N/ 
 J\ 
 
 X L I B RA 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N I VE.RSITY 
 OF 1LLI NOIS 
 
 813 
 
 1833 
 
 I . H . S .
 
 LEGENDS OF THE WEST.
 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE WEST. 
 
 NOTICE 
 
 AFTER CAREFUL EXAMINATION OF THE 
 INNER MARGIN AND TYPE OF MATERIAL 
 WE HAVE SEWN THIS VOLUME BY HAND 
 SO IT CAN BE MQBE EASILY OPENED 
 AND READ. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 KEY & BIDDLE, 23 MINOR STREET. 
 
 1833.
 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE WEST 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES HA1LL 9 
 
 AUTHOR OF LETTERS FROM THE WEST, ETC. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 KEY & BIDDLE, 23 MINOR STREET. 
 1833.
 
 Entered according to the act of congress, in the year 1833, by 
 Key & Biddle, in the clerk's office of the district court of the 
 eastern district of Pennsylvania. 
 
 WLLIAM BROWN, PRINTER.
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE sole intention of the tales comprised in the following 
 pages is to convey accurate descriptions of the scenery 
 and population of the country in which the author resides. 
 The only merit he claims for them is fidelity. It will be 
 for others to decide whether this claim is well supported. 
 The legends now presented to the public are entirely 
 fictitious ; but they are founded upon incidents which 
 have been witnessed by the author during a long resi- 
 dence in the western states, or upon traditions preserved 
 by the people, and have received but little artificial em- 
 bellishment. They are given to the American reader 
 with great diffidence, and with a disposition to submit 
 cheerfully to any verdict which public opinion may 
 award.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. The Backwoodsman, . . 1 
 
 II. The Divining Rod, . .41 
 
 II. The Seventh Son, . . . . .67 
 
 IV. The Missionaries, .... 95 
 
 V. The Indian Wife's Lament, - 105 
 
 VI. A Legend of Carondelet, . . 109 
 
 VII. The Intestate, 131 
 
 Michel de Coucy, 
 
 IX. The Emigrants, .... 
 X. The Barrack-master's Daughter, . . 209 
 
 . The Indian Hater, ... .249 
 
 XII. The Isle of the Yellow Sands, . . 265
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 THE beautiful forests of Kentucky, when first visited 
 by the adventurous footsteps of the pioneers, presented a 
 scene of native luxuriance, such as has seldom been wit- 
 nessed by the human eye. So vast a body of fertile soil 
 had never before been known to exist on this continent. 
 The magnificent forest trees attained a gigantic height, 
 and were adorned with a foliage of unrivalled splendour. 
 The deep rich green of the leaves, and the brilliant tints 
 of the flowers, nourished into full maturity of size and 
 beauty by the extraordinary fertility of the soil, not only 
 attracted the admiration of the hunter, but warmed the 
 fancy of the poet, and forcibly arrested the attention of the 
 naturalist. As the pioneers proceeded, step by step, new 
 wonders were discovered ; and the features of the country, 
 together with its productions, as they became gradually 
 developed, continued to present the same bold peculiarities 
 and broad outlines. The scale of greatness pervaded all 
 the works of nature. The noble rivers, all tending to- 
 A
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 wards one great estuary, swept through an almost bound- 
 less extent of country, and seemed to be as infinite in 
 number as they were grand in size. The wild animals 
 were innumerable. The forest teemed with living crea- 
 tures, for this was the paradise of the brute creation. Here 
 were literally " the cattle upon a thousand hills." The buf- 
 falo, the elk, and the deer roamed in vast herds, and all 
 the streams were rich in those animals whose fur is so 
 much esteemed in commerce. Here lurked the solitary 
 panther, the lion of our region, and here prowled the sa- 
 vage wolf. The nutritious fruits of the forest, and the 
 juicy buds of the exuberant thickets, reared the indolent 
 bear to an enormous size. Even the bowels of the earth 
 exhibited stupendous evidences of the master hand of 
 creation. The great limestone beds of the country were 
 perforated with spacious caverns, of vast extent and 
 splendid appearance, many of which yielded valuable 
 minerals ; while the gigantic bones found buried in the 
 earth, far exceeding in size those of all known animals on 
 the globe, attested the former existence in this region, 
 of brutes of fearful magnitude. 
 
 Such were the discoveries of the first adventurers ; such 
 the inducement which allured them onward, and inclined 
 them to linger in these solitudes, enduring the severest 
 privations, and beset by dangers which might have shaken 
 the firmest manhood. But the pioneers were men whose 
 characters were not now to be formed in the school of ad- 
 versity or danger. They were the borderers, already
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 3 
 
 trained to war and the chase upon the extensive frontiers 
 of our country ; men cradled in the forest, and accustomed 
 from their infancy to the bay of the prowling wolf,-and the 
 yell of the hostile Indian. Trained to athletic sports and 
 martial exercises, their military propensities were cherished 
 throughout their whole lives, and became engrafted in 
 their nature. Martial habits mingled in all their rural pur- 
 suits. If they travelled or walked abroad, it was with the 
 wary step, and jealous vigilance of the Indian : with an 
 eye continually glancing into every thicket, and an ear 
 prepared to catch the slightest alarm of danger. They 
 slept upon their arms, and carried their rifles to the harvest 
 field, to the marriage feast, and to the house of worship. 
 Simple, honest, and inoffensive in their manners, kind and 
 just to each other, they were intrepid, fierce, and vindictive 
 in war. Under an appearance of apathy, with a gait of 
 apparent indolence, and with careless habits, they were 
 muscular and hardy, patient of fatigue, ardent in their 
 temperament, warm hearted, and hospitable. They were 
 the borderers of Virginia and North Carolina, where they 
 had long formed a rampart between the less warlike in- 
 habitants and the savage tribes. In the war of the revolu- 
 tion, they had engaged with ardour ; but while the ac- 
 knowledgement of our national independence brought 
 peace to the rest of our country, it left the frontiers still 
 embroiled with the savages. 
 
 The backwoodsmen, therefore, when they first emigrated 
 into the western forests, had not to learn the rude arts of
 
 4 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 sylvan life, nor to study the habits of the Indian and the 
 beast of prey. These were enemies with whom they had 
 long been familiar, and with whom they delighted to cope. 
 
 They lived in cabins hastily erected for temporary shel- 
 ter, and as hastily abandoned when a slight allurement at 
 some distant spot invited them to change their residence. 
 Their personal effects were of course few, and their do- 
 mestic utensils rude and simple. Their horses, their rifles, 
 and their herds, constituted their wealth ; and with these 
 they were prepared at a moment's warning to push farther 
 into the wilderness, selling their habitations for a mere tri- 
 fle, or abandoning them to any chance occupant who might 
 choose to take possession, and conquering for themselves 
 a new home, from the panther and the Indian. 
 
 In the settlement of Kentucky, the pioneers emigrated 
 singly, or in small parties. Unused to congregate in large 
 bodies, unless on special occasions, and unaccustomed to 
 military discipline, they chose to rely for defence on their 
 own personal courage and vigilance. The boldest went 
 foremost, traversed the country fearlessly, and having se- 
 lected the choicest spots, however remote from other set- 
 tlements, built their cabins, surrounded them with palisades 
 to protect them from the Indians, and set all enemies at 
 defiance. Others followed and settled around them, form- 
 ing little communities, detached from each other, and 
 each organized independently, for its own defence ; 
 and it was not until these insulated settlements ex-
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 5 
 
 tended, so as to come into contiguity, that the arm of go- 
 vernment was felt, and the mild operation of law diffused. 
 In the mean while the vast deserts by which they were se- 
 parated, retained their pristine wildness, traversed in com- 
 mon by the Backwoodsman and the Indian, who never met 
 without a conflict, which was usually of the most exter- 
 minating character. 
 
 The ferocity of the Indian was not likely to be tamed, 
 nor his animosity to the white man to be conciliated, by 
 this state of things. He had to do with men who had long 
 been taught to consider the savage as a natural enemy, as 
 hateful as the serpent, and as irreconcilable as the wolf; 
 men whose ears had been accustomed from infancy to le- 
 gends of border warfare, in which the savage was always 
 represented as the aggressor, and as a fiend stimulated by 
 hellish passions, and continually plotting some detestable 
 outrage, or horrible revenge. Most of them had witness- 
 ed the Indian mode of warfare, which spares neither age 
 nor sex ; and many of them had suffered in their own fa- 
 milies, or those of their nearest friends. They were fa- 
 miliar with the capture of women and children, the confla- 
 gration of houses, and the midnight assassination of the 
 helpless and decrepid : and they had grown up in a hatred 
 of the perpetrators of such enormities, which the philan- 
 thropist could hardly condemn, as it originated in generous 
 feelings, and was kept alive by the repeated violation of 
 the most sacred rights and the best affections. 
 
 As the settlements expanded, the wealthy and intelligent 
 A 2
 
 6 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 began to follow the footsteps of the pioneer. Virginia, the 
 parent state, had rewarded the patriotism of many of her 
 distinguished revolutionary officers, by large grants of land 
 in Kentucky, and some of these emigrated among the ear- 
 ly settlers. Many young gentlemen with elevated views 
 and liberal educations, followed ; and some of those who 
 thus came with the rifle in hand, and commenced their 
 professional career amid the commotion of the battle field, 
 have since been widely known to fame, as among the most 
 distinguished lawyers and statesmen of the nation. 
 
 There were others of a character still more essentially 
 peaceful, who at an early period braved the dangers and 
 privations of that unsettled region, stimulated by a noble 
 and self denying sense of duty. While the tomahawk and 
 fire brand were still busy ; when to travel from one settle- 
 ment to another, required the courage and hardihood of the 
 hunter; the ministers of the Gospel penetrated into the 
 wilderness, and zealously pursued their sacred calling in 
 defiance of every danger. They learned to endure fatigue, 
 to provide for their wants, and to elude the common ene- 
 my, with the sagacity of woodsmen j and those of them 
 who lived to enjoy the dignity of grey hairs, and the luxury 
 of peaceful times, could narrate a series of strange adven- 
 tures, and " hair breadth 'scapes," such as seldom occur 
 in the lives of the clergy. 
 
 The incidents of the following tale have their date at a 
 period when the settlements, though still detached, began 
 to be so strong as to be considered permanent. Some of
 
 THE BACKWOODSM1N. 7 
 
 them were now regularly organized, and felt no longer any 
 dread of predatory incursions of the neighbouring savage. 
 The one particularly in which the scene is laid, had expe- 
 rienced a long interval of uninterrupted peace.; agriculture 
 was beginning to flourish, and the civil arts had been in- 
 troduced. The woodsmen still retained their cabins, pur- 
 sued the wild game for a livelihood, and joined in distant 
 expeditions against the savages, and in defence of feebler 
 settlements ; while a number of the class who might more 
 properly be called farmers, and several intelligent and 
 wealthy families, had moved into the neighbourhood. 
 Civil institutions had been introduced and the spirit of im- 
 provement was awake. The sound of the axe saluted the 
 ear in every direction ; roads were opened ; magistrates 
 had been appointed, and were assuming the authority of 
 their stations ; and females who had heretofore confined 
 themselves within doors, brooding over their offspring, 
 like watchful birds, and who had found even the sacred 
 fortress of woman, the fireside, no protection from violence 
 now felt at liberty to indulge the benevolent propensity for 
 visiting their neighbours, and talking over the affairs of the 
 community, which is said by those acquainted with human 
 nature, to be peculiar to the sex. 
 
 Among other novelties, a camp meeting was about to be 
 held for the first time. This popular mode of worship was 
 familiar to the emigrants from Virginia and North Carolina, 
 where it had long been practised, and found highly bene-
 
 8 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 ficial and convenient in new settlements, where public edi- 
 fices had not yet been erected, and where private habita- 
 tions were too small to accommodate worshipping assem- 
 blies ; and the effort now about to be made for its intro- 
 duction in the west, was hailed as a happy omen for the 
 country. The spot was selected with great care ; the 
 whole neighbourhood united in clearing the ground, erect- 
 ing huts, and making the most liberal arrangements for the 
 accommodation of the concourse which was expected to 
 be assembled. For the convenience of obtaining water, 
 a place was chosen on the margin of a small rivulet, and 
 near a fine spring. The ground was a beautiful elevation, 
 sloping off on all sides, and crowned with a thick growth 
 of noble forest trees. The smallest of these, together with 
 all the underbrush, were carefully removed, leaving a few 
 of the most stately, whose long branches formed a thick 
 canopy, at an elevation of fifty feet from the ground. The 
 camp was laid off in a large square, three sides of which 
 were occupied by huts, and the fourth by the stand, or pul- 
 pit. The whole of the enclosed area was filled with seats 
 roughly hewed out of logs. 
 
 A busy scene was presented on the day before the 
 meeting commenced, occasioned by the arrival of the 
 people, some of whom had travelled an immense distance. 
 The larger number came on horseback, some in waggons, 
 and some in ox-carts. They were loaded with beds, 
 cooking utensils, table furniture, and provisions. These arti-
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 9 
 
 cles, however, were chiefly furnished by the inhabitants 
 of the vicinity, who claimed the privilege of entertaining 
 strangers. The persons resident in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood had each erected his own hut, with the inten- 
 tion of accommodating, besides his own family, a num- 
 ber of guests ; large quantities of game had been taken, 
 beef, pigs, and poultry had been killed, and the good 
 wives had been engaged for several days in cooking 
 meat, and preparing bread and pastry. The loads upon 
 loads of good things for the body, which were accumu- 
 lated, were marvellous to behold; not that there was 
 any indulgence of luxury, or extravagant display, but as 
 was very judiciously remarked on the occasion by a ve- 
 teran hunter, " it took a powerful chance of truck, to 
 feed such a heap of folks ," and the generous Ken- 
 tuckians, accustomed to practise the most liberal hospi- 
 tality, could not be backward on a public occasion. 
 
 The meeting commenced on Thursday, and lasted 
 until Monday, the whole of each day being occupied 
 with religious exercises. At day-light in the morning, 
 the voice of prayer was heard in each hut, where the 
 families were separately assembled, as such, for wor- 
 ship. Shortly afterwards, the fires were kindled around 
 the encampment, and a few of the females were seen 
 engaged in cooking. A few individuals then collect- 
 ed on the seats in the area, and raised a hymn; 
 others joined them, and the number swelled gradually 
 until nearly the whole company was collected. They
 
 10 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 aang without books ; the pieces being those of which 
 the words were generally known. Some of the tunes 
 were remarkably sweet, and thus sung in the open air, 
 under the broad canopy of heaven, and as it were in the 
 immediate presence of the great object of all worship, 
 were indescribably solemn and affecting ; some were 
 peculiarly wild, and some cheerful ; many of them be- 
 ing the beautiful airs of popular ballads, which were in 
 this manner appropriated to Divine worship. The 
 balmy freshness of the morning air, the splendour of 
 the rising sun, the stillness of the forest, and the wild 
 graces of the surrounding scenery, gave a wonderful 
 interest to this voluntary matin service. It was thus 
 our first parents worshipped their Creator in Paradise, 
 thus the early Christians assembled in groves and se- 
 cluded places ; and so close is the union between good 
 taste and religious feeling, that while civilized nations 
 have set apart the most splendid edifices for worship, 
 ruder communities, in a similar spirit, assemble for the 
 same purpose at the most genial hour, and the most 
 picturesque spot. The heart powerfully excited by ge- 
 nerous feelings always becomes romantic ; the mind ele- 
 vated by the noble pursuit of a high object becomes en- 
 larged and refined ; and although such impulses may 
 be temporary, the virtuous actions which they produce 
 have a tendency towards the soft, the graceful, and the 
 picturesque, in their development. After the morning 
 hymn, the preachers ascended the stand, and service
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 11 
 
 was performed before breakfast. The rest of the day, 
 with the exception of short intervals for refreshment, 
 was filled in the same manner. But nothing could ex- 
 ceed the solemn and beautiful effect of the meeting at 
 night. The huts were all illuminated, and lights were 
 fastened to the trunks of the trees, throwing a glare up- 
 on the overhanging canopy of leaves, now beginning to 
 be tinged with the rich hues of autumn, which gave it 
 the appearance of a splendid arch finely carved and ex- 
 quisitely shaded. All around was the dark gloom of 
 the forest, deepened to intense blackness by its contrast 
 with the brilliant light of the camp. 
 
 But we must hasten to our narrative. On Sunday 
 morning a company consisting of three persons, was 
 seen aproaching the camp-ground. The elder of these, 
 who rode alone in advance of the others, was Mr. Sin- 
 gleton, a gentleman who had recently emigrated from 
 Virginia. He was a farmer, a well educated man, in 
 easy circmstances, who not being religious, nor in any 
 manner connected with the sect under whose auspices 
 the meeting was held, contented himself with participa- 
 ting no farther in its proceedings, than by being a regu- 
 lar and respectful attendant on the daily services. Miss 
 Singleton, his only daughter, and Edward Overton, her 
 affianced lover, were his companions. They were to be 
 married in a fortnight from this time. It is unnecessary 
 to inform the erudite reader, that the young lady, wjio 
 was just turned of seventeen, was beautiful and inte-
 
 12 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 resting, and her lover tall and handsome. Had they 
 been otherwise, their lives might have slept in oblivion, 
 with the fame of the "mute inglorious" rustics in 
 Gray's Elegy. Dennie, who has been called the Ameri- 
 can Addison, once amused himself by criticising an ad- 
 vertisement of a man who had stolen "a. chunky horse," 
 and with such a lesson before our eyes, we should 
 hardly venture upon a chunky young man for a hero, 
 or a hard favoured lady for a heroine. The decree of 
 literary ostracism by which short gentlemen have been 
 banished from the pages of fiction, is, in our humble 
 opinion, unjust, believing, as we do, that to be an in- 
 teresting man, and a tender lover, it is by no means ne- 
 cessary to possess the corporeal altitude of a grenadier. 
 For the homely and the dull we put in no plea : it is a 
 standing rule among writers, having a laudable care of 
 their own fame, not to waste their midnight oil upon 
 ugly or insipid people. The reader is therefore desired 
 to understand distinctly, that the young couple now in- 
 troduced, were not only worthy and amiable, but were 
 in point of appearance all that the most romantic pe- 
 ruser of these veracious pages could rationally desire. 
 
