.
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S MOTHER 231 
 
 "And do you really expect fo drive that 
 craft down to New Orleans?" asked his 
 neighbors. 
 
 "You will be wiser when I come back. 
 Don't banter me." 
 
 "You will be wiser when you come back," 
 said a neighbor who was experienced on the 
 water. 
 
 Thomas started down Knob Creek in his 
 narrow boat that he expected would run 
 through the snags of the Mississippi, like a 
 crane's bill. He reached the Ohio, but never 
 got into the Mississippi, for the Ohio was 
 swollen by rains, and the narrow boat top- 
 pled over. 
 
 He dragged a part of his cargo on shore, 
 and covered it with bark. Those were dread- 
 ful hours to him : the world itself seemed to 
 have gone to pieces. And he would be 
 laughed at ! He walked home. What a walk 
 it must have been !
 
 232 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "It would have all gone well," said he, 
 "if I had only had ballast." 
 
 Poor Thomas, he needed to learn that les- 
 son of ballast, and he seems to have done so 
 in part. 
 
 Thomas still studied life from nature, 
 which he knew so well, and the wolf-dog 
 gave him text for thought. This old wolf- 
 dog still lived, as did Moo-May, and they 
 were both fond of Nancy. 
 
 "He was a wolf once," Moo-May had said, 
 "and we all were." This was not strictly 
 true, but it represented a truth. 
 
 "Yes," said he to Nancy, "a minister once 
 told me that our ancestors once wandered 
 about Northern England and Caledonia in 
 sheep skins and goat skins, and were almost 
 savages. I wonder what the dog would do 
 if he were to meet a pack of wolves. Would 
 he run off with them, or follow Moo-May to 
 the end ? Most men have some special temp- 
 tation, and when they meet those of their
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S MOTHER 233 
 
 own kind, they follow the flock from which 
 they are sprung." 
 
 He watched the dog, whenever old Moo- 
 May came to the cabins, which she did be- 
 times on her leathery feet, and it was 
 thought that she sometimes came to the place 
 nights "with feet unseen." 
 
 "Ain't you afraid, Moo-May, that that 
 there dog of yourn will some day skip away, 
 when he hears the howl of wolves in the tim- 
 ber?" 
 
 As he asked the question an unexpected 
 thing happened. It was a spring day when 
 the green grass was lining the southern 
 slopes of the hills after the winter desola- 
 tion. The earth was hungry, the woodpeck- 
 ers were tapping the trees. It was near 
 nightfall, when suddenly the cry of a wolf 
 was heard near a distant salt-lick. 
 
 The wolf-dog leaped up, and his ears 
 stood out like horns.
 
 234 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "I can see the wolf in Mm now," said 
 Thomas. 
 
 There arose on the still air the cry of a 
 pack of wolves. The dog whirled around 
 and around. 
 
 1 ' There what did I tell ye 1 He is a wolf 
 yet, and he will kite away some day, and 
 become again the wolf that he is." 
 
 1 1 No, no, ' ' said Moo-May. ' ' Here, Slyly. ' ' 
 
 The dog obeyed her voice at once, and lay 
 down among her rags with a face of shame, 
 as though he were humbled by his own na- 
 ture. 
 
 "Why did he do that?" asked Thomas. 
 
 " Because he has a heart dogs have, and 
 I hold him by the withe of his heart. All 
 beings follow those whom they love the best 
 don't you know?" 
 
 "Wolves?" 
 
 "Yes, when tHey become dogs. THe she- 
 wolf will die for her young." 
 
 The howls of the wolves continued in the
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S MOTHER 235 
 
 region of the salt-lick, where it was prob- 
 able they were attacking deer. 
 
 The wolf-dog's ears were restless. 
 
 "That dog will leave you for his own some 
 day," said Thomas again. "Wait till his 
 hungry day comes." 
 
 ' ' Wait and see, ' ' said Moo-May. ' i He will 
 show you what we may all be." 
 
 Here was a woodland philosophy indeed. 
 
 "A new affection will make a new na- 
 ture, ' ' said Thomas. * ' That is what the Gos- 
 pel teaches. I will watch that dog to the 
 last. The heart is the man; it is the heart 
 of the beast. Get an animal's affection, and 
 you may lead him wherever you will. ' ' 
 
 "I shall follow you with unseen feet," 
 said Moo-May, "and you will find it so. If 
 anything happens to me, I wish you to send 
 the dog back to Sarah." 
 
 "He will go back to his own," said Thom- 
 as, still doubting his own philosophy in re- 
 gard to the power of the heart.
 
 236 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "He will go back to his own when I go 
 back to my people who are left. Why will I 
 follow you?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I love Sarah more than all else 
 in the world. He will go back to his own 
 when I go back to my own. The heart goes 
 to its own through fire and death. The 
 heart is the world. Wolf-dog, wolf-dog, 
 you will never forsake me and Thomas 
 Lincoln. I will never forsake Nancy, and 
 her children. I will never leave little Abra- 
 ham unguarded or unsheltered, Sarah said 
 
 so.' : 
 
 "I see life in a new light," said Thomas, 
 "or I think I do. We shall see ; we shall see. 
 To have a new nature must be the greatest 
 thing in all the world. If the wolf-dog teach 
 me that, I ought to be ashamed." 
 "Would you ever leave Nancy?" 
 "No she is all the world to me." 
 "Thomas, I would die in defending Sarah
 
 237 
 
 and Nancy for Sarah's sake. And Slyly, 
 he would die in defending me." 
 
 "Against the wolves?" 
 
 "Yes, against the wolves. It is not the 
 skin that makes the wolf it is the heart. 
 Don't you see?" 
 
 "We shall see if you follow Nancy and 
 her children." 
 
 The wolves were still howling in the far- 
 off lick ; the red sun had gone down, and the 
 wolf-dog was sleeping on old Moo-May's 
 rags.
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV 
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL WHO DIED 
 
 LITTLE Abraham Lincoln, as lie grew 
 older, went to a school conducted by 
 one of the queer old schoolmasters of whom 
 we have already told. His great qualifica- 
 tion was that he could "lick boys." The 
 boys of the many pioneer schools seemed to 
 have a common notion that if one pulled out 
 an eye lash and placed it on one's hand, be- 
 fore being whipped, the ruler when it struck 
 the eye lash would fly all to pieces. But 
 this Kentucky schoolmaster did not use that 
 kind of punishment. There were hazel 
 bushes in the undergrowth of the timber, 
 lithe and long, and spotted like snakes, and 
 the schoolmaster used these in disciplining
 
 240 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 a boy. He was proud of Ms strong arm, 
 and when the witch hazel came down on the 
 back of a boy it left its marks there for 
 many weeks. Unfortunately Abraham was 
 one of the sufferers. 
 
 Abraham liked to sit on the banks of 
 streams, watching for fish or for animals. 
 He had seen coons cross a stream. The lat- 
 ter would mount a tall sapling or hazel that 
 would bend, and lean it over the stream, 
 like a bridge, and the coon would jump down 
 on the other side. 
 
 One day he was out playing on the banks 
 of a deep stream with a boy by the name of 
 Gollaher, when he thought he would be as 
 bright as a coon, and cross the stream in 
 like manner. 
 
 " Gollaher," said he, "I am going to coon 
 the stream. Then you come after me. It 
 is much that we may learn from the animals, 
 as father says." 
 
 He climbed out on the limb of a sycamore
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL WHO DIED 241 
 
 tree and " canted" it towards the opposite 
 shore. But he did not calculate his weight 
 as wisely as did the coon. The tree bent 
 over towards the middle of the deep water, 
 Abraham lost his hold and dropped into the 
 water. 
 
 "Hel-up hel-up!" he cried. 
 
 Gollaher, after nearly losing. his own life, 
 rescued Abraham. Had he lived in Rome 
 in the days of the heroes, and rescued a man 
 who became famous, he might have had a 
 monument. But in those days no one 
 thought much about it, though Abraham 
 never forgot it. 
 
 But the time was at hand that Thomas 
 Lincoln was to make his far journey towards 
 a more prosperous country. 
 
 One day Nancy said to her two children 
 for there was another little girl now : 
 
 "Let us go out together, hand in hand. 
 It is the last time." 
 
 do you mean, mother?" 
 
 16
 
 242 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "It is the last time that we will visit to- 
 gether the grave of my little girl, your little 
 sister, that died." 
 
 The green grass was springing up there, 
 and the violets in the midst. The birds 
 were singing in the trees. Nancy sank 
 down on the little bed and cried, while her 
 two children stood by and pitied her. 
 