 As they rode slowly along, they were deeply engaged 
 in conversation; but it was easy to see from the sedate 
 demeanour of Ellen Singleton, that the subject was suited 
 to the day and the occasion. She was naturally gay and vo- 
 latile; but latterly her thoughts had been turned to the sub- 
 ject of religion; and as the day approached when she was 
 to take upon her the vows of wedlock, and to enter upon
 
 BACKWOODSMAN. 13 
 
 new and solemn duties, she felt more and more the ne- 
 cessity of directing her life agreeably to the precepts of 
 the Gospel. To these virtuous resolutions a new im- 
 pulse had been given by the exercises of the camp- 
 meeting. Her heart was sensibly awakened, and her 
 judgment fully persuaded ; and after serious reflection 
 and preparation she was now ready to make a profes- 
 sion of her faith, by uniting herself with the church, and 
 assuming those engagements which are imposed upon 
 the disciples of the Redeemer. These duties she ex- 
 pected to take upon her that day ; and Edward Overton 
 felt deeply affected as he noticed the solemn tone, 
 the deep conviction, and the firm determination of her 
 mind ; for however a false shame may sometimes in- 
 duce the concealment of devotional feelings, under the 
 mistaken notion that they will be considered as the evi- 
 dence of weakness, the truth is, that a young lady is 
 never so interesting in the eyes of her lover, as when 
 conscientiously engaged in the performance of her duty. 
 The senses of a young man are easily excited by beau- 
 ty, wit, gaiety, and the thousand attractions of feminine 
 loveliness, but there must be moral energy and pure 
 principle, to secure his affections. Edward had ad- 
 mired Ellen when he saw her in the pride of beauty, 
 and the flush of overflowing spirits; he had long known 
 her to be refined and generous, and loved to contem- 
 plate her soft attractions and delicate graces ; but he 
 now witnessed the operations of her mind under a new
 
 14 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 aspect, and when he saw the good sense, the energy, 
 and the strength of principle, which supported her in 
 the determination to act up to her senses of duty, his 
 love rose to a sentiment of devotion. Formerly Ellen 
 had been in his eyes a beautiful vision, floating along in 
 the tide of youthful enjoyment ; but now that she had 
 assumed an individuality of character, asserted her inde- 
 pendence as a moral agent, and acknowledged her ac- 
 countability to God, she became invested with a dignity, 
 which gave an almost angelic sacredness to her charms. 
 On that day the concourse was greater than it had 
 been before ; and those who had been for years accus- 
 tomed to the solitude of the forest, to alarm, toil, and 
 privation, felt their hearts elevated with a new species 
 of joy and gratitude, when they found themselves sur- 
 rounded by their countrymen, and united with them in 
 social and sacred duties. With many of them the Sab- 
 bath had long passed unhonoured and even unnoticed, 
 and its public acknowledgement called them back to holy 
 and happy feelings; for there is in the observance of this 
 day something so noble, so heart-cheering, so appropri- 
 ate to the most virtuous impulse of our bosoms, that 
 even the thoughtless cannot divest themselves of its in- 
 fluence. It is, to all who submit to restrictions, a day 
 of repose, when " the weary are at rest, and the wicked 
 cease from troubling;" a day from which care and labour 
 are banished, and when the burthens of life are lighten- 
 ed from the shoulders of the heavy laden. But to him 
 who sincerely worships at the altar of true piety, and
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 15 
 
 especially to one who has been led in infancy to the 
 pure fountains of religion, the return of the long ne- 
 glected Sabbath brings up a train of pure and ecstatic 
 recollections. To all it was the harbinger of peace, se- 
 curity, and civil order. It was delightful to see a whole 
 community, who but recently had assembled only at 
 the sound of the bugle, or by the glare of the beacon 
 fire, now coming together by a spontaneous impulse, to 
 mingle their hearts and voices in the rational and solemn 
 exercises of religion. Insulated as that congregation 
 was from the rest of mankind, the individuals compo- 
 sing it felt as if they were reunited with the great human 
 family, when they resumed the performance of Chris- 
 tian duties, and knelt before the Redeemer of men, in 
 common with all Christendom, on his appointed day. 
 Many of them had reared the altar of worship in their 
 own families, and the sweet accents of praise had been 
 heard, ascending through the gloom of the forest, min- 
 gled with the fiendish sound of the war-whoop, and the 
 dissonant yell of the beasts of prey, and they had seen 
 days of moral darkness, of bodily anguish, of almost 
 utter despair, when it seemed as if their prayers were 
 not heard, and that God had abandoned that land to the 
 blackness of darkness forever. But now he had set 
 his bow in the heavens ; his altar was publicly reared, 
 and his presence sensibly felt ; and they who believed 
 in the reality of religion, felt assured that a sign was 
 given them that they should not be destroyed from off 
 the face of the land. Never did those simple and af-
 
 16 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 fecting words seem more appropriate, "How beautiful 
 upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth 
 tidings, that publisheth peace." 
 
 In the evening, when Mr. Singleton and his daughter 
 were about to return home, Edward Overton hastened 
 to join them. Ellen had that day been among the 
 number who became attached to the church, and deeply 
 absorbed in devotional feelings, had abstracted her 
 senses and thoughts from all other subjects. Edward 
 had watched her with deep emotion, and he now ap- 
 proached her with a feeling of reverence, such as he 
 had never felt towards her before. She extended her 
 hand, and spoke to him with her usual kindness of 
 manner, but in a tone in which seriousness was mingled 
 with unwonted tenderness ; and as he assisted her to 
 mount her horse, whispered to him not to accompany 
 them : " I cannot converse with you this evening, Ed- 
 ward," said she ; " I wish to be alone, and I am sure 
 that yku will gratify me come to morrow." He saw 
 the propriety of her request, and pressing her hand af- 
 fectionately, bade her adieu, with a promise to visit her 
 early the next morning. 
 
 The sun had just set as Mr. Singleton and his 
 daughter left the camp-ground, but having only a short 
 distance to go, they were in no haste. Jt was a serene 
 evening in September. The air was still and soft, and 
 the sky had that richness and brilliancy of colour, which 
 travellers describe as peculiar to the genial atmosphere 
 of Italy. The leaves still hung upon the trees, and
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 17 
 
 some of them retained their verdure, while others were 
 tinged with yellow, brown, or deep scarlet, giving to 
 the foliage every variety of hue. The wild fruits were 
 abundant. The grape vines were loaded with purple 
 clusters. The persimmon, the paw-paw and the crab- 
 apple, hung thick upon the trees, while the ground was 
 strewed with nuts. Ellen, who was fatigued with the 
 confinement of the day, enjoyed the exercise, and the 
 balmy air of the evening, and felt that the passing mo- 
 ments were among the most delightful of her life. They 
 were in unison with her feelings, and emblematic of her 
 situation : she had passed the joyous spring of life, and 
 a season of riper enjoyment, of serene quiet, and useful 
 virtue was pictured to her fancy in agreeable perspective. 
 They had nearly reached home when they met one 
 of their neighbours, with whom Mr. Singleton wished 
 to coverse for a few moments ; he therefore stopped, 
 desiring Ellen to ride slowly forward. Absorbed in 
 her own reflections, and not dreaming of danger, she 
 gave the rein to her spirited horse, which impatient to 
 return to his stable, quickened his pace imperceptibly, 
 and she was soon out of sight of her parent. But their 
 dwelling was now in view, and she felt no alarm, until 
 her horse suddenly stopped, and snuffed the air, as if 
 in great terror. She had heard of the keenness of 
 scent by which these animals discover the approach of 
 an Indian, and the affright that they evince on such oc- 
 casions ; and feeling confident that nothing but the vi- 
 cinity of a savage, or some ferocious beast, could thus 
 
 B2
 
 18 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 alarm her gentle nag, she attempted to rein him up, in 
 order to return to her father. But the horse stood as if 
 fixed to the ground, trembling, and snorting with an ac- 
 cent of agony ; and before she could form any other 
 resolution, a party of Indians, lying in ambush on each 
 side of the road, rushed forward, and dragged her from 
 her horse, while the high bred animal, becoming frantic 
 with terror, tore the bridle, which they had siezed, from 
 their grasp, and made his escape at full speed. 
 
 The savages having secured their prize, immediately 
 began to retreat towards their towns at a rapid pace, 
 forcing the afflicted girl to exert her utmost strength to 
 keep up with them. It soon however grew dark, and 
 they proceeded at a more deliberate gait, but still pur- 
 sued their journey through the whole night, groping 
 their way amidst dense thickets beset with thorns and 
 briars, and over ravines and the trunks of fallen trees, 
 with ease to themselves, but with brutal violence to the 
 delicate frame of their captive. Poor Ellen had need 
 now of all the consolations which the religion that she 
 had just professed could afford. She had been told that 
 day that she would meet with afflictions that would try 
 her faith, but that God would never forsake those who 
 believed on him ; and she now threw herself entirely 
 upon him for protection. She prayed earnestly and sin- 
 cerely, and felt a conviction that she was heard. Her 
 courage rose with confidence, and she went forward 
 without a murmur, resigned to meet her fate, whatever 
 it might be. Ellen, too, was naturally a girl of good
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 19 
 
 sense and high spirit, and while she humbly relied upon 
 divine protection, saw also the propriety of exerting 
 herself; and knowing that the Indians would soon be 
 pursued, she deliberately laid plans to retard the retreat, 
 and disclose their path. Keeping up an appearance of 
 diligence and obedience, she contrived to linger at the 
 various obstacles which obstructed their way, while 
 she employed herself, whenever she could do so with- 
 out attracting notice, in tearing off small pieces of 
 her dress, and dropping such articles as she could dis- 
 pense with, in places where they would be likely to at- 
 tract attention. The darkness of the night favoured 
 this scheme ; her reticule, handkerchief, &c. were thus 
 strewed by the way, and in brushing through the thick- 
 ets she broke the twigs with her hands, as signals to 
 her pursuers. 
 
 The morning added to her griefs. The warrior who 
 claimed her, and who seemed to be the leader of the 
 party, having led her during the night by thongs of skin 
 bound round her wrists, now removed the bands, and 
 seemed to contemplate his prize with complacency. 
 He assured her, in broken and barely intelligible Eng- 
 lish, of a kind treatment, and promised that, if she be- 
 haved well, he would make her his wife. When Ellen 
 shook her head in alarm, as if dissenting from this ma- 
 trimonial arrangement, he said, "May be, you think I 
 cannot support you. That is a mistake. The Speckled 
 Snake is a great hunter. My lodge is on the bank of 
 a great river, where the water is cold, arid the big
 
 20 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 fish love to swim. The plains all round my village are 
 covered with deer and buffaloe. The stars in the 
 heavens are not so many as the cattle on our hunting 
 grounds. The white man does not come there to des- 
 troy everything that the Great Spirit made for his red 
 people, like the hurricane when it sweeps through the 
 woods. I can outrun the elk ; I am stronger than the 
 buffaloe ; I am more cunning than the beaver. They 
 call me the Speckled Snake, because I can conceal my- 
 self in the grass, so that my enemies step on me before 
 they see me. I have only three squaws. I can sup- 
 port another very well, and my lodge is big enough for 
 three or four more. You need not be afraid of my wo- 
 men treating you ill. I will beat them unmercifully if 
 they strike you. My squaws fear me ; I whip them 
 severely when they quarrel with each other. Women 
 need a great deal of whipping." 
 
 Late in the morning they halted to eat and rest. El- 
 len had no appetite for food. She had now been walk- 
 ing for fourteen hours without cessation, over hills, and 
 through swamps and thickets. Her feet were swelled 
 and lacerated, and her hands and arms torn with briars. 
 Worn down by extreme fatigue and mental exhaustion, 
 she began to suffer intense thirst and violent pains. 
 But her bodily afflictions were light in comparison with 
 the gloomy anticipations of her mind, and the shock al- 
 ready inflicted on her sensitive heart. She found her 
 companions more brutal and loathsome than even pre- 
 judiced description had painted them. They had urged
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 21 
 
 her forward with pointed sticks, and would have beaten 
 her, had she not endeavoured to anticipate their wishes. 
 They devoured their raw and almost putrid meat with 
 the gluttony of beasts; and exhibited altogether a fero- 
 city which seemed to belong to fiends rather than to 
 human beings. The idea of remaining in their power 
 was dreadful; death, she thought, would be infinitely pre 
 ferable to such captivity. Like all generous minds, 
 she had, too, in the moment of her severest sufferings, 
 a sympathy for others which was more poignant than 
 her own afflictions. She thought of her father, who 
 had no child but herself, and whose heart would be 
 wrung with intense agony by this event; and of Ed- 
 ward Overton, the devoted lover, whose affections were 
 so closely linked with her own: and pictured to herself 
 the misery they would endure upon her account. Still 
 her courage remained strong, and her confidence in 
 heaven unshaken; and as her captors swallowed their 
 hasty meal, she sunk upon her knees, clasped her 
 hands together, and with a countenance beaming calm 
 resignation, engaged in audible prayer, while the 
 Indians gazed at her with a wonder not unmingled with 
 awe. 
 
 Here we shall leave her for the present, while we in- 
 troduce another character to the reader's acquaintance. 
 At a distance of some fifteen or twenty miles from the 
 place of holding the religious meeting above alluded to, 
 a solitary hunter was " camped out" in the woods. He 
 had selected a spot in a range of low broken hills, on
 
 22 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 the margin of an extensive flat of wet alluvion land, to 
 which the wild grazing animals resorted at this season, 
 when the grass and herbage were beginning to wither 
 upon the uplands. His camp was simply a roof resting 
 on the ground, formed by leaning stakes of wood toge- 
 ther, so as to make them meet at the top, and covering 
 them with bark. It was not more than four feet high, 
 and intended only to accommodate a single person in a 
 reclining posture ; and was placed in a thicket, so con- 
 cealed by vines and branches, as not to be discoverable 
 except by close inspection, while the aperture, which 
 supplied the place of a door, commanded a view to some 
 distance in front. Not far from it was an Indian war 
 path, leading from the flat to the uplands ; and the hun- 
 ter seemed to have purposely placed himself in a posi- 
 tion from which he would be -likely to see the war par- 
 ties of the savages, should any pass, without being 
 discovered by them. 
 
 The hunter was a man of middle height, not remark- 
 ably stout, but with a round built, compact form, happi- 
 ly combining strength with activity. His countenance 
 was mild and placid, showing an amiable and contented 
 disposition ; and his eye was of a quiet contemplative 
 kind. The muscles of his face were rigid, and strongly 
 developed, and his complexion darkened by long expo- 
 sure to the weather ; but there were no lines indicating 
 violent or selfish passions. It was a bold, manly coun- 
 tenance, but the prevailing expressions were those of 
 benevolence and thought. There was an archness, too
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 23 
 
 about the eye, which showed that its possessor was not 
 deficient in humour. He was evidently a man of strong 
 mind, of amiable propensities, and of great simplicity of 
 character. The quiet courage of his glance, the self 
 possession and calm vigilance of his manner, together 
 with a certain carelessness and independence of mien, 
 would have pointed him out as a genuine pioneer, who 
 loved the woods, and was most happy when roaming in 
 pursuit of game, or reclining in his solitary retreat, with 
 no companion but his faithful dog. Nor was this fond- 
 ness for the silence of the wilderness the result of unso- 
 cial feelings : the hunter loved his friend, and enjoyed 
 the endearments of his own fireside ; but he forsook 
 them in the same spirit in which the philosopher retires 
 to the seclusion of his closet, to enjoy unmolested the 
 train of his own reflection*, and to follow without inter- 
 ruption a pursuit congenial with his nature. Though 
 unacquainted with books, he had perused certain parts 
 of the great volume of nature with diligent attention. 
 The changes of the seasons, the atmospherical pheno- 
 mena, the growth of plants, and the habits of animals, 
 had for years engaged his observing powers ; and with- 
 out having any knowledge of the philosophy of schools, 
 he had formed for himself a system which had the merit 
 of being often true, and always original. 
 
 On the same night in which Ellen Singleton was cap- 
 tured by the Indians, the hunter whom we have described 
 slept in his camp. It was dark, but perfectly still, and
 
 24 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 his slumbers were undisturbed until near the dawn of 
 day, when his dog, which lay on the outside, suddenly 
 started up and uttered a low whine. The watchful 
 hunter, accustomed to awake at the slightest alarm, 
 raised his head and listened. The dog snuffed the air 
 for a moment, and then crept cautiously into the camp, 
 as if to apprise his master of approaching danger. The 
 latter seized his rifle, and crept from the place of con- 
 cealment, while the dog, with bristling hair, crouched 
 on the ground, uttering at intervals a low suppressed 
 moan, intended only for the ear of the master. The 
 hunter looked cautiously around, and having satisfied 
 himself that no enemy was within striking distance, 
 directed his scrutiny to a spot where the war path cross- 
 ed the summit of a small knoll, which was bare of tim- 
 ber, and beyond which the|blue sky could be seen. 
 As he watched, a human figure was seen dimly traced 
 on the horizon, passing rapidly over the summit of the 
 knoll, along the Indian trail. Another, and then others 
 followed, until the hunter had counted seven ; but their 
 forms were too indistinct to enable him to make any guess 
 as to their character. He had other data, however, upon 
 which to form a judgment. " Indians ?" muttered he to 
 himself, " yes, Drag would not crouch between my feet, 
 trembling, and whining, and bristling like a scared pig if 
 he did not scent a red skin. I can almost think I smell 
 them myself. They have been in some devilment now, 
 the abominable wretches ! How they sneak off like
 
 THB BACKWOODSMAN. 25 
 
 thieves!" Then, while the last figure was yet in 
 sight, he placed his mouth against a hollow tree to give 
 a more sepulchral tone to his voice, and imitated the 
 screech of the owl. The figure halted, and uttered a 
 low short sound resembling a different note of the same 
 bird ; but the hunter continued his mournful serenade 
 in loud prolonged accents, until the human prowler, ap- 
 parently satisfied that it was the night song of the real 
 bird, and not the signal of a friend, resumed his silent 
 march. An owl, the tenant of a neighbouring oak, and 
 who was the identical music master of our hunter, took 
 up the strain with increased vivacity, but in a tone 
 so nearly resembling that which had just ceased, as to 
 have deceived the nicest ear, and the hunter resumed 
 his reflections. 
 
 " Well, I've fooled them and not the first time 
 either. They are my old acquaintances, the Mingoes ; 
 and that is the signal of the Speckled Snake the prince 
 of mischief the head devil of his tribe. Oh, the beg- 
 garly cut-throat villains'! If I had Billy Whitley here 
 now, or Simon Kenton, or Ben Logan, the way we'd 
 fix these seven Indians would be curious. Some honest 
 man's cabin is blazing now, I warrant, and his wife and 
 children butchered. It is ridiculous, I declare. They 
 have no more bowels of compassion than a wolf. But, 
 after all, the Indians have some good qualities. They 
 are prime hunters, I will say that for them, and they 
 are true to one another. I don't blame them, a grain, 
 for their hatred to the Long Knives. That game is
 
 26 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 fair, for two can play at it. But their thirst for human 
 blood, and their cruelty to women and children is ridicu- 
 lous. It does no good to nobody, and is ruinous to the 
 pleasant business of hunting ; for a man cannot take a 
 little hunt of a month or two, without the danger of 
 having his cabin burnt, and his family murdered in his 
 absence. Well, it is no use for me to sit here ; Pll take 
 another nap, and look after the Speckled Snake in the 
 morning." 
 