 "My children, my children," she said, 
 "they are all the world to me. I leave my 
 grave to God, and I must go like Hagar into 
 the wilderness with my bottle of water, but 
 if I have need the angel will meet me there. 
 I may be blessed in my children. Abraham, 
 you may yet rise up to bless your mother. 
 Who knows? You may become another 
 Wayne, who knows, who knows? I only 
 know that my mother-heart will do the best 
 I can to make your feet worthy of the world. 
 I must go now, little grave, little grave. I 
 will keep you green in my heart, but I will 
 never see you more. I shall go, but not re-
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL WHO DIED 243 
 
 turn. But I have done my best, and will 
 do my best. Abraham, you do pity me, 
 don't you? But, cheer up, cheer up, the sun 
 shines and the birds sing, and the flowers 
 bloom, and I have dropped my last tear on 
 the mound of the child of my heart!" 
 
 A dark form arose in some bushes, and 
 came out of them. It clasped Nancy af- 
 fectionately. 
 
 "I do pity you, and I will follow." 
 It was Moo-May. The wolf-dog was with 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 FACING THE WILDERNESS AND LIFE 
 
 IT was now indeed "the days of Wayne." 
 A new tide of immigration to the region 
 of the Ohio now began. The world seemed 
 on the march. The lands of the great in- 
 land seas filled rapidly with people; old 
 Fort Dearborn became Chicago, and Chica- 
 go seemed to summon the world, so rapidly 
 did it grow. 
 
 Fort Wayne, Indiana, from a road house 
 of pioneers became a city of rest by the way, 
 Cincinnati and Cleveland leaped into life, 
 and St. Louis rose as it were out of the Mis- 
 sissippi. 
 
 Covered wagons, " prairie schooners" as 
 they were called, were crossing the western 
 
 245
 
 246 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 land like ships on wide seas. The Indians 
 were disappearing; everything was chang- 
 ing into life and activity. 
 
 Although Kentucky was a beautiful coun- 
 try and contained much rich land, many of 
 the people had chosen poor farms and had 
 not gotten along very well. All the cousins 
 of Nancy Hanks at Beechlands now began 
 to talk of moving to Indiana, where richer 
 lands were reported. It really was a bad 
 plan for them ; but, like most pioneers, they 
 were restless, and, though Kentucky then 
 was really wild, it seemed to them too much 
 settled. 
 
 "We cannot stay, we must go," said they 
 all. It was destiny that impelled them. In 
 the days of Wayne everyone began to seek 
 the best lands in all the new prairie country 
 as a home for their children. 
 
 Moo-May found in the heart of the beau- 
 tiful, busy Nancy Hanks Lincoln a sympa-
 
 FACING THE WILDERNESS AND LIFE 247 
 
 thy with her old limbs that caused the old 
 woman to love her more and more. 
 
 One day she said to Nancy: 
 
 "If anything should happen to you, Nan- 
 cy, I would die for you. I would for Sarah. 
 What is life *? Hear the wild-geese honk in 
 the sky. Who guides them ? The Manitou. 
 He will guide me. Moo-May, she fear noth- 
 ing more." 
 
 She wore a string of bears' claws around 
 her neck which hung down over her heart 
 and rattled. One day she took it off and 
 said: 
 
 "I will wear the claws no more, the bears 
 hide now and the land is peace." 
 
 "We are talking of going to Indiana," 
 said Nancy. "Will you go?" 
 
 "With unseen feet," said Moo-May. "I 
 will walk apart, my arrows fly apart. I can 
 see eyes in the trees. My heart goes forth 
 with you, Nancy, into the wilderness." 
 
 "And with Thomas?"
 
 248 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "If you say so." 
 
 "And with little Abraham?" 
 
 "Yes, he is your son and he has your 
 heart. There is nothing left for poor Moo- 
 May but to follow hearts, and to watch the 
 wild-geese streaming through the sky. The 
 Great Spirit that guides them will lead 
 them, but my feet they wither." 
 
 Nothing could separate her from Nancy, 
 but she felt sorry to move again. She was 
 old, and she knew the farm and loved to 
 play with little Abraham. Even Thomas 
 came in time to have a real regard for her, 
 though he insisted she could not be a real 
 Indian. 
 
 "If I were to follow the * Indian' in my 
 own nature," said Thomas one day to Nan- 
 cy, "I would seek to kill every Indian that 
 I met, just as my brother Mordecai did." 
 
 "But what would you do with Moo-May?" 
 asked Nancy out of her human heart. 
 
 "Moo-May?" said Thomas. "There is
 
 FACING THE WILDERNESS AND LIFE 249 
 
 something in her that I do not understand ; 
 she seems to prove to us what the preachers 
 are always saying, that there is a saving 
 remnant in all nations and hearts. There 
 is some good in everything and everywhere ; 
 encourage it and it will grow. Nancy, I 
 have always found it safe and best to follow 
 your heart. Little Abraham, whatever may 
 be my lot, or whatever I do, or wherever I 
 go, do you follow the heart of your mother. 
 The boy does well who follows his mother's 
 heart." 
 He added: 
 
 " Abraham, what would you do if you 
 were to meet an Indian with his war paint 
 on?" 
 
 " I would follow my mother's heart as you 
 told me. I love my mother; I think that 
 she is an angel. If I go wrong and hurt 
 her heart, I am sorry. Mother, what would 
 you do if you were to meet an Indian with 
 his war paint on 1 ?"
 
 250 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "I would tell Mm the story of Moo-May, 
 how she hid Sarah behind the log. Then I 
 would tell him that I would save him were 
 he in danger, if I could." 
 
 Many years afterward, Abraham Lincoln 
 was a captain in the Black Hawk war. An 
 Indian captive, "in his war paint," was 
 brought into the camp by his company, who 
 proposed to put him to death. Lincoln 
 asked mercy for the captive. His men ar- 
 gued against it, and were about to kill the 
 captive when Lincoln stood up between the 
 prisoner and his captors, and with the hero- 
 ism of a giant saved the Indian from death. 
 He followed his mother's heart. It was 
 that which awoke within him, and not the 
 spirit of his Uncle Mordecai, who sought to 
 revenge the death of his father Abraham, 
 by killing every hostile Indian he met. 
 
 The now aged wolf-dog was more and 
 more a wonder to Thomas Lincoln and 
 Abraham.
 
 FACING THE WILDERNESS AND LIFE 251 
 
 "He shows me what every being might 
 become," said Thomas, "if it might only 
 have a changed nature, in the growth of the 
 world." 
 
 He was a visionary man, with all of his 
 rough, coarse nature. He saw things from 
 within. 
 
 "Abe," said Thomas, "your grandfather's 
 name was Abraham." 
 
 "Tell me about him," said the boy. 
 
 "I have told you before," said the car- 
 penter. 
 
 "Tell me again, I like to hear it." 
 
 "He was shot by an Indian lurking in the 
 bush, as you have heard people say." 
 
 "How old were you then?" 
 
 "Seven years old." 
 
 "Did you see Grandfather killed?" 
 
 "Abe, Abe, I sat down by his dead body 
 in the field, and saw him die. Then I made 
 an oath that I would be revenged on the red- 
 skins. My brother Mordecai made the same
 
 252 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 resolution. He shot Indians at sight. It 
 filled him with joy to see an Indian bite the 
 ground. And now look before you what 
 do you see? That old Indian woman who 
 saved Sarah has given her back. Oh, there 
 is a saving remnant, as the Scripture says, 
 in all people. Abe, Abe, it is for you to 
 conquer Indians by changing their hearts." 
 
 " Father, I will remember." 
 
 "I see everything in a changed light 
 now," said the carpenter. 
 
 At last they set out for Indiana. It was 
 a notable journey for all of them. 
 
 What did it mean to American history? 
 Abraham Lincoln was seven years old when 
 he took his mother's hand to ride and to 
 walk from their forest home, not far from 
 Louisville, Kentucky, to Spencer, Indiana, 
 where Thomas Lincoln had found some rich 
 land. 
 
 Nancy Hanks Lincoln had long ago 
 walked and ridden on a similar journey, as
 
 FACING THE WILDERNESS AND LIFE 253 
 
 we have pictured. 'She was only five years 
 old when she followed her parents and cou- 
 sins from Virginia to the open and free 
 lands of Kentucky, on the lordly Ohio. She 
 probably rode part of the way on a pack 
 saddle which was made of a crotch of a tree. 
 All of them were used to the hardships of 
 travel. So it was with a cheerful and hope- 
 ful spirit that Nancy faced the wilderness 
 again. 
 
 Thomas Lincoln had hired a team for the 
 journey. He could follow a trail for part 
 of the way; then he would have to hew a 
 way with a broadaxe in the timber country, 
 where the trees were so thick that the team 
 could not pass. Abraham, small as he was, 
 helped him make the way. 
 