 At the first appearance of day-light, the hunter sprang 
 from his bed of skins- No time was required for the 
 toilet, for he had slept with all his accoutrements about 
 him, and came forth equipped at all points. His whole 
 dress was of tanned buckskin, fitted closely to his form, 
 and so arranged as to protect every part of his person 
 from the thorns and briars which might assail it, in pass- 
 ing rapidly through the brushwood of the forest. Under 
 one arm hung a large powder horn, which had been se- 
 lected for the beauty of its curve and texture, carefully 
 scraped and polished, and covered with quaint devices, 
 traced with the point of the hunter's knife ; under the 
 other was suspended a square pouch of leather, contain- 
 ing flints, patches, balls, steel, tinder, and other " little 
 fixens," as a backwoodsman would call them, constitut- 
 ing a complete magazine of supplies for a protracted 
 hunt. On the belt supporting the pouch, in a sheath con- 
 trived for the purpose, was a hunter's knife, a weapon 
 with a plain wooden handle, marvellously resembling the 
 vulgar instrument with which the butcher executes his
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 27 
 
 sanguinary calling. From a crevice in a neighbouring 
 rock, where it had been artfully concealed, our pioneer 
 supplied a small wallet with a store of dried venison, in 
 order to be prepared for a march of several days, 
 should occasion require. A broad leathern belt, secured 
 round the waist by a strong buckle, confined the whole 
 dress and equipment, and supported a tomahawk. 
 
 Thus clad, and prepared for action, the hunter, after 
 carefully examining the priming of his rifle, scraping 
 the flint, and passing his eye along the barrel to see that 
 all was right, strode off towards the place where he had 
 seen the Indians. " To think of their having the im- 
 pudence to walk along a footpath, like white people," 
 muttered he ; " they must know that, if they have been 
 in mischief, the settlements will be raised, and the 
 horsemen will follow this trail. They didn't keep it long, 
 I judge, but only fell in to here on the broken ground, to 
 get along a little faster." Having reached the path, he 
 examined it closely, but the hard ground afforded him 
 but little satisfaction, and he proceeded cautiously to- 
 wards a rivulet, or in the vernacular of the country, 
 a branch, that meandered along the foot of the hill. 
 Here he was again disappointed, for the Indians had 
 cunningly diverged from the path, and crossed the water 
 by a log, leaving no trace of their footsteps. " Aye, 
 they are cunning enough," soliloquized the hunter, " I 
 couldn't expect them to cross the branch at a ford, like 
 a mail-carrier in the settlements. But they can't fool 
 me ; I have not been raised to the woods to be outwit-
 
 28 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 ted by a gang of thieving Mingoes. The Speckled 
 Snake is famous for these tricks, and has done his best, 
 there is no mistake about that ; but no animal that moves 
 upon feet can walk these woods without making a sign." 
 " Well, it is a pleasant life that the hunter leads, af- 
 ter all, though it is a hard one," continued he, as he 
 opened his collar, bathed his face and hands in the 
 clear stream, and seated himself on a log, to enjoy the 
 cool morning air. " Nature did not make these clear 
 waters, and beautiful woods, merely for the use of trea- 
 cherous Indians, no, nor for land speculators and ped- 
 lars. Here is quiet and repose, such as they know no- 
 thing of who toil in their harvest fields, or bustle about 
 in crowded cities. And what is the use of all their la- 
 bour 1 The enemy steals into the settlement, and in a 
 moment their stacks, their barns, and their houses are all 
 in flames, or the pestilence walks abroad in the city, 
 and they die by hundreds, like the Indians in a hard win- 
 ter. The hunter avoids both extremes : he lays up pro- 
 visions for the winter, but does not accumulate so much 
 property as to tempt the Indian to rob, or the lawyer to 
 fleece him. It makes me sorry when I go into the set- 
 tlements, where the people are getting so crowded that 
 there is no comfort, and where there is so much strife. 
 It is so' with all animals : confine cattle in a yard, and 
 they will hook each other, or chickens in a coop, and 
 they will peck out each other's eyes. But there is no 
 stopping them ; the pedlar's carts will be along over this 
 very spot, before many years, and the time will come,
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 29 
 
 when there will not be a buffalo in Kentucky. It is bad 
 enough now. There are settlements already, where a 
 woodsman cannot find his way for the roads and farms." 
 
 At this moment the tread of ahorse was heard. The 
 hunter threw his rifle over his arm, and stepped behind 
 a large tree, to be prepared for friend or foe. In a mo- 
 ment, Edward Overton made his appearance, dashing 
 along the war-path. His horse was panting and cover- 
 ed with foam, his dress torn, and his countenance hag- 
 gard. The hunter emerged from his concealment to 
 meet him. They were strangers to each other, but no 
 time was lost in useless ceremony or unnecessary ques- 
 tions, and Edward soon related the catastrophe of the 
 preceding evening. 
 
 " Mr. Singleton's daughter, eh?" said the hunter 
 coolly ; " I have heard tell of the gentleman, though 1 
 never saw him. Very much of a gentleman, I expect 
 he came from Culpepper I killed a deer once in 
 sight of his plantation though I never saw the man to 
 know him. Well the way these Indians act is curious." 
 
 " Shocking!" exclaimed the youth, " this atrocious 
 act exceeds all former outrages." 
 
 " Well, I can't say as for that," replied the hunter, 
 " though I am sorry for the young woman they took 
 my own daughter once, and I can feel for another 
 man's child. But where is your company?" 
 
 " I became separated from them in the woods, and 
 accidentally struck this path."
 
 30 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 The hunter then related what he had seen, and the 
 youth, elate with new hope, urged an instant pursuit. 
 
 " There are six of them, and but two of us," said the 
 hunter. 
 
 " No matter if they were a hundred," replied the im- 
 patient Overton, " she is suffering agony, and every 
 moment is precious. Even now she may be at the 
 stake." 
 
 " That is true. The savages treat their prisoners 
 very ridiculously sometimes. But, young gentleman, I 
 see you carry a fine looking rifle, can you handle it 
 well." 
 
 " As well as any man. Never fear me I will 
 stand by you. I would die a thousand deaths for that 
 dear girl." 
 
 "I reckon you would ; I see it in your eye. If there 
 is not good Virginia blood in you, I am mistaken. The 
 misfortune is that a man can only die once, however 
 willing he might be to try it over again. Well, there is 
 nothing gained without risk and I feel for this poor 
 child. Don't be in a fret, young man, I am just wait- 
 ing to let you take breath. I will go with you provided 
 you will obey my instructions. Now, mark what I say : 
 hitch your horse to that tree, and leave him examine 
 your priming, and pick your flint then fall into my 
 track, tread light, keep a bright eye out, and say nothing. 
 It will be curious if we two cannot out general a half a 
 dozen naked Mingoes."
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 31 
 
 The former apathy of the hunter's manner had en- 
 tirely vanished. The excitement was sufficient to call 
 out his energies. His eye was lighted up with martial 
 ardour, his lips were compressed, and his step firm and 
 and elastic. Without waiting for farther parley, he 
 dashed forward, with a rapid stride, followed by his 
 young and not less gallant companion. With unerring 
 sagacity he struck at once into the trail of the enemy. 
 " Here is plenty of Indian sign," said he, pointing to 
 the ground, where the youth could see nothing, " and a 
 beautiful plain track it is almost as plain as some of 
 the roads in the old dominion there is the place where 
 they crossed the branch, on that log, and here is the 
 print of a woman's foot, a small slender foot with a shoe 
 on, such as the ladies wear in the old settlements it is 
 narrower than our women's shoes, that we make in 
 these parts there is the other foot, without a shoe 
 she has lost one, poor thing and there is a drop of 
 blood on that leaf!" 
 
 Overton groaned, the tears started from his eyes, and 
 his limbs trembled with emotion. 
 
 " Keep cool, young man be a soldier no one can 
 fight when he is in a passion. Blood for blood is the 
 backwoodsman's rule. We shall have them at the first 
 halt they make. They cannot travel all the time, with- 
 out stopping, no more than white folks." 
 
 The hunter now advanced with astonishing rapidity, 
 for although his step seemed to be deliberate, it had a
 
 32 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 steadiness and vigour, which yielded to no obstacle. 
 His course was as direct as the flight of a bee, and his 
 footsteps, owing to a peculiar and habitual mode of 
 walking, were perfectly noiseless, except when the dry 
 twigs cracked under the weight of his body. His eye 
 was continually bent on the ground, at some-distance 
 in advance of his course ; for he tracked the enemy, 
 not so much by the foot-prints on the soil, as by the 
 derangement of dry leaves or growing foliage. The 
 upper side of a leaf is of deep green colour and glossy 
 smoothness ; the under side is paler, and of a rougher 
 texture, and when turned by violence from its proper 
 position, it will spontaneously return to it in a few 
 hours, and again expose the polished surface to the 
 rays of light. The hunter is aware of this fact, and in 
 attentively observing the arrangement of the foliage of 
 the tender shrubs, discovers, with wonderful acuteness, 
 whether the leaves retain their natural position. So 
 true is this indication, that where the grass is thick 
 and tangled, a track of lighter hue than the general 
 surface, may be distinctly seen for hours after the leaves 
 have been disturbed. The occasional rupture of a twig, 
 and the displacing of the branches in the thickets afford 
 additional signs ; and in places where the ground is 
 soft, the foot prints are carefully noticed. Other cares, 
 also, claimed the attention of the woodsman. His 
 vigilant glance was often thrown far abroad. He ap- 
 proached every covert, or place of probable conceal-
 
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 33 
 
 ment, with caution, and sometimes when the trail passed 
 through dangerous defiles, where the enemy might be 
 lurking, suddenly forsook it, and taking a wide circuit, 
 struck into it again far in advance. Thus they proceeded 
 for three hours, with unremitting diligence and silence, 
 when the pioneer halted. 
 
 " Here are fresh signs," said he, " the enemy are at 
 hand ; sit down and let us take breath." 
 
 The youth, whose confidence in his guide was now 
 complete, obeyed in silence. The hunter again ex- 
 amined his arms. 
 
 " This is a charming piece," said he, in a low voice, 
 " she never misses when she has fair play. It is a 
 pleasant thing to have a gun that will not deceive you 
 in the hour of danger. But then a man must do his 
 duty, and have every thing in order." 
 
 Overton had been accustomed all his life to hunt oc- 
 casionally for amusement. He was a young man of 
 considerable muscular powers, and possessing the high 
 spirit, and the aptitude in the use of weapons, which are 
 so characteristic of the youth of his country, was no 
 mean proficient in the exercises of the forest. He now 
 followed the example of his guide. They laid aside 
 their coats and hats, drew their belts closely, and be- 
 gan to advance slowly, taking every step with such 
 caution as not to create the slightest sound. They 
 soon reached the summit of a small eminence, when 
 the backwoodsman halted, crouched low, and pointed
 
 34 . THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 forwards with his finger. Overton followed with his 
 eye the direction indicated, and beheld with emotions 
 of indescribable delight, mingled with agony, the ob- 
 ject of his pursuit. At the root of a large tree sat the 
 Indians, hideously painted, and fully equipped for battle, 
 voraciously devouring their hasty meal. At a few 
 yards distance from them knelt Ellen, in the posture 
 already described, awaiting her fate with all the courage 
 of conscious innocence, and all the resignation of fer- 
 vent piety. Overtoil's emotion was so great, that the 
 hunter with difficulty drew him to the ground, while he 
 hastily whispered the plan of attack, a part of which had 
 been concerted at their recent halt. " Let us creep to 
 yon log, and rest our guns on it when we fire. I will 
 shoot at that large warrior who is standing alone you 
 will aim at one of those who are sitting ; the moment we 
 have fired we will load again, without moving, shout- 
 ing all the while, and making as much noise as possible; 
 be cool my dear young friend be cool. Overton 
 smothered his feelings, and during the conflict emu- 
 lated the presence of mind of his companion. 
 
 They crept on their hands and knees to the fallen 
 trunk of a large tree, which lay between them and the 
 enemy, and having taken a deliberate aim, the hunter 
 gave the signal, and both fired. Two of the savages 
 fell, the others seized their arms, while the heroic Ken- 
 tuckians reloaded, shouting all the while. Ellen start- 
 ed up, uttering a shriek of joy, and rushed towards her
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 35 
 
 friends. Two of the enraged Indians pursued, with 
 the intention of dispatching her, before they should re- 
 treat. Edward Overton and his companion rushed to 
 her assistance. One of the Indians had caught her 
 long hair, which streamed behind her, in her flight, and 
 his tomahawk glittered above his head, when Edward 
 rushed between them, and received the blow, dimi- 
 nished in force, on his own arm. Undaunted, he threw 
 himself on the bosom of the savage, and they rolled to- 
 gether on the ground, in fierce conflict. The hunter 
 advanced upon his adversary more deliberately, and 
 practising a stratagem, clubbed his rifle. The Indian, 
 deceived into the belief that his piece was not charged, 
 stopped, and was about to throw his tomahawk, when 
 the backwoodsman, adroitly bringing the gun to his 
 shoulder, shot him dead. Two other foemen remained, 
 and were rushing upon the intrepid hunter, when the lat- 
 ter perceiving that the struggle between Overton and 
 his antagonist was still fierce and doubtful, hastened to 
 his assistance, and with a single blow of his knife, de- 
 cided the combat. Edward sprung up, reeking with 
 blood, and stood manfully by his friend, prepared for a 
 new encounter ; but the parties being now equal in num- 
 ber, the two remaining savages retreated. 
 
 In another moment Miss Singleton was in the arms 
 of the heroic Overton. We shall not attempt to des- 
 cribe the joy of the young lovers. Ellen, who had thus 
 far sustained herself with a noble courage, and whose
 
 36 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 resignation to her fate, dictated by an elevated princi- 
 ple of religious confidence, had won the admiration of 
 her savage captors, and perhaps preserved her life, now 
 felt the tender affections of the woman resuming their 
 gentle dominion in her bosom. The faith, the hope 
 which had supported her, though resulting from rational 
 deductions, had been almost superhuman in their opera- 
 tion; but the gratitude to Heaven that now swelled her 
 heart, and burst in impassioned eloquence from her 
 lips, was warm from the native fountains of sensibility. 
 Sudden deliverance from all the horrors by which she 
 had been surrounded, was in itself sufficiently joyful; 
 but it came infinitely enhanced in value, when brought 
 by the hand of her lover ; and when Edward Overton 
 found that, though fatigued and bruised, she had suffer- 
 ed no material injury, his joy knew no bounds. 
 
 As for the hunter, he was engaged, like a prudent 
 general, in securing the victory. He had carefully re- 
 loaded his gun, and having with his dog pursued the 
 fugitives for a short distance, to ascertain that they were 
 not lurking near, began to inspect the bodies of the 
 slain, and collect their arms. 
 
 " Not a bad morning's work," said he, " here are 
 four excellent guns, tomahawks and knives. Some of 
 our people want arms badly, and these will just suit." 
 
 Aa he surveyed the field of battle, a flush of triumph 
 was on his cheek; but it was evident that his paramount 
 feelings were those of a benevolent nature, and that his 
 sympathies were deeply enlisted.
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 37 
 
 " There they sit," said he, glancing at the young 
 couple, "as happy as a pair of blackbirds in a new 
 ploughed furrow. This has been a sorrowful night to 
 both of them, but they will look back to it hereafter 
 with grateful hearts. They did not know before how 
 much they thought of each other." He then approach- 
 ed the young lady, and with the kindness of a father, 
 inquired into her sufferings and wants ; and began to 
 provide for her comfort. 
 
 In a few minutes a shout was heard, and another 
 hunter, clad like the first, joined them. " Ah, here 
 you are," exclaimed the new comer, as he gazed at the 
 scene of action ; " the work's all done, and here's the 
 Speckled Snake us cold as a wagon tire. I have been 
 on the trail all the morning." 
 
 " Pity but you had been here," replied the first hun- 
 ter, " we have had a smart brush, I assure you." 
 
 " A pretty chunk of a fight, I see ; there's no two 
 ways about that. I knew the crack of your rifle, when 
 I heard it, and hurried on. But I could n't get here no 
 sooner, no how. Well, there's always plenty of help 
 when it's not wanted. The woods is alive with ran- 
 gers." 
 
 " Is my father among them t" inquired Miss Sin- 
 gleton. 
 
 " Oh yes and the old gentleman is coming along 
 pretty peart, I tell you. I took a short cut about a mile 
 back, and left them. I never saw such a turn out, no 
 how. The camp ground was emptied spontenaciously, 
 
 D
 
 38 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 in a few minutes after the news came. How do you 
 stand it, Madam ?" 
 
 " I am dreadfully bruised, but no bones are broken," 
 replied Ellen, smiling. 
 
 " That is a mere sarcumstance," replied the rough 
 son of the forest, waving his hand ; " it's a mercy, ma- 
 dam, that the cowardly varments had n't used you up, bo- 
 dy-aciousty. These Mingoes act mighty redick'lous 
 with women and children. They aint the raal true grit, 
 no how. Vile on them ! they ought to be essentially, 
 and particularly, and tee-totally obflisticated off of the 
 face of the whole yeath." 
 
 A party of horsemen now arrived, among whom was 
 Mr. Singleton. A litter was soon prepared for the res- 
 cued lady, who was borne on the shoulders of men, in 
 joy and triumph, to the settlement, and found herself 
 repaid for her sufferings by the assiduous attentions and 
 affectionate congratulations of her friends and neigh- 
 bours. When Mr. Singleton had heard the particulars 
 of the rescue, he pressed the happy Overton to his bo- 
 som, and looked round for the brave hunter, to whom 
 he owed so deep a debt of gratitude, but he was no 
 where to be seen. On the arrival of the horsemen, he 
 had given the trophies of the fight in charge to one of 
 them, and retired with his companion. Mr. Singleton 
 was deeply chagrined, for he felt a sense of obligation 
 to the generous backwoodsman, which, as he knew that 
 no other compensation would be received, he wished 
 to acknowledge.
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN. 39 
 
 " Where can he have gone ?" exclaimed he, " I must 
 see him !" 
 
 " You will hardly have that pleasure to-day," replied 
 one of the company. " No one ever saw him sitting* 
 down to chat, when there were Indians about. He is 
 on the trail of the two that fled, and will have them be- 
 fore he sleeps." 
 
 No sooner was this communication made, than a par- 
 ty set out to join in the pursuit, and it was afterwards 
 understood that they overtook the veteran pioneer, only 
 in time to participate in the last scene of the tragedy of 
 that eventful day. 
 
 Ellen Singleton recovered her health rapidly, and the 
 wedding took place on the day that had been appointed. 
 Agreeably to the hospitable custom of this country, a 
 general invitation was given, and the whole neighbour- 
 hood was assembled. They had already collected, when 
 Mr. Singleton joined them, in company with the veteran 
 woodsman, the most conspicuous character in this le- 
 gend. He was now dressed like a plain respectable 
 country gentleman. His carriage was erect, and his 
 person seemed more slender than when cased in buck- 
 skin. Though perfectly simple and unstudied in his 
 manners, there was nothing in them of the clownish or 
 bashful, but a dignity, and even an ease approaching to 
 gracefulness. His countenance was cheerful and bene- 
 volent, and in his fine eye there was a manly confidence 
 mingled with a softness of expression, which afforded a 
 true index of the character of the man. His hair, a lit-
 
 40 . THE BACKWOODSMAN. 
 
 tie thinned, and slightly silvered with age, gave a vene- 
 rable appearance to his otherwise vigorous and elastic 
 form. His agreeable smile, his well known artlessness 
 of character, and amiability of life, as well as his public 
 services, rendered him a universal favourite, and his 
 entrance caused a murmur of pleasure. 
 