 "Hew now," said Thomas Lincoln, "for 
 you will have to hew your way through life. 
 It isn't much that I will have to leave you. 
 You will have to learn to swing the broad- 
 axe, to level timber, to split rails, and build
 
 254 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and build. We can hardly tell what we are 
 building for." 
 
 Abraham's mother sang all the way. The 
 grasses were full of joyous birds, and the 
 woodpecker tapped the trees. The great 
 animals had not disappeared from the giant 
 woodlands and the few open spaces, and they 
 could hear them break the dry bushes and 
 flee away. 
 
 They shot game for food, deer, bear, 
 wild turkeys and grouse, and hung their In- 
 dian kettle over a fire, and cooked the savory 
 meat. At all times they could find luscious 
 berries. Here and there corn could be ob- 
 tained of friendly Indians, though the wil- 
 derness, as a rule, was a solitude, and a 
 white man still looked upon all Indians with 
 suspicion. But to the honor of the old 
 tribes be it said that they kept the treaty 
 made with Wayne. The tomahawk was 
 buried forever. 
 
 Of what did they talk in their march
 
 FACING THE WILDERNESS AND LIFE 255 
 
 through the silences ? Of religion and camp 
 meetings, of bear-hunts, and warriors, and 
 of the hundred interesting features of pio- 
 neer life ; of what they hoped to find in the 
 new country to which they were traveling. 
 They carried the Bible with them. It was 
 a library to them. Nancy once said to Abra- 
 ham: 
 
 "If you could have but one of two things, 
 a Bible or a farm, I would wish that you 
 might have the Bible. " 
 
 The family put soul value above every- 
 thing. Simple as they were, they had come 
 to the conclusion that so awed Immanuel 
 Kant, the great German philosopher of 
 whom you will some day know more and of 
 whom they had probably never heard, that 
 "Spirit is the only reality," the only thing 
 that will last. 
 
 The stars gleamed above them, through 
 the towers of trees. 
 
 Moo-May was growing feeble. Her feet
 
 256 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 seemed to be dying. She insisted on going 
 on, but it was soon evident that she would 
 not finish the journey. 
 
 One day she said: 
 
 "I shall soon go to the South Land 
 (heaven) ; to the Manitou and to my own 
 son. Remember that it was I who guarded 
 Sarah from evil; it was the little wolf-dog 
 that the people of your families often heard 
 in the wilderness. I called him back when 
 he came too near. He will watch over me 
 when I die, and he will never leave my] 
 grave." 
 
 "You must stay with u&," said the trav- 
 elers. 
 
 "No I shall soon go to my own and 
 my dog he will follow me soon. I cannot 
 walk these roads. I must be in the woods. 
 There I have lived most of my life. I will 
 go with the wolf-dog and find rest in my 
 own way."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE WOLF-DOG '8 STKANGE CONDUCT. 
 
 MOO-MAY was following them. 
 The wolf-dog had done some strange 
 things in the past, but he became unac- 
 countable now. He would come out of the 
 thick woods between the hills or elevations, 
 utter a " Cry-oo-oo-oi ! " and run back again, 
 as if in perplexity, or deep distress. He 
 seemed to call for human help. 
 
 The party hoped that Moo-May) woujld 
 appear and discover the cause of the wolf- 
 dog's perplexity. 
 
 " Cry-oo-oo-oi ! " 
 
 They heard it repeated over and over 
 again. Now far away among the green 
 hills, now nearer and nearer, now in the 
 open, in clear view. 
 
 17 257
 
 258 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "It may be that something has happened 
 to Moo-May," said Nancy to Thomas. 
 "The next time the wolf-dog comes out into 
 the open, follow him." 
 
 The dog soon came into the open again. 
 
 Thomas went towards him. The latter 
 retreated, uttering the same cry in a tone 
 almost human. The dog retreated from the 
 open further and further away, and Thomas 
 stumbled after him. At times he lost sight 
 of him. The hills grew more and more rag- 
 ged. Cavernous rocks here and there ap- 
 peared overhung with ferns. Swallows 
 darted out of some of these caverns and 
 sped through the still blue air like darts. 
 Great trees like castles rose up from the 
 higher of the hills. 
 
 At last Thomas came in sight of a giant 
 cave, one so large that he half believed it 
 to be the giant cave of which he had heard 
 as existing in Kentucky. This, however, 
 was a smaller one.
 
 THE WOLF-DOG'S STRANGE CONDUCT 259 
 
 The dog ran into the cave crying, rather 
 than howling. The opening was lofty. A 
 little beyond the arched opening it was dusk, 
 and as he entered, bats seemed to break 
 away from their hanging places, and to 
 brush by. Flocks of swallows came and 
 went to and from the cavern. Wild flowers 
 and plants of great beauty drooped from 
 the outer walls, and a spring of clear water 
 ran down a side of the great cavern. 
 
 Thomas followed the dog, and soon made 
 a singular discovery. 
 
 Just beyond the light that entered the 
 cave, in the still shadows, lay an old Indian 
 woman on a bed of leaves. He put his hand 
 on her face. He drew it away quickly, the 
 face was cold and breathless. It was Moo- 
 May. 
 
 The wolf-dog jumped around her, he 
 smelled of her hands and licked one of them. 
 He ran out of the cave in distress, and sent 
 forth the same pitiful cry
 
 260 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Oo-oo-oi!" 
 
 He leaped past his companion and almost 
 upon him. He ran around him, as they both 
 passed into the light, and paused looking up 
 into his face, as much as to say: "What 
 is it?" 
 
 Thomas replied: "It is death!" 
 
 The dog did not comprehend. Of course 
 he did not. 
 
 "Death!" 
 
 The dog fell down and spread out his feet, 
 and looked up to his companion as much as 
 to ask : * ' What does it mean I ' ' 
 
 "I do not know what it means," said 
 Thomas, shaking his head. 
 
 The dog seemed to understand the shake 
 of the head, that it meant that he did not 
 know the meaning of death, nor why the 
 wayfaring Indian woman should be dead. 
 
 Thomas sorrowfully found his way back 
 to his team and obtained a shovel. 
 
 "Moo-May is .dead," said he. "I have
 
 THOMAS BECKONS "COME," BUT THE DOG 
 WON'T FOLLOW
 
 THE WOLF-DOG'S STRANGE CONDUCT 261 
 
 found her body in a cave among the birds 
 and bats. I must go back and bury her." 
 
 " Bring back the wolf-dog when you re- 
 turn," said Nancy. 
 
 He buried Moo-May. The j wolf-dog 
 looked on in wonder. He knew not the 
 meaning of it all, and his companion knew 
 but little more than he. Thomas buried her 
 in the shadows of the cave. He patted 
 down the earth, laid a stone upon the mound, 
 and started back for the wagon and the place 
 where he had camped. 
 
 He whistled to the dog and said: 
 "Come!" But the dog did not follow him. 
 He walked with lowered head about the 
 grave and suddenly turned and licked the 
 hand that had covered the body. 
 
 "Come," said Thomas, as he passed out 
 from the place. 
 
 The dog understood the word and sign, 
 but refused to obey. Thomas's cheek was 
 wet with tears. He felt the helplessness of
 
 262 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 life. The animal had learned much of life, 
 but the lone digger of that grave could not 
 explain to the dog what he himself did not 
 understand. 
 
 As Thomas passed over a hill again, he 
 called from the top : ' ' Come ! ' ' 
 
 He saw the dog stretch himself beside the 
 over-turned earth in the cave; he hurried 
 back and said to his family : "I have buried 
 Moo-May and have left the dog to watch 
 her grave; he would not come. It may be 
 that he will follow us." 
 
 The dog did not follow. 
 
 In the night they were awakened Ey 
 strange sounds from the hills. "Cry-oo- 
 oo-oi!" 
 
 "It is the wolf-dog," said Thomas. 
 
 They went on and on, Nancy leading little 
 Abraham towards the great Indiana wood- 
 lands, and Destiny, but they heard the cry 
 of the wolf-dog no more.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE DESIGN FROM WHICH OTJR STORY WAS 
 DRAWN 
 
 WE have spent some pleasant hours in 
 the company of little Nancy, and all 
 would be glad to know some more facts 
 about her and about her friends and rela- 
 tives, facts which were not given with de- 
 tail in the preceding chapters. One his- 
 torian speaks as follows of Nancy and her 
 dear ones: 
 
 * * 
 
 "Her mother's name before marriage was 
 Shipley, and one of her sisters married a 
 Mr. Berry; another sister married Eobert 
 Mitchell, who also came to Kentucky about 
 the year 1780. While on the journey the 
 Mitchells were attacked by the Indians and 
 
 263
 
 264 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Mrs. Mitchell fatally wounded, and their 
 only daughter, Sarah, a child eleven years 
 old, was captured and carried into Michi- 
 gan, where a squaw saved her life by hiding 
 her behind a log. Mr. Mitchell mounted 
 his horse, and, accompanied by his friend, 
 General Adair, went in search of his daugh- 
 ter, but was drowned in the Ohio River 
 while attempting to cross it." 
 