 " I have had some trouble," said Mr. Singleton, " in 
 finding our benefactor, whose modesty is as great as his 
 other good qualities. But as the happiness of this oc- 
 casion would have been incomplete without him, I have 
 persevered. And now, my friends and neighbours, al- 
 low me to acknowledge publicly my gratitude for his 
 intrepid conduct on the late mournful occasion, when my 
 only child was rescued from a dreadful captivity by his 
 generous interference ; and to exert the last act of my 
 parental authority by decreeing that the first kiss of the 
 bride shall be given to the pioneer of the west the PA- 
 TRIARCH of KENTUCKY." 
 
 " Thank you." replied the veteran, "but as I have no 
 wish to take such a liberty with any gentleman's wife, 
 I shall apply now for my reward to Miss Singleton, leav- 
 ing it to Mrs. Overton to compensate a certain brave 
 young gentleman, to whom she owes a great deal more 
 than to me." 
 
 And so the matter was settled, greatly to the satisfac- 
 tion of all parlies.
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 ON a pleasant evening in the autumn of the year 
 18 , two travellers were slowly winding their way 
 along a narrow road which led among the hills that over- 
 hang the Cumberland river, in Tennessee. One of 
 these was a farmer of the neighbourhood^- a large, ro- 
 bust, sunburnt man, mounted on a sleek plough horse. 
 He was one of the early settlers, who had fought and 
 hunted in his youth, among the same valleys that now 
 teemed with abundant harvests ; a rough plain man clad 
 in substantial homespun, he had about him an air of 
 plenty and independence, which is never deceptive, and 
 which belongs almost exclusively to our free and fertile 
 country. His companion was of a different cast a 
 small, thin, grey haired man, who seemed worn down 
 by bodily and mental fatigue to almost a shadow. He 
 was a preacher, but one who would have deemed it an 
 insult to be called a clergyman ; for he belonged to a 
 sect who contemn all human learning as vanity, and 
 who consider a trained minister as little better than an 
 importer. The person before us was a champion of the 
 D2
 
 42 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 sect. He boasted that he had nearly grown to manhood 
 before he knew one letter from another ; that he had 
 learned to read for the sole purpose of gaining access 
 to the Scriptures, and, with the exception of the hymns 
 used in his church, had never read a page in any other 
 book. With considerable natural sagacity, and an 
 abundance of zeal, he had a gift of words, which ena- 
 bled him at times to support his favourite tenets with a 
 plausibility and force, amounting to something very 
 nearly akin to eloquence, and which, while it gave him 
 unbounded sway among his own followers, was some- 
 times not a little troublesome to his learned opponents. 
 His sermons presented a curious mixture of the senten- 
 tious and the declamatory, an unconnected mass of ar- 
 gument and assertion, through which there ran a vein of 
 dry original humour, which, though it often provoked a 
 smile, never failed to rivet the attention of the audience. 
 But these flashes'were like sparks of fire, struck from 
 a rock ; they communicated a life and warmth to the 
 hearts of others, which seemed to have no existence in 
 that from which they sprung, for that humour never 
 flashed in his own eye, nor relaxed a muscle of his me- 
 lancholy, cadaverous countenance. Yet that eye was 
 not destitute of expression ; there were times when it 
 beamed with intelligence, moments when it softened in- 
 to tenderness ; but its usual character was that of a vi- 
 sionary, fanatic enthusiasm. His ideas were not nu- 
 merous, and the general theme of his declamation con- 
 sisted of metaphysical distinctions between what he
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 43 
 
 called " head religion," and " heart religion," the one 
 being a direct inspiration, and the other a spurious sub- 
 stitute learned from vain books. He wrote a tract to 
 show it was the thirst after human knowledge, which 
 drove our first parents from paradise, that through the 
 whole course of succeeding time school laming had 
 been the most prolific source of human misery and men- 
 tal degradation, and that bible societies, free masonry, 
 the holy alliance, and the inquisition, were so many en- 
 gines devised by king-craft,, priest-craft and school-craft, 
 to subjugate the world to the power of Satan. He 
 spoke of the millennium as a time when " there should 
 be no king, nor printer, nor Sunday school, nor outland- 
 ish tongue, nor vain doctrine when men Would plough, 
 and women milk the cows, and talk plain English to 
 each other, and worship God out of the fulness of their 
 hearts, and not after vain forms written by men." In 
 short,this worthy man was entirely opposed to the spread 
 of religious knowledge ; " when a man has head religi- 
 on," he would say, "he is in a bad fix to die cut off his 
 head, and away goes his soul and body to the devil." 
 The remainder of his character may be briefly sketched. 
 Honest, humane, and harmless in private life, impetu- 
 ous in his feelings, fearless and independent by nature, 
 and reared in a country where speech is as free as 
 thought, he pursued his vocation without intolerance, 
 but with a zeal which sometimes bordered on insanity. 
 He spoke of his opponents more in sorrow than in anger, 
 and bewailed the increase of knowledge as a mother
 
 44 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 mourns over her first born. He was of course ignorant 
 and illiterate ; and with a mind naturally vigorous, and 
 capable of high attainments, his visionary theories, and 
 perhaps a slight estrangement of intellect, had left the 
 soil open to superstition, so that while at one time he 
 discovered and exposed a popular error with wonderful 
 acuteness, at another he blindly adopted the grossest 
 fallacy. Such was Mr. Zedekiah Bangs. His inno- 
 cent and patriarchal manners insured him universal es- 
 teem, and rendered him famous, far and wide, under the 
 title of Uncle Zeddy ; while his acknowledged zeal and 
 sanctity gained for him in his own church, and among 
 the religious generally, the more reverend appellation of 
 Father Bangs. 
 
 Our worthy preacher, having no regular stipend 
 for he would have scorned to preach for the lucre of 
 gain, cultivated a small farm, or as the phrase is, raised 
 a crop, in the summer, for the subsistence of his family. 
 During this season he ministered diligently among his 
 neighbours ; but in the autumn and winter his labours 
 were more extensive. Then it was that he mounted his 
 nag, and rode forth to spread his doctrines, and to car- 
 ry light and encouragement to the numerous churches 
 of his sect. Then it was that he travelled thousands of 
 miles, encountering every extreme of fatigue and priva- 
 tion, and every vicissitude of climate, seldom sleeping 
 twice in the same bed, or eating two meals at the same 
 place, and counting every day lost in which he did not 
 preach a sermon. Gentlemen who pursue the same
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 45 
 
 avocation with praiseworthy assiduity in other countries, 
 have little notion of the hardships which are endured by 
 the class of men of whom I am writing. Living on the 
 frontier, where the settlements are separated from each 
 other by immense tracts of wilderness, they brave toil 
 and hunger with the. patience of the hunter. They tra- 
 verse pathless wilds, swim rivers, encamp in the open 
 air, and learn the arts, while they acquire the hardihood 
 of backwoodsmen. Such were the labours of our wor- 
 thy preacher ;. yet he would accept no pay ; requiring 
 only his food arid lodging, which are always cheerfully 
 accorded, at every dwelling in the west, to the travelling 
 minister. 
 
 Among his converts was Johnson, the farmer in 
 whose company we found him at the commencement of 
 this history. Tom Johnson, as he was familiarly 
 called, had been a daring warrior and hunter, in the 
 first settlement of this country. When times became 
 peaceable he married and settled down, and, as is not 
 unusual, by the mere rise in value of his land, and the 
 natural increase of his stock, became in a few years 
 comparatively wealthy, with but little labour. A state 
 of ease and affluence was not without its dangers to a 
 man of his temperament and desultory habits; and Tom 
 was beginning to become what in this country is called 
 a " Rowdy," that is to say a gentleman of pleasure, with- 
 out the high finish which adorns that character in more 
 polished societies. He " swapped" horses, bred fine 
 colts, and attended at the race paths ; he frequented all
 
 46 THE DIVJNING ROD. 
 
 public meetings, talked big at elections, and was courted 
 by candidates for office ; he played loo, drank deep, and 
 on proper occasions " took a small chunk of a fight." 
 
 Tom " got religion" at a camp meeting, and for a 
 while was quite a reformed man. Then he relapsed a 
 little, and finally settled down into a doubtful state, 
 which the church could not approve, yet could not con- 
 veniently punish. He neither drank nor swore : he 
 wore the plain dress, kept the Sabbath, attended meet- 
 ings, and gave a cordial welcome to the clergy at his 
 house. But he had not sold his colts ; he went some- 
 times to the race ground ; he could count the run of the 
 cards and the chances of candidates; and it was even 
 reported that he had betted on the high trump. From 
 this state he was awakened by Father Bangs, who bold- 
 ly arraigned him as a backslider. " You've got head 
 religion,' 1 said the preacher, " you're a Sunday Chris-, 
 tian on the Sabbath you put on a straight coat and 
 your long face, and serve your Master the rest of the 
 week you serve Satan; now it does n't take a Philadel- 
 phia lawyer to tell, that the man who serves the master 
 one day, and the enemy six, has just six chances out 
 of seven to go to the devil ;. you are barking up the 
 wrong tree, Johnson, take a fresh start, and try to get 
 on the right trail." Tom was convinced by this argu- 
 ment, became a changed man, and felt that he owed a 
 heavy debt of gratitude to the venerable instrument of 
 his reformation, whom he always insisted on entertaining 
 at his house when he visited the neighbourhood. On
 
 THE WVINING ROD. 47 
 
 this occasion, the good man, having preached in the vi- 
 cinity, was going to spend the night with his friend 
 Johnson. 
 
 As the travellers passed along, I am not aware that 
 either of them cast a thought upon the romantic and 
 picturesque beauties by which they were surrounded. 
 The banks of the Cumberland, at this point, are rocky 
 and precipitous; sometimes presenting a parapet of 
 several hundred feet in height, and sometimes shooting 
 up into cliffs, which overhang the stream. The river 
 itself, rushing through the deep abyss, appears as a 
 small rivulet to the beholder; the steam-boats, struggling 
 with mighty power against the rapid current, are dimin- 
 ished to the eye, while the roaring of the steam and the 
 rattling of wheels come exaggerated by a hundred 
 echoes. 
 
 The travellers halted to gaze at one of these vessels, 
 which was about to ascend a difficult pass, where the 
 river, confined on either side by jutting rocks, rushed 
 through the narrow channel with increased velocity. 
 The prow of the boat, plunged into the swift current, 
 dashing the foam over the deck. Then it paused and 
 trembled; a powerful conflict succeeded, and for a time 
 the vessel neither advanced nor receded. Her strug- 
 gles resembled those of an animated creature. Her 
 huge hull seemed to writhe upon the water. The rapid 
 motion of the wheels, the increased noise of the engine, 
 the bursting of the escape-steam from the valve, showed
 
 48 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 that the impelling power had been raised to the highest 
 point. It was a moment of thrilling suspense. A 
 slight addition of power would enable the boat to ad- 
 vance, the least failure, the slightest accident, would 
 expose her to the fury of the torrent and dash her on the 
 rocks. Thus she remained for several minutes; then 
 resuming her way, crept heavily over the ripple, reached 
 the smooth water above, and darted swiftly forward. 
 
 '* Them sort of craft did n't use to crawl about on the 
 rivers, when we first knew the country, brother John- 
 son," said the preacher. 
 
 " No indeed," returned the other. 
 
 " And more's the pity," continued the preacher; 
 " does not the apostle caution us against the inventions 
 of men ? We had vain and idle devices enough to lead 
 our minds off from our true good, without these smok- 
 ing furnaces of Satan, these floating towers of Babel, 
 that belch forth huge volumes of brimstone, and seduce 
 honest men and women from home, to go visiting 
 around the land in large companies, and talk to each 
 other in strange tongues." 
 
 " I am told," said Johnson, " that some of them carry 
 tracts and good books, for the edification of the pas- 
 sengers." 
 
 " Worse and worse!" replied the preacher; 
 " tracts ! what are they but printed snares for the soul? 
 There was no printing office in Eden oh no ! and 
 when all the creatures of the earth were gather- 
 ed into the ark, there was no missionary, male
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 49 
 
 or female. But go thy way," he exclaimed, raising 
 his voice, " thou floating synagogue of Satan ! soon 
 shall the time arrive when there shall be neither steam 
 boat, nor Sunday school, nor other devices of vain 
 philosophy !" 
 
 " Others of these boats," said the farmer, " have 
 cards and music and wine, with every sort of amuse- 
 ment, on board." 
 
 " These are bad things," returned the preacher ; 
 " men and women should not drink rum, nor swear, nor 
 gamble, nor make uncouth noises with outlandish in- 
 struments ; but all these are not so bad as tracts for 
 these former are open enemies, while the latter catch 
 a man's soul asleep under a tree, and kidnap him when 
 he is camped out afar from home." 
 
 " In our day, father, the merchants were well enough 
 satisfied to tote their plunder upon mules and pack 
 horses. And that puts me in mind of a story that hap- 
 pened near about where we are riding." 
 
 " What is that, brother Johnson?" 
 
 " In an early time, some traders were crossing the 
 country, and aimed to make the river at the ford just 
 below this. They had a great deal of money, all in 
 silver, packed upon mules, for in them days we had n't 
 any of this nasty paper money." 
 
 " No nor much of any sort," said the preacher slyly. 
 
 " If we had n't," replied the former sturdily, " we 
 had what answered the purpose as well. I mind the
 
 50 
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 time when tobacco was a legal tender, and 'coon-skina 
 passed currenter than bank notes does now. In them 
 days, if a man got into a chunk of a fight with his 
 neighbour, a lawyer would clear him for half a dozen 
 muskrat skins, and the justice and constable would 
 have scorned to take a fee, more than just a treat or so. 
 But you know all that so I'll tell my tale out, though 
 I reckon you've heard it before ?" 
 
 " I think I have," said the other, " but I'd like to 
 hear it again it sort o' stirs one up, to hear about old 
 times." 
 
 " Well, the traders had got here safe, with their plun- 
 der, when the news came that Indians were about. 
 There was no chance to escape with their loaded 
 mules ; so they unloaded them, and buried the money 
 somewhere among these rocks ; and then being light, 
 made their escape. So far, the old settlers all agree ; 
 but then some say that the Indians pursued on after 
 them, a great way into Kentucky, and killed them all ; 
 others say that they finally escaped, the fact is, that the 
 people never came back after the money, and it is sup- 
 posed that it lies hid somewhere about here to this day." 
 
 " Has not that money often been searched after?" 
 
 " Oh, bless you, yes ; a heap of times. Many a 
 chap has sweated among these rocks by the hour. Only 
 a few years ago, a great gang of folks came out of Ken- 
 tucky, and dug all around here, as if they were going 
 to make a crop ; but to no purpose.'* 
 
 " And what, think you, became of the money V 9
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 51 
 
 " People say it is there yet." 
 
 " But your own opinion V 9 
 
 " Why, to tell you my opinion sentimentally," replied 
 Tom, winking and lowering his voice, " I do n't believe 
 in that story." 
 
 " How?' exclaimed the other incredulously. 
 
 " It 's just a tale a mere noraiion," said Tom, 
 " there 's no two ways about it." 
 
 " Indeed ! how can you think so ?" 
 
 " Why, look here, father Zedekiah, I know, very 
 well, that every man, woman, and child within fifty 
 miles, thinks there is certainly a vast treasure buried in 
 these rocks ; but when I almost as good as know to the 
 contrary, I am not bound to give up my opinion." 
 
 " Very right, that 's just my way ; but. let us have 
 your reasons." 
 
 " I have fought the Indians myself," said the farmer, 
 " and I know all their ways. They never come out 
 boldly into the open field, and take a fair fight, fist and 
 skull, as Christians do ; but are always sneaking about 
 in the bushes, studying out some devilment. The traders 
 and hunters understand them perfectly well ; the Indi- 
 ans and they are continually practising devices on each 
 other. Many a trick I've played on them, and they 
 have played me as many. Now it seems to me to 
 be nateral just as plain as if I was on the ground and 
 saw it, that them traders should have made a sham of 
 burying money, and run off while the Indians were 
 looking for it."
 
 52 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 " That's not a good argument, brother Johnson." 
 
 " I have great respect for your opinion," replied the 
 farmer, but on this subject I have made up my mind " 
 
 " So have I," interrupted the preacher, and reining 
 his horse, he fell in the rear of his companion, as if de- 
 termined to hear no more. 
 
 Johnson, in broaching this subject, had not been aware 
 of the interest it possessed in the mind of his friend. 
 The fact was, that Bangs in his visit to this country 
 had frequently heard the report alluded to, and it was 
 precisely suited to operate upon his credulous and en- 
 thusiastic mind. At first he pondered on it as a matter 
 of curiosity, until it fastened itself upon his imagination. 
 In his long and lonesome journeys, when he rode for 
 whole days .without seeing a human face, or habitation, 
 he amused himself in calculating the probable amount of 
 the buried treasure. The first step was to fix in his own 
 mind the number of mules, and as the tradition varied 
 from one to thirty, he prudently adopted the medium 
 between these extremes. He found some difficulty in 
 determining the burthen of a single mule, but to fix 
 the number of dollars which would be required to make 
 up that burthen, was impossible, because the worthy di- 
 vine was so little acquainted with money, as not to 
 know the weight of a single coin. For the first time 
 in his life he lacked arithmetic, and found himself in a 
 strait, in which he conceived that it might be prudent 
 to take the counsel of a friend. 
 
 Near the residence of the reverend man dwelt an in-
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 53 
 
 dustrious pedagogue. He was a tall, sallow, unhealthy 
 looking youth, with a fine clear blue eye, and a melan- 
 choly countenance, which at times assumed a sly sarcas- 
 tic expression that few could interpret. In the winter, 
 when the farmers' children had a season of respite from 
 labour, he diligently pursued his vocation. In the sum- 
 mer he strolled listlessly about the country, sometimes 
 roaming the forest with his rifle, sometimes eagerly de- 
 vouring any book that might chance to fall into his hands. 
 Between him and the preacher there was little commu- 
 nity of sentiment ; yet they were often together : the 
 scholar found a source of inexhaustible amusement in 
 the odd, quaint, original arguments of the divine, and 
 the latter was well pleased to measure weapons with so 
 respectable an opponent. They never met without dis- 
 putation, yet they always parted in kindness. The 
 preacher, instead of wondering, with the rest of the 
 neighbours, how u one small head could carry all he 
 knew," derided the acquirements of his friend as worse 
 than vanity ; and the latter respectfully, but stoutly, 
 maintained the dignity of his profession. 
 
 It was not without many qualms of pride that the 
 worthy father now sought the school-master, with the 
 intention of gaining information which he knew not how 
 to get from any other source. Having once made up 
 his mind, he acted with his usual promptness, and unus- 
 ed to intrigue or circumlocution, proceeded directly to 
 his point.
 
 54 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 " Charles," said he, " can you tell me how many 
 dollars a stout mule might conveniently carry ?" 
 
 " Indeed I cannot." 
 
 " Do none of your trumpery books treat of these 
 things T 
 
 " They do not, Uncle Zeddy ; but they lay down 
 the principles upon which such results may be ascer- 
 tained." 
 
 " Very well ; let us see you resolve this question by 
 your arithmetic." 
 
 " You must first give me the data : what is the bur- 
 then of a mule?" 
 
 " Can't tell ; never backed one in my life." 
 
 " Well, let us see : we will say that a stout animal 
 of this class might easily carry you and me, with all our 
 books, money, and learning ; now we cannot rate our 
 two selves at more than two hundred and fifty pounds, 
 and for our luggage, tangible and intellectual, we may 
 set down ciphers ; a dollar weighs an ounce, and there 
 is the question stated ; if one dollar weighs one ounce, 
 how many dollars will it take to make two hundred and 
 fifty pounds ? Work it by the rule of three, and there is 
 the answer." 
 
 The preacher's eyes glistened as he saw the figures ; 
 a long deep groan, such as he was in the habit of heav- 
 ing upon all occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, burst 
 involuntarily from him. 
 
 " Charles, my son," said he, gasping for breath, and 
 lowering his voice to a whisper, while his eyes, riveted
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 55 
 
 upon the sum total, seemed ready to start from their 
 sockets, " suppose there were fifteen such mules 1" 
 
 " In that case," replied the pedagogue carelessly, as 
 he multiplied his former product by the sum named, "in 
 that case the result would be so much." 
 
 " Read the figures to me," said the preacher, groan- 
 ing again, " I am not certain that I can make them 
 out." 
 
 "It is only about forty-five thousand dollars." 
 
 " Only ! oh the blasphemy of learning ! Young man, 
 the wealth of Solomon was nothing to this yea, the 
 treasures of Nebuchadnezzar were as dust in the balance 
 compared with this hoard!" and he walked slowly away, 
 muttering " it is too much ! it is too much !'" 
 
 It was indeed a vast sum ! more than honest Zede- 
 kiah had even thought or dreamt of; and to a mind like 
 his, confined heretofore to a single subject, it developed 
 a new and immense field of speculation. He seemed 
 to have opened his eyes upon a new world. He con- 
 jured up in his mind all the harm that a bad man might 
 do with so much money ; and trembled to think that any 
 one individual might, by possibility, become master of a 
 treasure so great, as to be fraught with destruction to its 
 possessor, and danger to the whole community in which 
 he lived. He thought of the luxury, the dissipation, 
 the corruption, that it might lead to ; and rising gradu- 
 ally to a climax, he adverted to the ruinous and dread- 
 ful consequences, if this wealth should fall into the 
 hands of some weak minded, zealous man, who was
 
 56 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 misled by false doctrines : how many Sunday schools 
 it would establish, how many preachers it would educate, 
 how many missionaries it would send forth, to dissemi- 
 nate a spurious head religion throughout the world ! 
 
 Turning from this picture, he reflected on the bene- 
 fits which a good man might with all this money confer 
 on his fellows. Ah ! Zedekiah, now it was that the 
 tempter who had been all along sounding thee at a dis- 
 tance, began to lay a regular siege to thy integrity ! 
 Now it was that he sought to creep into the breast, yea, 
 into the very heart's core, of worthy Zedekiah. He 
 had always been poor and contented. But age was now 
 approaching, and he could fancy a train of wants atten- 
 dant upon helpless decrepitude. He glanced at the 
 tattered sleeve of his coat, and straightway the vision 
 of a new suit of snuff-coloured broadcloth rose upon his 
 mind. He thought of his old wife who sat spinning in 
 the chimney corner at home ; she was lame, and almost 
 blind, poor woman ! and he promised to carry her a 
 pound of tea, and a bottle of good brandy. In short, the 
 Reverend Mr. Bangs set his heart upon having the 
 money. 
 
 Such was the state of matters, when the conversation 
 occurred which I have just related. It was again re- 
 newed at Johnson's house, that night, after a substantial 
 supper, and ended as such conversations usually do, in 
 confirming each party in his own opinion. Indeed the 
 old man had that day got, as he thought, a clue, which
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 57 
 
 might lead to the wished for discovery. He had heard 
 of an ancient dame, who many years before had dropped 
 mysterious hints, which induced a belief that she knew 
 more of this subject than she chose to tell. 
 
 On the following morning, the preacher rose early, 
 saddled his nag and rode forth in search of the old wo- 
 man's dwelling, without apprising any one of his inten- 
 tion. He soon found the spot, and the object of his 
 search. She was a poor, decrepid, superannuated vira- 
 go, who dwelt in a hovel as crazy, as weatherbeaten, 
 and as frail, as herself. She was crouched over the fire 
 smoking a short pipe, and barely turned her head, as the 
 reverend man seated himself on the bench beside her. 
 
 " It 's a raw morning," said the preacher. 
 
 " I've seen colder," was the reply. 
 
 " So have I," returned Zedekiah, and there the tele a 
 tete flagged. The old man warmed his hands, stirred 
 the fire with his stick, and being a bold man, advanced 
 again to the charge. 
 
 " Pray, madam, are you the widow Anderson 1" 
 
 " That's my name ; I'm not ashamed to own it," re- 
 plied the woman sullenly. 
 
 " You're the person then that I was directed to ; I 
 wished to get some information on a particular subject." 
 
 " Aye ; you're after the money too, I suppose the 
 devil's in all the men !" 
 
 " The devil never had a worse enemy than I am," 
 said the old man archly.
 
 58 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 " I do n't know who you are," replied the woman, 
 " but you may travel back as wise as you came." 
 
 The preacher mentioned his name, his vocation, and 
 the object of his visit. The virago, in spite of her ill- 
 nature, was evidently soothed when she learned that her 
 visitor was no less a person than the Reverend Mr. 
 Bangs. " Who'd have thought that the like of you 
 would come on such an errand 1" said she ;" well, 
 well, it's little I know, but you are welcome to that." 
 
 Now came the secret. The husband of Mrs. Ander- 
 son had been a water-witch, a finder of living fountains. 
 These he discovered by the use of the divining rod, 
 which is well known to possess a virtue in the hands of 
 a favoured few, of which it is destitute when used by 
 others. Anderson wielded the hazel twig with wonder- 
 ful success, and became so celebrated that he was sent 
 for far and near to find water. Inflated with success, 
 he became ambitious of higher distinction and greater 
 gain. He imagined that the same art by which he dis- 
 covered subterranean fountains, would enable him to 
 find mineral treasures in the bowels of the earth. He 
 fancied his fortune already made by the discovery of 
 mines of precious metals ; the hidden silver on the 
 shores of the Cumberland would of itself repay his la- 
 bours. He put all his ingenuity in requisition, and bu- 
 sied himself for years in endeavouring to find a wand 
 that would " work" in the vicinity of minerals, as the 
 ordinary divining rod operates in the neighbourhood of 
 water. In the latter process, much depends on the kind
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 59 
 
 of wood of which the rod is composed ; the hazel, the 
 peach, the mulberry, and a few others, all of rapid 
 growth, are the most approved. Proceeding upon the 
 same principle, he endeavoured to find a tree or shrub 
 which should possess an attractive sympathy for metals. 
 Success at length crowned his operations ; he found a 
 tree whose branches had the desired virtue. He dis- 
 covered veins of iron ore in the surrounding hills, and 
 had announced to his wife that he was on the point of 
 finding the buried money, when death, who respects a 
 water- witch no more than a beggar or a king, arrested 
 his career. 
 
 But when she came to speak of the manner of his 
 death, her voice faltered. She had often warned An- 
 derson that it was dangerous to meddle with hidden 
 treasures. They were generally protected by super- 
 natural beings, who would not allow them to be re- 
 moved with impunity; and several persons who had been 
 engaged in the same search before Anderson, had been 
 alarmed by appearances which caused them to desist. 
 One day he came home to his dinner in high glee, and 
 throwing aside his rod, for which he declared he had now 
 no farther use, he swore he would have the money be- 
 fore he slept. It was deposited, he said, in a certain cliff, 
 which was very difficult of access, and which he was 
 determined to visit that afternoon. It was midnight 
 before he returned. He crawled into his cabin and 
 sunk with a groan on the floor. His wife struck alight,
 
 60 THE DIVINING ROD* 
 
 and hastened to his assistance, hut he was speechless, 
 and soon expired. His body was covered with bruises, 
 and the general opinion was that he had been precipi- 
 tated from the rocks by some invisible hand. 
 
 The rod remained in the possession of his wife, but 
 its existence was a secret to all others. Fear had pre- 
 vented her from ever trying its efficacy, and inasmuch 
 as it was useless to herself, she took the wise and spiri- 
 ted resolution, that no other person should profit by its 
 virtues, and uniformly turned a deaf ear to the applica- 
 tions frequently made by those who, knowing the habits 
 of her husband and his researches in relation to the 
 matter, applied to her for information. She now pre- 
 sented to the preacher the long treasured wand, the bark 
 of which having been peeled off, it was impossible to 
 discover from what tree it had been taken. 
 
 For several days after this event, the reverend man 
 continued to traverse the neighbourhood, carefully con- 
 cealing himself from observation, and exploring with 
 the metallic rod every spot where it was probable the 
 treasure might be hidden, and particularly the cliffs near 
 to Anderson's cabin. One day he returned to the 
 house of Johnson with a look of triumph, and desiring 
 a private interview with his host, informed him that he 
 had found the spot ! It was so situated that he could 
 not reach it without assistance, and having described the 
 place accurately to his friend, he concluded by offering 
 him a liberal share, if he would accompany and aid
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 61 
 
 him. To his surprise Johnson briefly and peremptorily 
 refused. 
 
 Offended at the obstinacy of the farmer, Father 
 Bangs left his house. On the road he met a stranger 
 travelling on foot, with whom he entered into conver- 
 sation, and finding him prompt and intelligent in his re- 
 plies, he engaged him as an assistant, and appointed a 
 spot at which they were to meet on the following morning. 
 
 At the hour appointed uncle Zeddy proceeded to the 
 rendezvous, where the stranger soon appeared, bearing 
 on his shoulder an immense coil of rope. They pro- 
 ceeded to a tall cliff, which, springing from the margin 
 of the river, towered into the air to the height of two 
 hundred feet. The summit on which they stood present- 
 ed a table surface of a rock, to which they had ascended 
 by a gentle acclivity. Few ventured to the edge of 
 that precipice, for its verge, projecting over the river, 
 overhung it at such a fearful distance that the boldest 
 trembled as they looked into the abyss. The face 
 of the precipice as viewed from the opposite shore 
 seemed to be nearly perpendicular, the slight curve 
 by which the summit projected over the water, being 
 not observable from that direction ; and about one-third 
 of the way down, might be seen the mouth of a cave, 
 which was deemed inaccessible to all but the birds of 
 the air. The preacher, after due consideration, had 
 arrived at the conclusion, that the money was in this 
 cave ; and having fastened the cable about his own 
 F
 
 62 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 waist, he required his assistant to lower him into the 
 gulf. 
 
 It would have been edifying to have seen the courage 
 with which that old man passed over the verge, and the 
 steady eye with which he looked down upon the deep 
 abyss, the jutting rocks, and the foaming torrent be- 
 low; while his companion, having passed the end of the 
 rope round a tree, advanced to the edge of the rock, 
 and gazed after him with wonder. Uncle Zeddy found 
 no difficulty in descending : but on getting opposite to 
 the mouth of the cave, it was no small exploit to achieve 
 an entrance, for as the cable hung perpendicularly from 
 the projecting peak, he found himself swinging in the 
 air, several feet in advance of the face of the rock. The 
 only chance for it, was to swing in by an horizontal move- 
 ment, and to do this it was necessary first to give the 
 rope a motion like that of a pendulum. It was not easy 
 to produce this effect, for as the preacher hung suspend- 
 ed by the middle, like the golden fleece, it was diffi- 
 cult to throw his weight in the desired direction. This, 
 however, was at last accomplished ; and, after swinging 
 to and fro for half an hour, Uncle Zeddy succeeded 
 in grasping the rock at the opening, and drew himself 
 into the cave. 
 
 The cavern was small and our worthy adventurer 
 soon satisfied himself that it did not contain the object 
 of his search. The sides were all of solid rock, with 
 out a crevice or other place of concealment. Being 
 ready to return, he gave the signal agreed upon, by
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 63 
 
 jerking the rope ; he waited a few minutes and jerked 
 again and again and again, but without success. 
 Was it possible that his assistant could be so depraved 
 as to abandon him ? He crept to the mouth of the 
 aperture, and looked out. Under different circum- 
 stances he could have enjoyed the rushing of the water, 
 and the pleasant fanning of the breeze as it swept along 
 the valley. But now the wind seemed to murmur dole- 
 fully, the waves looked angry, and the cragged rocks 
 had a fearful aspect of danger. He shuddered at the 
 thought of being forsaken to die of hunger. He shout- 
 ed and his voice echoed from rock to rock. An hour, 
 and another hour, passed. A steam boat came pad- 
 dling along, and he screamed for help. The crew 
 looked up ; they saw the cable, and a man's head peep- 
 ing out of the cavern at a dizzy height above them, and 
 shouted loud in admiration of his daring exploit. He 
 waved his neckcloth in the air, and uttered piteous cries, 
 but they understood him not, and only shouted and 
 laughed the louder as they beheld what they supposed 
 to be the antic bravadoes of some daring hunter. The 
 boat passed on. Night came, and he gave himself up 
 for lost. The sun rose and he was still a prisoner. 
 The morning wore away wearily ; loss of sleep, hunger, 
 and terror, had nearly worn the old man out when he 
 felt the rope move ! A thrill of joy passed through his 
 chilled frame. He sprung to his feet, and jerked it 
 violently. The signal was successful ; he felt that a 
 strong and steady arm was drawing him, as it were
 
 64 THE DIVINING ROD. 
 
 from the grave, into the regions of the living. In a few 
 minutes he passed over the verge, and found himself hi 
 the arms of Johnson. The latter, alarmed at the un- 
 usual length of his friend's absence, had set out in 
 search of him, and knowing his plan of visiting the 
 cave, had hastened to this spot, where, finding the cable 
 attached to a tree, he was so fortunate as to save the 
 life of his friend in the manner described. The assis- 
 tant had absconded with the preacher's horse. 
 
 When Father Bangs was a little recovered from his 
 terror, he said, " I have not found what I went for, 
 but I have discovered something that convinces me I 
 am not far from the spot. It was here that Anderson 
 met his fate." 
 
 " How did you find that out ? there was a heavy fall 
 of rain, the night of his death, and we could afterwards 
 find no marks to satisfy us where he fell." 
 
 " As I passed over the edge of the cliff I found this 
 watch lying in a crevice of the rock. It seems to have 
 been a long time exposed to the weather, and must 
 have been in Anderson's pocket, when the demon, or 
 whatever it was, cast him over ?" 
 
 " You still believe in this story, then ?" 
 
 " I have seen nothing to shake my belief; but I be- 
 gin to feel sort o' dubious that if there be money buried 
 here, it is not altogether lawful for any but the right 
 heirs to search after it. Anderson was punished for 
 making the attempt, and you see what a fix I am in. 
 This thought came over me while I lay confined, and I
 
 THE DIVINING ROD. 65 
 
 trembled for the young man whom I left on the rock, 
 lest he should have been spirited away, or brought to 
 an untimely end." 
 
 " He has been spirited away by that good horse of 
 yours, and if ever he comes to a violent death it will be 
 under the gallows." 
 
 " Well, be it so ; but my own confinement and suf- 
 fering, I cannot but think, was meant as a punishment." 
 
 " Have your own way," said the farmer, " if you do 
 but quit money hunting, I am satisfied, but I must say, 
 when I hear you talk of spirits and such like, that I am 
 sorry to find you are still barking up the wrong tree.

 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 I HAD a classmate at college whose name was Jeremy 
 Geode. Circumstances threw us together at that time, 
 and we became attached friends. We occupied the same 
 room and the same bed, and freely communicated to each 
 other our most secret thoughts. I am not philosopher 
 enough to account for the principle of attraction which 
 operated upon us ; the adhesion was very strong, but 
 the cause that produced it was as deeply hidden from 
 my feeble power of perception as the properties of the 
 loadstone. I once read a very learned and unintelligi- 
 ble book of philosophy, from beginning to end, for the 
 purpose of finding out why it was that two human beings 
 should be stuck together like particles of granite : but 
 I had my labour for my pains. The reason was inscru- 
 table; stuck together we were, and yet never were two 
 individuals more unlike each other. We were perfect 
 antipodes, and our friendship a moral antithesis. My 
 readers will enter fully into the perplexities which this 
 subject afforded me, when I inform them that my friend 
 was dismally ugly, while I was not only a great admirer
 
 68 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 of beauty, but in my own opinion, at least, very good 
 looking. He was a sloven, I was neat and dressy. He 
 loved books, I loved men particularly those of the 
 feminine gender. He was devoted to figures, and so 
 was I but then his affections settled upon the figures 
 of arithmetic and geometry, while mine were running riot 
 among those of the cotillion. He was studious, grave, 
 and unsocial, and I gay, volatile, and fond of company. 
 I could talk by the hour about any thing, or about 
 nothing, while my friend was taciturn, seldom opening 
 his remarkably homely mouth, except to utter a syllo- 
 gism, or demonstrate a problem. There were occa- 
 sions, it is true, when his eloquence would burst forth 
 like the eruption of a volcano. I have seen him rant 
 like a stump orator, over a geological specimen, or pour 
 forth metaphors, in all the exuberance of poetic phren- 
 sy, while commenting upon the wonders exhibited in 
 the structure of a poor unfortunate musquito which 
 had fallen into his clutches. Strange as it may seem to 
 those who are unacquainted with the organization of 
 such minds, he was a wit of the highest order. A sly in- 
 uendo, a sententious remark, a playful sarcasm, uttered 
 with the most inflexible gravity, would excite in others 
 a paroxysm of laughter, while he was apparently uncon- 
 scious.of any feeling akin to mirth. That he enjoyed his 
 own exquisite vein of humour, and the humour of others, 
 I have now no doubt, for every man who possesses any 
 strongly marked faculty of the mind, experiences a high 
 degree of pleasure in its exercise. But he passed for
 
 THE SEVENTH SOtf. 69 
 
 a misanthrope, an unfeeling selfish man, who, wrapped 
 up in the abstraction of his own mind, had no sympa- 
 thies in common with his fellow creatures ; and he was 
 willing to pass under any character, which might secure 
 him from intrusion, and leave him at liberty to pursue 
 the leadings of his own genius. His equanimity under 
 these surmises, and under all the crosses of life, was 
 absolutely miraculous ; the truth was that his vigorous 
 understanding, and native good temper, enabled him to 
 look down upon the accidents that vex other men. I 
 alone suspected that he was kind and generous, be- 
 cause I had seen his eye moisten, and the rigid muscles 
 of his face relax, as he perused the tender epistles of a 
 doating mother ; though it was only in after years that I 
 learned that he earned his own subsistence, and that of 
 his parent, by the labours of his pen, while he pursued 
 his college studies. I could have wept, when this fact 
 came to my knowledge, and when I recollected how 
 I had sometimes ridiculed his parsimonious habits, and 
 his unceasing devotion to labour. 
 