 Still another historian has this to say of 
 Nancy : 
 
 "She was but nine years old when her 
 father died, and soon the dear mother also 
 followed her husband. The little orphan 
 then went to live with her mother's sister, 
 Mrs. Richard Berry, at Beechland, a pretty 
 place near Springfield. Here all her aunts, 
 uncles, and cousins on her mother's side, the 
 Mitchells, Shipleys, and Berrys, had settled 
 when Joseph Hanks made his home in Eliza- 
 bethtown. With this kind Uncle Richard 
 Nancy lived until she was married. Theirs
 
 OUR STORY'S DESIGN 265 
 
 was a merry life for a few years there in old 
 Kentucky, and the beautiful Nancy Hanks 
 seems to have been the centre and leader in 
 all the merry country parties. Bright, 
 scintillating, noted for her keen wit and 
 repartee, she had withal a great loving 
 heart. 
 
 " Among the many friends who visited the 
 old Berry homestead was one cousin, some 
 six years older than Nancy, known as 
 Thomas Lincoln. His father, Abraham 
 Lincoln, was a well-to-do farmer, owning a 
 tract of some two hundred and forty acres 
 of land. His father, John Lincoln, had 
 come into Virginia from Pennsylvania, 
 probably influenced to this step by his 
 friend, Daniel Boone, who had moved to 
 North Carolina with his father's family in 
 1748. Daniel Boone had never been satis- 
 fied, however, to stay in North Carolina, and 
 in 1769 he had begun to explore the land to 
 the westward. Finally, in 1773, he had
 
 266 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 moved with his family and a few neighbors 
 to Kentucky. Abraham Lincoln, born of a 
 race of pioneers, became restless in his Vir- 
 ginia home, as he heard from time to time 
 from the Boones and others of the settlers 
 in the new country, and finally, in 1780, he 
 sold his Virginia property, went to Ken- 
 tucky, entered a large tract of land, and re- 
 turning, moved his family. Eight years 
 later, when he was killed by the Indians, he 
 owned twelve thousand acres of land. 
 
 " According to the laws of Kentucky gov- 
 erning property, nearly all of his estate 
 went to his eldest son, Mordecai. His 
 younger son, Thomas, who was only nine 
 years old at his death, received nothing. 
 He lived about with one and another mem- 
 bers of his family, and eventually went to 
 Elizabethtown, and learned the carpenter 
 trade of his cousin, Joseph Hanks. He 
 seems to have made good progress at his 
 trade, for, according to an old and trust-
 
 OUR STORY'S DESIGN 267 
 
 worthy acquaintance, he had the best set 
 of tools in the country and was a good 
 carpenter for those days. No doubt, at Red 
 Hill, the home of Joseph Hanks, he saw his 
 cousin Nancy at times. He may have met 
 her when visiting his brother Mordecai, who 
 lived not far from the Berrys, Nancy's 
 home. At all events the acquaintance be- 
 tween the two ripened into love, and they 
 became engaged. It has been inferred by 
 those who have made no investigation of 
 Thomas Lincoln's life that Nancy Hanks 
 made a very poor choice of a husband. The 
 facts do not warrant this theory. Thomas 
 Lincoln had been forced from his boyhood 
 to shift for himself in a young and unde- 
 veloped country. He is known to have been 
 a man who, in spite of this wandering life, 
 contracted no bad habits. He was temper- 
 ate and honest, and his name is recorded in 
 more than one place in the records of Ken- 
 tucky. He was a church-goer, and, if tra-
 
 268 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 dition may be believed, a stout defender of 
 Ms peculiar religious views. He held ad- 
 vanced ideas of what was already becoming 
 an important public question in Kentucky, 
 the right to hold negroes as slaves. One of 
 his old friends has said of him and his wife, 
 Nancy Hanks, that they were 'just steeped 
 full of notions about the wrongs of slavery 
 and the rights of man, as explained by 
 Thomas Jefferson, and Thomas Paine.' 
 These facts show that he must have been a 
 man of some natural intellectual attainment. 
 He was a companionable man, too, and fa- 
 mous as a story-teller, an accomplishment 
 which seems to have been common enough to 
 the Lincolns, for Kentucky traditions say 
 that Mordecai Lincoln, Thomas's brother, 
 was one of the famous story-tellers of the 
 country." 
 