 Another trait in the character of my friend shall be 
 chiefly noticed. Although he d ; ligently eschewed the 
 company of women, and regarded men with careless 
 indifference, he seemed so perfectly enamoured of the 
 society of children and other irrational animals, that I 
 sometimes suspected him of being a believer in the 
 Pythagorean doctrine of transmigration. When fa- 
 tigued with mental exertions, he would steal off to join 
 his little play fellows, on the green beyond the town,
 
 70 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 which was their place of evening resort. There he 
 would be seen stretched upon the grass, gazing at them 
 with an eye of interest and of complete satisfaction. 
 The youngsters quickly struck up an acquaintance, and 
 clave to him with instinctive affection. They soon 
 learned to bring him their hats and coats to take care 
 of, when they drew them off for play ; he became the 
 umpire in their contests, and the peacemaker in their 
 disputes ; and he might often be seen with the whole 
 posse around him, the smallest hanging on his knees and 
 his great shoulders, and the biggest forming a dense 
 circle, with open eyes and mouths, while he related 
 some strange legend, or explained the curious phe- 
 nomena of nature. These facts were not generally 
 known in college ; and it was well for him for had the 
 erudite and dignified sophomores detected him in such 
 childish pursuits, my friend Jeremy Geode would un- 
 doubtedly have been put in Coventry. He had a 
 mocking-bird, too, in a cage, a martin box at his win- 
 dow, and an industrious family of silk-worms in a small 
 cabinet. A lean, hungry, ferocious-looking cat, whose 
 love of mice or of mythology had brought her to college, 
 who had been expelled from one room, and kicked out 
 of another, and suffered martyrdom in so many shapes, 
 that, but for the plurality of her lives, she would long 
 since have ceased to exist, at last took refuge in our 
 room. She entered with a truly feline stealth of tread, 
 and sought concealment with the cowardice of con- 
 scious felony. But no sooner did she attract the eye of
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 71 
 
 Jeremy, than a mutual attachment commenced, a single 
 glance revealed to each a kindred spirit ; in a few hours 
 puss was running between the student's feet ; before 
 the close of the day she was reposing in his lap, and a 
 firm friendship was cemented. Under his care she 
 grew fat, social, and contented, and justice requires me 
 to say, that a more intelligent or better behaved cat 
 never inhabited the walls of a learned institution. 
 
 After the completion of our college course, we com- 
 menced the study of our respective professions. Now 
 it was that a principle of repulsion began to operate, 
 which carried us perpetually in opposite directions. Our 
 minds, which had heretofore, to some extent, inhabited 
 the same sphere, began to diverge as it were, from a 
 common centre, so that we entered upon the great thea- 
 tre of life by different paths. My friend, who was cau- 
 tious and plodding, betook him to the dusty turnpike 
 of science, carefully noting the indications of the innu- 
 merable finger-posts and mile-stones, which have been 
 set up by the industry of sundry worthy men, on either 
 side of that great highway. He was willing to reach 
 the ultimate point of his ambition by the beaten road, 
 which experience had marked out. Wisdom's ways 
 are said to be pleasant ways, and all her paths peace, 
 and I dare say he found them so ; but I must confess 
 that I had no snfficient taste to discern, wherein that 
 peace and pleasantness consisted. I betook myself to 
 that flowery path, which, without having any particular
 
 72 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 course or destination, meanders through the regions of 
 fancy, and the resorts of pleasure. But I was unwil- 
 ling, at first, to part with my friend ; I grieved to see 
 his youth withering in monastic seclusion, and his ener- 
 gies wasted in a severe course of unproductive studies. 
 
 " What do you expect to gain," said I to him, one 
 day, " by this incessant toil of the mind, this rigid self 
 denial, this total abstraction from the ordinary pursuit 
 of youth?" 
 
 " Knowledge!'* was his laconic reply. 
 
 " And will the accumulated stores of knowledge be 
 worth so dear a purchase ! Are you not acting the 
 part of the miser who keeps up a mass of useless wealth, 
 at the expense of all the courtesies of life, and all its 
 enjoyments ? Is this a rational way of spending time ?'' 
 
 " I like it," said he. 
 
 I was nettled at his perfect composure. " So does 
 your cat like sleep," I exclaimed, " and pardon me for 
 saying that I see little difference," I was going to say, 
 " between you and your cat," but I had the grace to 
 modify the comparison " between dozing over the fire, 
 or over musty books." 
 
 " The books are far from musty," replied he very 
 placidly, " and as for poor puss, she is quite happy 
 and respectable, in her way/' 
 
 " But my dear Geode, to what end is this slavery of 
 mind?" 
 
 "Usefulness."
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 73 
 
 11 Usefulness ! to whom, pray V 9 
 " To myself, to my country, to mankind." 
 "And the reward? Come tell us that. What do 
 you expect in return for becoming the benefactor of an 
 ungrateful world ?" 
 
 " The approbation of good men, and of my own con- 
 science." 
 
 He had reason and virtue on his side, and my logic 
 would hold out no longer. I was awed, but not con- 
 vinced ; and we parted. 
 
 My friend studied medicine, a choice upon which 
 I had often rallied him as growing out of his love 
 for the occult sciences ; for with his more solid ac- 
 quirements, he had mingled an acquaintance with al- 
 chemy, witchcraft, and all the mystic lore which is 
 found in black letter books. He could draw horo- 
 scopes, andlell fortunes like an adept, and so gravely 
 would he talk upon such subjects, that had it not 
 been for a lurking roguishness of the eye, which 
 he could never wholly command, I should have feared 
 that he was in earnest. I chose the science of law, 
 because this profession is considered the path to 
 office and honour. I had no relish for the drudgery 
 of a practising attorney. Framing declarations, and 
 exploring the intricacies of law reports, had no attrac- 
 tions for me. My ambition soared higher; end I 
 imagined, as multitudes of young men do, who crowd 
 to the bar in the hope of leading a life of ease and 
 dignity, that my labours would cease, and my triumph*
 
 74 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 begin, with my maiden speech. In common with all 
 who have been deluded by this fallacy, I have discovered 
 my error. The labours of the lawyer who pursues his 
 profession with energy, are as severe as those of the 
 farmer or mechanic, while his pecuniary gains are less 
 certain. But then the farmer is a drudge, and the me- 
 chanic is not an esquire. The legal profession confers 
 a patent of gentility on its members; they are gentlemen 
 of the bar; and the man who wishes to become a gentle- 
 man by a short cut, and to remain one during life, has 
 only to procure a license to practise in a court of record, 
 which confers an indefeasible title to that distinction, 
 whatever may be the properties of his body, mind, or 
 estate. 
 
 But I sat down, not to write of myself, but to indite 
 the veritable history of Doctor Jeremy Geode, who 
 having obtained his diploma with great distinction, emi- 
 grated to the western states. He called to take leave 
 of me, previous to his departure. A suit of mourning 
 announced that he had lost his mother, the only human 
 being, in memory of whom he would have thought it 
 necessary to exhibit this outward symbol of grief. " I 
 nursed her," said he, " in her last illness, and received 
 her blessing. It was mournful to sever so dear a tie ; but 
 I felt that I Had gained, in her approbation of my con- 
 duct, a richer legacy than any that the whole earth could 
 bestow." He spoke of his future prospects with confi- 
 dence, though with that peculiar bashfulness with which 
 a modest young man, accustomed to seclusion, faces
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 75 
 
 the world for the first time. There is no sight more 
 touching to a considerate heart, than to behold a highly 
 gifted and ingenuous youth, embarking in the voyage of 
 life, with no companion but enterprise and indigence. 
 Bright may be his career, and noble his triumphs ; but 
 the chances that those buoyant hopes, those modest 
 graces, those virtuous emotions, which render youth so 
 engaging, will be blighted by vice, by disappointment, 
 and by sordid cares, are so many, as to fill the benevo- 
 lent heart with trembling apprehension. 
 
 Doctor Geode settled in an obscure town, far in the 
 wilderness. It was a village newly laid out, upon the 
 borders of an extensive prairie ; a beautifully undulating 
 plain, fringed with woods, and dotted with picturesque 
 clumps and groves of trees. The grass, as yet but little 
 trodden, exhibited its pristine luxuriance, and a variety 
 of gorgeous flowers enlivened the scene. The deer 
 still loitered here, as if unwilling to resign their ancient 
 pastures, and at night the long howl of the wolf could 
 be heard, mingled with the fearful screechings of the 
 owl. The village was composed of log cabins, and was, 
 with the neighbourhood around it, inhabited chiefly by 
 backwoodsmen a race of people who, delighting in the 
 chase, and devoted to their wild, free, and independent 
 habits, precede the advance of the denser population, 
 and keep ever on the outskirts of society. Ardent, hos- 
 pitable, and uncultivated, the stranger is as much de- 
 lighted with the cordial welcome he finds at their 
 firesides, as he is struck with their primitive manners,
 
 76 THE SEVENTH 6OJC. 
 
 their singular phraseology, and their original modes of 
 thinking. Accustomed to long journeys, to frequent 
 changes of residence, to protracted hunting expeditions, 
 to swimming rivers, and encamping in the woods, they 
 bear fatigue and exposure with the patience of the 
 Indian : their figures of speech are numerous, and drawn 
 from natural objects : and they have a fund of that intel- 
 ligence which arises from extensive wanderings, from a 
 close observance of nature, and from habits of free dis- 
 cussion, mingled with the simplicity induced by the 
 absence of literature. 
 
 A few months passed away delightfully with Doctor 
 Geode. He roamed the forests and the prairies with 
 the eagerness of one who had fallen upon a new world, 
 more beautiful than that of his nativity. He walked and 
 rode, hunted and fished, not for sport, but in search of 
 scientific truth. The cabin which he occupied as a 
 study, soon grew into a museum of natural curiosities. 
 Every day brought some novel and interesting subject 
 under his investigation. The treasures of knowledge 
 which he had accumulated over the midnight lamp, 
 seemed now to swell, and burst forth into life, as the 
 exuberant flower springs from the folds of the bud. 
 The world around him was teeming with living and 
 beautiful illustrations of those abstruse principles that 
 had been gathered into his memory with so much toil, 
 and arranged with so much care. Not a wind blew, 
 nor a shower fell ; not a flower regaled his senses with 
 its gaudy beauties or rich perfumes ; without filling his
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 77 
 
 mind with a sensation of pleasurable emotion. To him 
 the phenomena of nature were all eloquence, and music, 
 and symmetry. He had studied these things in the 
 closet as mere abstractions, but now they came before 
 him as sensible objects, bearing the stamp of reality, and 
 glowing with the freshness of life. 
 
 But in the midst of these pursuits, my worthy friend 
 entirely forgot to employ the ordinary means of getting 
 into practice. He made no display of his skill, nor 
 courted the acquaintance of any of his neighbours. 
 No flashy advertisement extolled the merits of Doctor 
 Geode, and informed the public that he was their hum- 
 ble servant. A wily competitor, taking advantage of 
 this improvidence, represented my erudite friend as an 
 insane gentleman, who roamed about gathering roots, 
 and catching prairie flies ; and the neighbours felt no 
 inclination to consult a mad doctor. His own habits 
 confirmed these mercenary slanders. His homely face 
 was pale and sallow ; his thick black beard was often 
 allowed to remain a whole week unshaven ; and in his 
 total carelessness of every thing relating to his own 
 comfort, he sometimes walked from his shop to his 
 lodgings without his hat, or with one boot and one shoe. 
 His collection of stuffed birds, impaled insects, and 
 pickled reptiles, might well bring his sanity in question 
 with those who could see no advantage in this hideous 
 resurrection of dead bodies. Moreover he had tamed 
 a crow, a bird held in particular aversion, in consequence 
 
 G2
 
 78 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 of its depredations upon corn fields, and pronounced by 
 a popular verse to have been, 
 
 Ever since the world began, 
 Natural enemy of man; 
 
 and a black cat, who of her own accord had taken up 
 her residence with him, was his constant companion. 
 He soon found himself avoided, like a mad dog in a 
 populous town, or a freemason in the enlightened state 
 of New York. Week after week rolled away, and not 
 a patient called the skill of Doctor Geode in requisition, 
 He wondered at this circumstance, and perplexed him- 
 self with vain endeavours to conjecture the reason. He 
 saw that he was even shunned; but his modesty, as well 
 as his independence, prevented him from inquiring into 
 the cause. In the mean while his finances were ex- 
 hausted, and poverty, with all its inconveniences and 
 mortifications, stared him in the face. 
 
 There is one truth, as regards the moral government 
 of this world, to which there are few exceptions ; it is, 
 that good deeds always have their reward. So it hap- 
 pened to my friend. He was one day induced to enter 
 a solitary cabin, in the outskirts of the village, by hear- 
 ing as he passed the groans of a person who seemed to 
 be in pain. A decent widow who supported a large 
 family by her labour, was suffering under a high fever, 
 and in a state of delirium. Beside her sat a fair haired 
 girl, about fourteen years old, the daughter of a neigh- 
 bouring gentleman, bathing her temples, and vainly en-
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 79 
 
 deavouring to soothe her torture. Without asking any 
 questions, the humane physician rendered such assist- 
 ance to the sufferer as her case required; nor did he quit 
 her bed side, until every alarming symptom was removed. 
 The young girl, who at first shrunk back in alarm, was 
 soon drawn to his assistance by the kindness of his tones, 
 and now witnessed his promptitude and success with as- 
 tonishment. He continued to attend her from day to day 
 until his patient was completely restored, and then re- 
 fused any compensation for what he considered a slight 
 and a voluntary service. Being an intelligent woman, 
 who had been accustomed to attend the sick, she readily 
 discovered, from his tender manner and skilful prescrip- 
 tions, that he was no ordinary man ; and she now, in the 
 warmth of her gratitude, revealed to him the arts by 
 which his competitor had deprived him of the confidence 
 of the public. 
 
 Doctor Geode never did things like other men. In- 
 stead of getting angry, he was amused at the ingenuity 
 of his rival, and at his own ridiculous predicament, 
 He was born too far east to be overreached by a spe- 
 cious pretender ; and as his necessities were at that 
 moment particularly pressing, he soon devised a plan 
 for present relief, and for the utter discomfiture of his 
 rival. Although his bashfulness, and habits of abstrac- 
 tion, had kept him aloof from an intercourse with his 
 neighbours, he had not been unattentive to their tradi- 
 tions and modes of thinking ; while he spoke little, 
 he had listened and observed much. Some of their su-
 
 80 THE SETENTH SON. 
 
 perstitions had struck him as remarkably amusing, and he 
 was even then preparing an essay on this subject. With 
 these landmarks to assist him, his scheme was soon digest- 
 ed. Having prepared a neat card, and drawn upon it a cir- 
 cle and a triangle, with red ink, he proceeded to trace 
 over it several words in the Greek character. ^,He then 
 advertised that " Doctor Jeremy Geode, the seventh 
 son of a celebrated Indian doctor, would cure all dis- 
 eases, by means of the wonderful Hygeian Tablet, 
 or Kickapoo Panacea, of which he was sole proprietor." 
 It was a happy thought ! the virtues of a seventh son 
 have long been well known--;' 'and however trtrr sturdy 
 borderers may dislike their savage neighbours, the In- 
 dian doctor has always been in high repute among them. 
 The reputed lunatic was at once elevated into an in- 
 spired mediciner ; the crow, the black cat, and the col- 
 lection of natural curiosities, became objects of re- 
 spectful curiosity. In vain did the regular physician of 
 the village denounce him as an impostor ; in vain an 
 incredulous few professed their entire disbelief. The 
 doors of the seventh son were soon crowded with the halt 
 and the sick. Among the first that came was Mr. 
 Jones, the father of the fair haired girl, a gentleman of 
 information and property ; a frank, hospitable man, 
 who had taken up a favourable opinion of the doctor, 
 and who became now, by his daughter's account of the 
 incident she had witnessed, warmly engaged in his in- 
 terest. What passed at the interview need not be re- 
 peated : Mr. Jones at its conclusion exhibited evident
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 81 
 
 symptoms of having enjoyed a hearty laugh, and Doc- 
 tor Geode had received some new views of western 
 character. They remained firm friends, and Mr. Jones 
 never spoke of the seventh son, but in terms of high 
 respect. The success of the mystic tablet was tri- 
 umphant, and its fame spread far and near. Nauseat- 
 ing and dangerous drugs were decried, as useless and 
 pernicious. It even became a matter of general re- 
 mark and wonder, that people should be so stupid as to 
 swallow deadly poisons, while health could be so much 
 more cheaply purchased by looking at a card. Faith 
 alone "was requisite to give efficacy to the spell. It is 
 true that the charm sometimes failed ; but this was al- 
 ways attributed to the unbelief of the patient, and the 
 doctor forthwith proceeded to treat such cases secundum 
 ar/ero, concealing the fact that he used the subtile mine- 
 rals of the pharmacopoeia, and leaving the world to 
 suppose that he practised only with the simples gather- 
 ed in his botanic excursions. The consequence was 
 that his practice spread not only through the country 
 around, but an immense number of patients were 
 brought to him from a distance. As for the regular 
 physician, he was obliged to quit the village. 
 
 Happening to pass through that region, when the 
 fame of Doctor Geode was at its zenith, I was asto- 
 nished to hear the name of my old classmate, of whom 
 I had lost sight for some years, coupled with miracu- 
 lous cures by faith ; and I determined to pay him a visit. 
 Muffled in my cloak, and disguised still further by the
 
 82 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 alteration that time had made in my features, I entered 
 his dwelling. It was a spacious log house, divided 
 into several apartments, all of which, except one, were 
 occupied by the sick. In the audience room, if I may 
 so call it, sat the doctor ; his black beard, which he 
 had suffered to grow, overhanging his breast, and his 
 raven locks almost concealing his features ; while his 
 mountainous nose, his calm but piercing eye, and his 
 sarcastic lip, revealed to me, at a glance, my former 
 classmate. He was surrounded by a group of persons, 
 who sought relief from real or imaginary diseases. 
 
 " I have a desperate misery in my side," said one. 
 
 " I've got the billiards fever," groaned another. 
 
 " I am powerful weak," drawled a third. 
 
 " My limbs are sort o' dead like," whined a fourth. 
 
 " Oh, doctor, I've got the yaller janders powerful 
 bad; Ifeeljist like I'd naaterally die off ; and I can't 
 hope myself, no how." 
 
 " Can you cure the rheumatiz ?" 
 
 " I've an inward fever." 
 
 " Doctor, my peided cow is in a desput bad fix with 
 the holler horn." 
 
 " Ah, doctor Geeho, you never seed sich a poor af- 
 flicted critlur as I be, with the misery in my tooth ; it 
 seems like it would jist use me up bodyaciously." 
 
 " Oh, doctor, doctor, I've got the shaking ager, so 
 mighty bad, I aint no account, no how." 
 
 " Mr. Geehead, I wish you'd look at my boy ; he's 
 got in the triflingest way you ever seed; he can't lara
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 83 
 
 his book, and does nothing but jeest tell lies and steal, 
 study, all the time ; he aint in his right mind, no how." 
 
 " Canst thou minister to a mind diseased V 9 inquired 
 I in a feigned tone. His quick eye, which had more 
 than once rested on me, since I had entered the room, 
 was turned hastily towards me in eager scrutiny. Fail- 
 ing to penetrate my disguise, he civilly inquired my 
 business. 
 
 " I know," said I in a mock heroic tone, " that 
 knowledge is thy idol, usefulness thy creed, the appro- 
 bation of good men, thy reward. I seek advice." 
 
 " Your complaint?" inquired he in a tremulous voice, 
 for he more than suspected who was his visitor. 
 