 The younger boy, Thomas, could tell a 
 story , too, as you know. He retained a 
 vivid recollection of his father's murder by
 
 OUR STORY'S DESIGN 269 
 
 the Indians, which, together with other rem- 
 iniscences of his boyhood, he was fond of 
 relating, later in life, to his children to re- 
 lieve the tediousiiess of long winter even- 
 ings. 
 
 "Considering the disadvantages under 
 which Thomas had labored," says one his- 
 torian, "he had a very good start in life 
 when he became engaged to Nancy Hanks. 
 He had a trade and owned a farm which he 
 had bought in 1803 in Buffalo, and also land 
 in Elizabethtown. If all the conditions of 
 his life be taken into consideration, it is not 
 true, as has been said, that Thomas Lincoln 
 was at this time a shiftless and purposeless 
 man. In appearance he was short and 
 stout, with dark hair, a full face, gray eyes, 
 and prominent nose. He is said to have 
 been one of the strongest men in his coun- 
 try, the terror of wrestlers and evil-doers. 
 
 "The traditions of Nancy Hanks 's ap- 
 pearance at this time all agree in calling her
 
 270 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 a beautiful girl. She is said to have been 
 of medium height, weighing one hundred 
 and thirty pounds, with light hair, beauti- 
 ful eyes, a sweet and sensitive mouth, and a 
 kindly and gentle manner. " 
 
 You recall how Nancy and Thomas, with 
 little Abraham, journeyed from their old 
 Kentucky home to a new abode in Indiana, 
 in order, if possible, to secure some of the 
 fertile farm-lands that were to be had there. 
 Listen to what one historian says of this 
 journey : 
 
 "In the year 1816 the family prepared to 
 leave Kentucky. Their household furniture 
 and farm tools were packed into a wagon. 
 Whatever of stock they may have owned 
 was driven behind, and the little procession 
 started. The first part of their journey 
 could not have been very difficult, for at 
 that time the highway to the Ohio was ex- 
 cellent. It was after crossing the river into 
 Indiana that their pilgrimage became trou-
 
 OUR STORY'S DESIGN 271 
 
 blesome: then they no doubt literally cut 
 their way through the forests to the land 
 which Thomas Lincoln had taken up for 
 himself and family. This land lay in what 
 is now Spencer County, Indiana. It was on 
 the Little Pigeon Creek, about fifteen miles 
 north of the Ohio River and a mile and a 
 half east of Gentryville. 
 
 "To Nancy Hanks this removal from 
 Kentucky must have been full of sadness. 
 She was leaving behind a great circle of 
 relatives and friends. She was leaving be- 
 hind, too, the grave of her youngest child, 
 and one of the most pathetic incidents which 
 has been preserved to us of her life is the 
 visit she made to the little grave with her 
 two older children, just before she started 
 on her journey into the Indiana wilderness. 
 
 "The overland trip, while it may have 
 had its perils, was not necessarily very dif- 
 ficult or unpleasant. This journey was at- 
 tended by none of the dangerous features
 
 272 A HEROINE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 which were characteristic of the Wilderness 
 Road. Indians and wild animals no longer 
 threatened. There was much of amusement 
 and adventure in these trips, and no doubt 
 Nancy Hanks, as she rode in or walked by 
 the wagon, found much of delight in the 
 joy of her children over the, to them, novel 
 and exciting journey. 
 
 "It was after Indiana was reached and 
 the camp in the Wilderness, which was to 
 be their shelter, was built, that her hard- 
 ships began. What was called a half -faced 
 camp, a species of log lean-to, without doors 
 or windows, was their first home, and no 
 doubt the winter of 1816 and) 1817 must 
 have been a trying one for Nancy Hanks." 
 
 Soon after reaching Indiana Nancy died, 
 aged thirty-five years. Poor little Abra- 
 ham was broken hearted and never fully 
 recovered from the blow caused by his loss. 
 He went miles to get a minister to come and 
 preach her funeral sermon, and often in
 
 OUR STORY'S DESIGN 273 
 
 after life he would say with tears in his 
 
 eyes: ?> 
 
 "I owe all I am to my angel mother. 
 
 THE END 
 
 18
 
 THE JOHN C. WINSTON GO'S POPULAR JUVENILES. 
 
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