 "The cacoelhes scribendi." 
 
 "Oh si sick omnes!' 9 - exclaimed the seventh son, 
 waving his hand over his valetudinarian levee, who 
 stood gasping in awe, at this outlandish dialogue. 
 
 " It hath afflicted me from my youth," rejoined I. 
 
 " Get you gone," cried he in a tone of grave sar- 
 casm, while a joyful recognition sparkled in his eye, 
 " Get you gone, it is a loathsome, incurable disease, 
 which criticism may correct, but the grave only can 
 remove. It hath afflicted the world for ages, carrying 
 with it revilings, and jealousies, and war. It maketh 
 a man lean in flesh, and poor in substance. A hollow 
 eye, a sunken cheek, a soiled finger, and a tattered 
 coat are its symptoms." 
 
 " I crave a private consultation, learned doctor," 
 said I, and accordingly, after dismissing his patients,
 
 84 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 he led me into his sanctum and embraced me with the fer- 
 vour of affectionate friendship. 
 
 I remained with him that day, and we consumed 
 nearly the whole night in conversation. After he had 
 recounted his adventures, I inquired how he, whose 
 moral principles I knew to be rigid, could justify him- 
 self in assuming a character which did not belong to 
 him. 
 
 " There is less of imposture," he replied, " in the 
 character which I have assumed, than you imagine ; 
 my father was a physician, and I am his seventh son." 
 
 " But is it right to delude the ignorant, and give your 
 sanction to an idle superstition?" 
 
 " I will not say that it is right. Nothing is right, but 
 truth and plain dealing. Yet I am not prepared to say 
 that it is morally wrong, to do good to men through the 
 medium of their own weakness. One half the diseases 
 which afflict mankind are imaginary, and should be 
 treated as such. I practise upon this rule, and have 
 found faith quite as valuable as physic." 
 
 " But is it possible that you can pursue this life with 
 satisfaction ?" 
 
 " So far as there has been deception in it, it has 
 been irksome. But it has afforded me a fund of 
 amusement, and has given me an insight into the 
 human heart, which I consider invaluable. I have 
 acquired an intimate acquaintance with the pecu- 
 liarities of a most original people ; have seen the 
 workings of superstition in one of its most powerful
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 85 
 
 forms ; and have closely studied one of the most curious 
 incidents of the mysterious connexion between mind and 
 matter." 
 
 " Then you have some confidence in your system?" 
 " Oh yes : how can I help it 1 ? I have seen the stur- 
 dy hunter, who could face the painted Indian, or wrestle 
 with a hungry wolf, quailing under a fancied or unim- 
 portant disorder, and suddenly, at my bidding, by a mere 
 volition of will, resuming his vigour, and returning to his 
 manly exercises; I have seen the drooping maiden, who 
 was withering like the autumn leaf, call back her smiles 
 and her bloom, by a simple exertion of faith. I must 
 acknowledge, however, that my plan has been extended 
 farther, and continued longer, than I intended. It was em- 
 braced partly in jest, partly under the goadings of stern 
 necessity. My success astonished me. I saw no way 
 to retreat. I was doing good to others and enriching 
 myself. I am now possessed of a sufficient sum to es- 
 tablish me wherever I please. Besides, the bubble must 
 soon burst ; ours is not a country, nor an age, in which 
 delusion can live long." 
 
 I left him on the following morning. Shortly after- 
 wards he abandoned the scene of his success, after pre- 
 senting the mystic tablet to the poor widow, who had 
 proved so valuable a friend to him in the hour of adver- 
 sity, and instructing her in the real secret of its efficacy. 
 ******** 
 
 Three years had passed away since the interview just 
 
 H
 
 86 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 related, when one day Doctor Geode, who was now & 
 regular physician, of high standing, in a city not far 
 from that of my own residence, entered my room. I 
 was astonished at the change which a short time had 
 wrought in his person and appearance. He was now 
 in his thirtieth year, and had just reached the vigour of 
 manhood. He was plainly but neatly dressed. Good 
 living and active employment had clothed his muscles 
 with flesh, and brought a healthy bloom to his cheek. 
 The sharp angles of his face had become rounded, and 
 the clouds of care were dispersed. The clownish man- 
 ners of the student had given place to the deportment of 
 a plain intelligent gentleman. A smile of benevolence 
 and placid contentment sat upon his features ; and I 
 thought him by no means so ugly as he had been in his 
 youth. 
 
 " Come," said he, " will you join me in a trip to ?" 
 
 "For what purpose?" 
 
 " During my residence there, I had a friend, who 
 treated me with kindness. He had penetrated my dis- 
 guise by his own sagacity, but appreciated my motives, 
 kept my secret with inviolable honour, and promoted my 
 interest with all his influence. I was his family physi- 
 cian. He is dead, and his only daughter, the fair-haired 
 girl whom I once tclii you of, is about to be deprived of 
 her inheritance by a designing relative. My intimacy 
 with the family has put me in possession of facts, which 
 are unknown to her, but which in my opinion will esta- 
 blish her claim. She is a mere child, poor thing, and
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 87 
 
 does not know her own rights. Come, you have the 
 dyspepsia, I am sure ; I prescribe a long journey." 
 
 Who could resist the temptation of a tour to the fron- 
 tier, in company with such a man ? " The seventh son 
 shall be obeyed," said I : and the next morning found us 
 on our horses. The journey was delightful. The doc- 
 tor was full of anecdote, and brimful of science : both of 
 which he poured out in copious streams. His former 
 taciturnity had given place to conversational powers of a 
 high order. It had never been constitutional, but was 
 the result of circumstances. His youth had been silent- 
 ly and diligently employed in acquiring the knowledge 
 which now burst forth in rich exuberance ; and he re- 
 minded me of the tree that in the winter stands bare, so- 
 litary, and ungraceful, but in due season bears the leaf, 
 the blossom and the fruit. His inquisitive mind was 
 continually on the stretcf . I was struck with his va- 
 rious information, his affability, and colloquial skill. 
 
 We reached the broad prairies, and the region of thin- 
 ly scattered population. The wide and beaten road 
 was changed for the path that winded over the plains, or 
 among the tangled woods. We forded the little streams, 
 and crossed the rivers in canoes, driving our horses be- 
 fore us. Instead of meeting the travelling carriage, the 
 stage, and the loaded wagon, we encountered the solita- 
 ry hunter in his blanket coat, treading along with the 
 stealthy step of the cat, and the watchful glance of the 
 wary Indian. We lodged no longer at the inn, attend- 
 ed by assiduous servants, but slept at the settler's cabin.
 
 88 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 and sat as equals at his board. Two more days would 
 
 have brought us to , when my friend was taken ill. 
 
 The attack was severe, and he thought his own case 
 doubtful. There was no physician in the neighbourhood, 
 and he himself was unprovided with such medicines as 
 were suitable to his case. The fever was raging and 
 the pain intense. It was one of those cases in which 
 the crisis approaches rapidly. Two days passed and 
 he hourly grew worse. I was almost frantic. At length 
 the man of the house told us of an old woman, that had 
 lately settled in the neighbourhood, who was " a despe- 
 rate good doctor." 
 
 " There was a right smart chance of sickness, when 
 she came into the settlement," continued the man, " a 
 heap of people called on her she had abundance to do, 
 and she flew round among the folks mighty peart, I tell 
 you. The way she fixed 'em, ^is the right way, there's 
 no mistake in it. I would'nt give her for naary high 
 larnt marcury doctor, I ever see, no how." 
 
 " But this is an extreme case." 
 
 " No matter," replied the hunter cheerfully " if the 
 man was as cold as a wagon tire, provided there was any 
 life in him, she'd bring him to ; there's no two ways 
 about it." 
 
 My friend smiled. " Send for the woman !" I ex- 
 claimed, " she may tell us of some remedy.'' A boy 
 was accordingly mounted on the fleetest steed, and soon 
 returned with the female JEsculapius. There was no- 
 thing peculiar in her appearance, except that she wore a
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 89 
 
 large black veil,, which completely concealed her fea- 
 tures. She required to be left alone with the patient, 
 but as I insisted on being present at the interview, an 
 exception was made in my favour. She approached 
 the bed, felt the sufferer's pulse, and passed her hand 
 over his forehead, while the doctor, who seemed to re- 
 cognize the skilful touch of a practitioner, mechanically 
 put out his tongue. The woman turned to me and said 
 in a low voice, " I can do nothing for this gentleman^ 
 he is very ill, and requires a greater physician than I am." 
 
 " Do your best," exclaimed I. 
 
 " Ah, Sir, I have little skill in medicine. I am but a 
 poor weak woman ; a very humble instrument in the 
 hands of Providence. I can do nothing here. This man 
 needs medicine." 
 
 " If you mean to say, that you do your work by a 
 spell, I insist upon your trying it." 
 
 " Very willingly," said the woman meekly, and then 
 raising her voice, she exclaimed, " let no one speak." 
 
 She next turned to her patient, and said, " Sick man! 
 do you believe that I can raise you from this bed of 
 pain ?" 
 
 The doctor, who, even in the hour of extremity, 
 seemed to retain his relish for hocus pocus nodded his 
 head, while I felt an unaccountable awe creeping over 
 me. 
 
 " Then look upon my face," continued she in a so- 
 lemn tone, throwing back her veil, and displaying in her 
 H9
 
 90 THE SEVENTH 
 
 right hand the identical tablet of Doctor Geode, " and 
 look upon this tablet of health, and these mysterious 
 figures, and charmed words, drawn upon it by the hand 
 of the seventh son of a celebrated Indian doctor look 
 on them, and believe, and be restored." 
 
 This was more than the doctor could stand. No soon- 
 er did he behold the workmanship of his own hands, and 
 the pupil of his tuition, and witness the whole acting of 
 that curious scene, of which he had been the inventor, 
 than he burst into an immoderate convulsion of laugh- 
 ter. The woman gazed in amazement, for in the altered 
 features of her patient she did not recognize her mas- 
 ter. I ran to him in alarm ; but he continued to laugh, 
 rolling from side to side, throwing up his long arms, and 
 screaming as if distracted. 
 
 As soon as he was composed enough to speak, he ex- 
 claimed, " Give her a fifty dollar note, Charles ! Go, go, 
 good woman, you have done your duty well go now, 
 but do not leave the house !" 
 
 " Can it be possible,'' continued he, as the wondering 
 woman closed the door after her, " can it be that there 
 are two Rjchmonds in the field ? No, it is my own veri- 
 table spell, and my very deputy herself!" And then he 
 laughed again, until the whole house re-echoed the so- 
 norous peal. The big drops rolled from his forehead. 
 " See there !" he exclaimed, " behold the work of the 
 faith doctor j here we have been labouring these two days 
 to break this obstinate fever, and to produce a perspira-
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 91 
 
 tion, and lo ! the cunning woman has wrought the de- 
 sired change in a moment !" And it was exactly so ; 
 the violent muscular action, and the sudden revolution 
 in the patient's train of thought, had produced instanta- 
 neous relief. A profuse perspiration, succeeded by a 
 gentle slumber, relieved the most violent symptoms. 
 When he awoke he asked for the doctress. " I knew I 
 was safe," said he, " as soon as I saw her face. She 
 has a lancet and a box of calomel pills^in her pocket. 
 No man need die of a bilious fever when'these are near. 
 I lost mine on the road. Send her in." It is only ne- 
 cessary to add, that after a few day's careful attention 
 from the old lady, who was really an admirable nurse, 
 he was able to resume his journey. 
 
 In consequence of this detention, we arrived at the 
 place of our destination too late to be of any service to 
 the daughter of Doctor Geode's former friend, in her 
 lawsuit. The cause had been tried, and decided against 
 her. My worthy fellow traveller bore this disappoint- 
 ment with less patience than was usual with him. He 
 took it to heart, and brooded over it. Every day he 
 went to see the young lady, to console her, and to try to 
 devise some means to reassert her rights. 
 
 After a few visits, the doctor began to talk, in a very 
 dignified strain, of the moral excellence and mental ac- 
 quirements of his young friend; at the close of one week 
 he, pronounced her a natural curiosity, and before the 
 end of the second, he assured me solemnly, that she wag
 
 92 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 a phenomenon. He had discovered a new scientific 
 truth, namely, that in five years, a slim girl of fourteen 
 may be metamorphosed into a full grown lovely woman. 
 
 "Why, Charles," said he, " there is nothing in all the 
 arcana of nature to be compared with it ; the bursting 
 of the gorgeous butterfly from its chrysalis, the expansion 
 of a beautiful flower, nor any of the most wonderful 
 changes in the material world, can not equal it." 
 
 " What's the matter now, doctor?" 
 
 "Matter enough, sir; matter for curious thought. 
 Here is this little girl, who, when I saw her last, was 
 dressed in cotton homespun, wore a sun-bonnet, and 
 ran on errands for her father a little slight thing, as 
 pale as a lily, and as timid as a fawn. She sat in the 
 corner knitting, while her father and I conversed, and 
 never raised her eyes, or uttered more than one syllable 
 at a time. I used to carry young birds, flowers, and 
 pictures to her, as I would to any other child. Now 
 she is a woman, as beautiful as Hebe, as hospitable as 
 was her own warm-hearted father, and as rational as an 
 M.D. She is a remarkable specimen " 
 
 " If she is a specimen," interrupted I, " I can easily 
 guess her fate. She will hardly escape so industrious 
 a collector as yourself. Take her home, doctor, and 
 place her in your cabinet ; she would be worth a thou- 
 sand dried flies, or pickled snakes." The doctor put 
 on his hat, and walked off. I saw that it was all over 
 with him.
 
 THE SEVENTH SON. 93 
 
 At the end of the third week of our stay, I began to 
 grow impatient ; but my friend's " phenomenon" still 
 engaged all his thoughts; and where is the ardent lover 
 of science who would have been willing to relinquish so 
 interesting a subject of investigation ? He was anato- 
 mising the young lady's affections with as much patience 
 of research, as he would have bestowed on the complete 
 skeleton of a mastodon. I popped in upon them one 
 day, unexpectedly, as they stood conversing at a win- 
 dow; and before I was observed, or had time to retire, I 
 heard her say in a tremulous tone, 
 
 "Indeed, Doctor Geode, I hardly know what to say 
 it is so sudden so so very unexpected so " 
 
 " I will tell you what to say ; say Yes." 
 
 The young lady covered her face, and uttered neither 
 yes nor no. 
 
 " I see through your case," continued the determined 
 doctor,," all that it requires is faith. As I used to ask 
 my patients here, I now ask you, have you faith in me ?" 
 
 " It requires no exertion of credulity to believe that 
 Doctor Geode is all that is noble and excellent," and 
 then she placed her hand in his. The lover took it 
 respectfully, and evidently at a loss what he ought to do 
 next, mechanically laid his finger upon her pulse, as if 
 he expected to find thoughts of love, and vows of truth, 
 throbbing in the arterial system. 
 
 I suppose I laughed, for they both turned towards me. 
 
 "Ah, Charles! what, eaves-dropping? well, no mat- 
 ter let me introduce you to Mrs. Jeremy Geode that
 
 94 THE SEVENTH SON. 
 
 is to be. We shall be married to-morrow, and the next 
 day bid adieu to the frontier." 
 
 The wedding took place accordingly ; and I need 
 scarcely inform the intelligent leader, that my friend is 
 now one of the best and happiest of husbands, and is 
 enjoying, in the meridian of life, the rich harvest of 
 prosperity and honour, which crowns a youth of virtue, 
 industry, and self-denial.
 
 THE MISSIONARIES, 
 
 ON a fine morning in May 18; , two of those large 
 boats in which families emigrating to the west descend 
 our rivers, were seen slowly floating down the Ohio. 
 Built of rough heavy timber, and intended to move only 
 with the current, those unwieldy vessels lay silent and 
 motionless on the wave, that bore them gently towards 
 their destination. At a small village or rather at a 
 spot intended to be occupied as such the boats were 
 brought to the shore and moored, and the passengers 
 began to mingle with the people, whom curiosity had 
 drawn to the landing place. It was a missionary family, 
 proceeding to its station among the Osage Indians, that 
 halted thus in the wilderness, to receive a foretaste of 
 the scen.es that awaited them in the distant forest. 
 
 The place at which they had stopped was a level 
 plain, of rich alluvion, from which the timber had been 
 cleared for the space of a mile along the river, and 
 nearly that depth into the forest. A cluster of cabins, 
 recently built, of rough logs, to which the bark still 
 adhered, presented to the eyes of our travellers, a spe-
 
 96 THE MISSIONARIES. 
 
 cimen of human existence, more nearly approaching the 
 rudeness of savage life, than any thing they had yet 
 seen. There was nothing here to recall to memory 
 their own lovely homes the beautiful villages of New 
 England. There was no green spot, shaded with vene- 
 rable trees, hallowed to the repose of the dead no 
 church, pointing its spire to heaven, and offering a holy 
 refuge to the living. Here were no rural embellish- 
 ments, indicating taste, and neatness, and enjoyment 
 no domestic trees, no honey-suckle bowers, nor any of 
 those ornaments which beautify the village, and give to 
 the humblest cottage an air of elegance. Gardens, and 
 orchards, and meadows, there were none, nor any dwell- 
 ing that seemed to have been endeared to a human 
 being by the name of home. The ground, newly cleared, 
 was thickly set with stumps, and covered with a rank 
 growth of weeds. The frail and unsightly cabins, stand- 
 ing apart from each other, and destitute of out-houses 
 and enclosures, seemed to be, as they really were, the 
 temporary residence of an unsettled people. But cheer- 
 less as this spot appeared, to those who had been accus- 
 tomed to all the comforts, and many of the luxuries of 
 life, it was such as all new towns in the west had once 
 been ; such, perhaps, as the hamlets were on the shores 
 of the Atlantic, where the voices of the pilgrims first 
 ascended in prayer to Him who had brought them in 
 safety out of the land of persecution. 
 
 And yet the scene was not destitute of attraction.
 
 THE MISSIONARIES. 97 
 
 Art had done little to spoil, and nothing to embellish it, 
 but nature had been prodigal of her bounties. As the 
 travellers stood on the bank, they beheld the " beautiful 
 river" for miles above and below them, rolling gently 
 along, with a surface as smooth as polished crystal. 
 The shores were slightly curved, swelling out on the 
 one side, and receding upon the other, so as to ex- 
 hibit a series of long and graceful bends. The banks, 
 as far as the eye could reach, were low, and subject to 
 inundation by the spring floods ; but the vegetation 
 which formed their chief beauty, was rich beyond de- 
 scription. Springing from a deep alluvion soil, the for- 
 est trees reared their immense trunks to an amazing 
 height, while their interwoven branches and foliage, 
 formed an impenetrable shade. The hues of the forest 
 were as various as they were beautiful. Here was the 
 melancholy cypress, with a dark trunk and sombre leaf, 
 and the "tall sycamore with a stem of snowy whiteness, 
 and a foliage of light green. The poplar, the elm, the 
 maple, and the gum, with numerous other trees, ex- 
 hibited every variety of verdure between these ex- 
 tremes. The dog-wood and the red-bud, countless in 
 number, decked the whole scene with their rich blossoms, 
 the former of pure white, and the varieties of the latter 
 glowing with all the shades between a pink and a deep 
 scarlet. Then there was the locust, rich in fragrance 
 as in hue, the delicate catalpa, the yellow flower of the 
 tulip tree. The graceful cane covered the ground, the 
 willow fringed the stream, the vine crept to the tops of 
 I
 
 98 THE MISSIONARIES. 
 
 the tallest trees, and the mistletoe hung among the 
 branches. The luxuriant soil, while it loaded itself 
 with a gigantic vegetation, gave a depth and vividness 
 to the colouring of the landscape, that imparted a pecu- 
 liar strength and character to the scene. But if the 
 eye was charmed, there was a loveliness, a stillness, 
 and a silence, reigning throughout this scene, that 
 touched the heart. The very beauties that delighted, 
 and the quietness that soothed, testified that man was a 
 stranger here, and told the traveller that he was alone 
 with his God. 
 
 Such were the feelings of the missionaries as they 
 gazed on this gentle stream, and its wild shore. They 
 had left their homes and their friends, their pious com- 
 panions, their cherished relatives, and the scenes of 
 their childhood, and were going beyond the confines of 
 civil society, to dwell with the savage in his own wild 
 woods. As they travelled to the west, they had seen 
 the traces of civilization becoming every day more faint 
 every day they had found the villages ruder and 
 more distant from each other until at last they had 
 reached the abodes of the hunter, where the rifle and 
 the axe furnished the means of subsistence and of de- 
 fence. An immense tract of wilderness was yet to be 
 traversed, before they could reach the scene of their 
 future labours, and they felt sad to think how seldom 
 the smile of a countryman, or the voice of a brother, 
 would cheer them on their way. Their spirits sunk, 
 as they looked at the boundless extent of forest :
 
 THE MISSIONARIES. 99 
 
 gorgeous as it was to the eye, it was still but a blooming 
 desert, containing nothing to warm the heart, or cherish 
 the affections. Every object around them was strange, 
 and they felt like exiles wandering far from the land of 
 their birth. 
 
 These were trials, however, that had been anticipa- 
 ted ; and it was easy to see in the mournful counte- 
 nances of these humble Christians, as they wandered 
 along the shore, that a heavier visitation was pending 
 over them, than those which were necessarily incident 
 to their situation. One of their companions, a be- 
 loved sister, was abot to breathe her last sigh. The 
 messenger of death had arrested her in the wilderness ; 
 giving a solemn warning to those who journeyed with 
 her, that although they had forsaken the haunts of men, 
 they had not escaped the casualties of human exist- 
 ence. Even here, where nature bloomed so fresh, 
 where every surroundicg object teemed with youth, and 
 vigour, and .fragrance, the messenger of fate would 
 reach its victim. Bound on a mission of love, and 
 bearing the tidings of life to thousands, they also bore 
 with them the evidence of their own mortality. Death 
 was silently pursuing their footsteps, watching his own 
 appointed time to claim the tribute which all must pay 
 to the insatiate king of terrors. 
 
 The situation of the dying missionary was soon known 
 to the villagers, and a few of them went to offer, in 
 their homely way, the offices of hospitality ; but they 
 came too late; the sufferer was too feeble to be removed,
 
 100 THE MISSIONARIES. 
 
 and the mourning strangers said that they needed no- 
 thing from human kindness but a grave for their com- 
 panion. The visitors were deeply affected. The 
 death-bed exhibits at all times a solemn and touching 
 scene, and though of daily occurrence, its frequency 
 does not destroy its fearful interest. There are few who 
 reason coldly in the chamber of dissolution ; and the 
 imagination is easily excited by any incidental circum- 
 stance which brings an additional pang to the parting of 
 the living and the dying. The present scene was one 
 of no ordinary interest. The sufferer was a young and 
 delicate female. A husband watched over her pallet, 
 and two lovely children, unconscious of the loss they 
 were about to sustain, were with difficulty withheld from 
 her embrace. The severing of hearts wedded in love 
 the parting of a mother from her infant children are 
 events which the most callous cannot view without 
 emotion ; but on ordinary occasions there is a melan- 
 choly pleasure in the reflection, that the survivors witl 
 often visit the grave of the deceased, to drop the un- 
 seen tears of affection. Even this mournful consola- 
 tion was now wanting ; and those who sorrowed, felt 
 that when the soul of their friend should have departed, 
 they must abandon her earthly remains, retaining no 
 relic of her whom they had dearly loved. Her tomb 
 would be on the wild shore, where no kindred ashes 
 slept, and where they who dwelt near the spot, could 
 only point it out as a stranger's grave. 
 
 The solemn moment had arrived when none affected
 
 THE MISSIONARIES. 101 
 
 to doubt the truth which was too evident, or sought to 
 detain the spirit in its earthly abode. That spirit had 
 begun to assume its celestial character, and was al- 
 ready invested in the eyes of the beholders, with the 
 attributes of a brighter existence. An angel seemed to 
 be lingering among men, as if unwilling to sever too 
 rudely the cords of affection, with which she had been 
 united to human beings. She spoke little ; but her 
 words showed that her thoughts partook of the change 
 she was about to undergo. Her affections alternately 
 lingered on the earth, and soared towards a better 
 existence. The bosom of the saint swelled with a holy 
 joy but the heart of the wife and mother clung to the 
 dearly cherished objects of its purest and strongest 
 earthly passion. 
 
 The mission family embraced a number of persons 
 of both sexes,* and it was gratifying to see in their de- 
 portment, how efficient is religion in the hour of sorrow. 
 Though deeply afflicted, there was a decent composure, 
 a quiet humility, and an entire resignation in all their 
 words and actions. They spoke not of death as tUe 
 loathsome companion of disease, or the precursor of cor- 
 ruption, but as the natural consummation of all earthly 
 being. They sorrowed not for her who was going to a 
 better world, but for those who remained. Their voices 
 were firm and cheerful and even the timid soul that 
 was fluttering in the hope and fear, and joy and sorrow, 
 of the dying moment, acquired calmness from the se- 
 renity of others.
 
 102 THE MISSIONARIES. 
 
 Such was the day. Evening came, and the sufferer 
 still lived. Prayer and hymn were heard at intervals 
 throughout the night, but all else was silent ; and at a 
 late hour, they who cast a look at the shore, beheld a 
 dim light still emanating from the chamber of death, and 
 appearing as a bright speck in the surrounding gloom 
 like the lingering soul, whose feeble radiance Btill 
 gleamed in the dark " valley of the shadow of death." 
 
 The following day was the Sabbath. At the dawn, 
 the villagers hastened to the boats. The missionaries 
 were already engaged at their morning devotions. The 
 voice of prayer was heard ascending through the still- 
 ness of that quiet hour. The accents were low and 
 trembling, but distinctly audible. The speaker alluded 
 to her whose spirit had gone to the mansions of the 
 blessed, and prayed for the bereaved husband and the 
 orphan children ; and the villagers then knew that she 
 in whose fate they had felt so deeply interested, suffered 
 no longer. After a moment's pause, the notes of sacred 
 song were heard floating over the tide so sweet, so 
 mournful, that every heart was touched, and every eye 
 moistened. 
 
 At sunset the same day, the remains of the stranger 
 were born to the place of burial by her late companions, 
 followed by the inhabitants of the village. A large Indi- 
 an mound in the rear of the town had been selected, as 
 the only spot not subject to inundation. The grave 
 was opened on the summit of its eminence, and here 
 was the body of a Christian female deposited among the
 
 THE MISSIONARIES. 103 
 
 relics of heathen warriors. The inhabitants, and the mis- 
 sion family, stood around with their heads reverently un- 
 covered while one of the missionaries addressed them 
 then some one raised a hymn, and the whole company 
 joined, chanting with solemn fervour, as if a flood of 
 devotional feeling had burst spontaneously from every 
 bosom at the same instant and when they all knelt 
 upon the mound, it was not from any signal or invita- 
 tion given by man, but God touched their hearts, and 
 as the song of praise ceased, they all involuntarily pros- 
 trated themselves before His throne. 
 
 When the people rose, and the officiating minister 
 had dismissed them with the usual benediction, the 
 widowed husband stepped forward, leading one of his 
 children in each hand. For a moment he stood by the 
 newly filled grave, gazing on it with an agony which 
 he strove in vain to subdue. In a broken voice he 
 thanked the people of the village for their kindness, 
 and committed the remains of his wife to their protec- 
 tion. He begged them to mark and remember the 
 place of interment, in order that " if hereafter a stranger 
 in passing through their village should ask them for the 
 grave of Maria , they could lead him to the spot."
 
 THE INDIAN WIFE'S LAMENT. 
 
 THE Indian tribes who reside near the falls of Saint 
 Anthony, have a tradition of one of their females, who 
 drowned herself in a fit of jealousy. Her husband, to 
 whom she was^ tenderly attached, had, after their 
 fashion, which permits a plurality of wives, introduced a 
 second female into his wigwam, which so mortified the 
 heroic woman, who had prided herself in being the sole 
 possessor of his affections, that she calmly placed her- 
 self and her children in a canoe, and floated over the 
 cataract, singing her death song. 
 
 She launched her frail bark on the swift rolling stream, 
 And sang her death song with a maniac scream, 
 That pierced the lone cave of that desolate shore, 
 And rose o'er the din of the cataract's roar. 
 
 The bald eagle sprang from his perch at the sound, 
 And, poised high in air, circled watchfully round ; 
 The panther crouched low in his brush-covered bed, 
 The timid deer rushed from her thicket' and fled,
 
 106 THE INDIAN WIFE'S LAMENT. 
 
 She saw not the eagle, she marked not the deer, 
 The echo that scared them was mute to her ear, 
 So wild was her sorrow, so wretched her doom, 
 She seemed a lone spirit escaped from the tomb. 
 
 Her babes clung around her with timorous cry, 
 Alarmed by the glance of her fierce rolling eye, 
 And still o'er those dear ones impassioned she hung, 
 And madly she kissed them, as wildly she sung : 
 
 " Oh, children forsaken ! wife, mother forlorn i 
 The heart that should cherish has spurned ye hi scorn ; 
 Expelled from his bosom, and banished his door, 
 The father, the husband, shall clasp us no more. 
 
 14 How blest were the days of my youth, when in pride 
 I climbed yonder mountain, or bathed hi this tide ; 
 When I chased the young fawn to its woodland retreat, 
 And snatched a rich plume from the gay paroquet. 
 
 " But happier far when I roamed through the shade, 
 Companion of him whom with pride I obeyed ; 
 His quiver I carried, his game I secured, 
 I shared all his triumphs, his toils I endured. 
 
 " He was strong as the oak, he was straight as the reed, 
 No warrior could match him in courage or speed, 
 So true was his arrow, so sharp was his spear, 
 The Otto and Pawnee-Loupe met him in fear. 
 
 " How faithful, how fond, how enduring my love, 
 These tears and the pangs of a broken heart prove ;
 
 THE INDIAN WIFE'S LAMENT. 107 
 
 Do I dream ? no, these pledges too dearly proclaim, 
 How happy I was, and how wretched I am. 
 
 * 
 ""Had he died, I had mourned him with many a tear, 
 
 His son should have wielded his bow and his spear, 
 His daughter in songs should have honoured his name, 
 Every vale, every mountain, had rung with his fame. 
 
 " Ah subtle destroyer ! he charmed as the snake, 
 Who basks on the mountain or lurks in the brake : 
 He stung like the reptile ? the poison is sure, 
 No herb can relieve me, no sorcery cure. 
 
 " False traitor ! who won and caressed to destroy, 
 
 Oh could I but hate thee, I still could know joy, 
 
 But spurned and- degraded, this heart is so frail, 
 
 Love remains where deep hate and revenge should prevail. 
 
 M One spirit we worship, one chief we obey, 
 One bright sun gives lustre and warmth to our day, 
 One mate has the eagle, the turtle one love, 
 I am proud as the eagle, and true as the dove. 
 
 4r Oh think not to tread in your pride o'er my grave ! 
 I will sleep with my babes buried deep in the wave, 
 Where thou canst not follow unworthy to be 
 A husband, a father, to them or to me. 
 
 " If stung with remorse, thou shalt seek for my tomb, 
 To mock at my weakness, or mourn o'er my doom, 
 Thy voice shall be drowned in the cataract's roar, 
 And my spirit be vexed with thy false vows no more !"
 
 108 THE INDIAN WIFE'S LAMENT. 
 
 As she sung, the sad strain came prolonged o'er the eliff- 
 Every cave, as in sympathy, echoed her grief, 
 So deep each response, as it murmured along, 
 No mortal e'er heard so terrific a song. 
 
 And onward the bark swiftly glides o'er the spray, 
 No hand gave the motion, or guided the way, 
 But headlong through breakers it swept as the Wind, 
 No pathway before it, no trace left behind. 
 
 A moment it paused on the cataract's brow, 
 Then sunk into fathomless caverns below, 
 And the bark, and the song, and the singer no more, 
 Were seen on the wild wave, or heard on the shore '.
 
 A LEGEND OF CAROffDELET; 
 
 OR, FIFTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 THERE is no knowledge so valuable, as a knowledge 
 of the world. Thousands have grown gray in the acqui- 
 sition of learning, without ever getting the slightest in- 
 sight into the human character, while many seem to be 
 born with an ititrirfsic perception of the workings of the 
 human heart. There is a something called common 
 sense, which books do not teach, but which, neverthe- 
 less, is worth more than all the lore of antiquity. A man 
 may starve with his head full of Latin and Greek, while 
 a single grain of common sense operates like the pre- 
 sence of the prophet of old upon the widow's cruise. 
 The fortunate individual who is born with this desirable 
 quality, bears a charmed existence, and glides along in 
 the voyage of life with aneas that surprises his compa- 
 nions. There is a thriftiness about such persons which is 
 almost miraculous; like those hardy plants that spring up 
 in the crevices of the rock, they flourish in the midst of 
 barrenness, when every thing perishes around them. 
 To this class belonged Timothy Eleazer Tompkinson,
 
 110 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 
 
 the hopeful heir of a worthy mariner, whose domicil was 
 situated in a small sea-port of New England ; but who 
 being alri;ost constantly abroad, was obliged to leave his 
 only son to tfye care of a maiden aunt, and to the teach- 
 ing of a public school. This amiable youth exhibited, 
 even in childhood, some of the touches of the disposi- 
 tion which adhered to him through life. Pie liked salt 
 water better than attic wit ; and loved to steer his little 
 boat in the most stormy weather, around the capes and 
 headlands of the neighbouring sea-coast, better than to 
 trace out the labyrinths of a problem, or to wander 
 among the shoals and quicksands of metaphysics. In 
 his tenderest years, he launched his bark upon the ocean 
 with the temerity of a veteran pilot ; and when the gay 
 breeze swept along, and the waves danced and sparkled 
 in the sun, his little sail might be seen skimming over 
 the surface like a sea-bird. Often as he strolled off in 
 the morning, might the shrill voice of his aunt, the wor- 
 thy Miss Fidelity Tompkinson,be heard hailing him with 
 " Where are you going, Timmy dear ?" " Don't go near 
 the water, dear ;" and as often would he toss his head, 
 and march on, smiling at the simplicity of his watchful 
 guardian, and marvelling at the timidity of women. In 
 vain did the village pedagogue remind him that time flies 
 swifter than a white squall, and that in the voyage of life 
 there is but one departure, which, if taken wrong, can 
 never be corrected. Tim would listen with a smile, and 
 th-^n placing his tarred hat on one side of his head, stroll 
 off whistling to the beach.
 
 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. Ill 
 
 At sixteen it was concluded that the years and gifts of 
 Timothy rendered him a suitable candidate' for college 
 honours, and his name was accordingly entered upon 
 the books of a celebrated institution. Here he was soon 
 distinguished ; not for Latin or logic, but for cleverness, 
 ingenuity and gymnastic feats. He never was a great 
 talker, but, on the contrary, expressed himself with a 
 laudable brevity, and with that idiomatic terseness of 
 language, which is common along shore, where a signi- 
 ficant sea-phrase answers all the purpose of a long ar- 
 gument ; and he reasoned plausibly enough, that one 
 who employed so few words, had little use for any other 
 tongue than his own, which afforded a copious medium 
 for the conveyance of his slender stock of ideas. In 
 the mathematical" sciences, he was better skilled. Few 
 could estimate with more accuracy, the number of super- 
 ficial yards, between his own chamber and a neighbour- 
 ing orchard ; or calculate, with more nicety, the differ- 
 ence of distance between these points upon a direct line, 
 or by the meanders of a number of obtuse angles. He 
 knew the exact height of every window in the college 
 edifice, and the precise force required to elevate a pro- 
 jectile from the college green to the roof of the tutor's 
 boarding-house. He knew precisely the angle at which 
 an object could be presented to the retina of a pro- 
 fessor's eye ; and was acquainted with the depth of 
 every intellect, and the measure of every purse in the 
 senior class. In short, however deficient in Athenian 
 polish, he had all the hardihood of a Spartan youth, and
 
 112 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 
 
 was especially gifted with that thrifty quality called com- 
 mon sense. He was a lucky boy, too. Though fore- 
 most in every act of mischief, he was always the last to 
 be found out, or punished ; and though he never studied, 
 he always managed to glide unnoticed through the col- 
 lege examinations, or to obtain praise for productions 
 which were strongly suspected to be not his own. In 
 difficulty or danger, he was sure to have a device to meet 
 the exigency, and was so often successful on such occa- 
 sions, that his companions compared him to the active 
 animal, which when thrown into the air, always lights 
 upon its feet. 
 
 It will be readily imagined, that our hero gained but 
 few scholastic attainments ; yet, he was, nevertheless, 
 a general favourite. He was blessed with the finest 
 temper in the world. His good nature was absolutely 
 invincible. Although the very prince of mischief, none 
 suspected him of malice. In the midst of a bitter reproof, 
 he would smile in the professor's face ; and the student 
 who treated him with insolence, was, perhaps, the first 
 to receive some kind act from his hand. If the faculty 
 frowned upon him, he had the faculty of turning the 
 storm into sunshine, and of averting punishment by a 
 well-timed jest, or compliment. Every body loved Tim, 
 and Tirn loved every body. He hated study ; but then 
 he liked college, because the students were jolly fellows, 
 and the professors took flattering kindly, and stood quiz- 
 zing with that patience which is the result of long endur- 
 ance.
 
 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 113 
 
 How long these halcyon days would have lasted, and 
 whether the name of Timothy Eleazer Tompkinson 
 would have been numbered among the alumni of the 
 college, is now beyond the reach of conjecture ; for just 
 as he had attained his twentieth year, the news came 
 that his father had discharged the debt of nature, leaving 
 all his other debts unpaid, his sister fortuneless, and his 
 son a beggar. Our hero paid the tribute of a tear to the 
 memory of his departed parent, and more than one drop 
 attested his sympathy for the desolate condition of his 
 kind aunt. But he soon brushed the moisture from 
 either eye, and as the good president condoled with him 
 in a tone of sincere affection, he acknowledged with a 
 smile, that his case might have been much more despe- 
 rate. 
 
 " The worst of it is," said the reverend principal, 
 " that you will not be able to take out a degree." 
 
 '* I shall be sorry to quit college," replied the youth, 
 " but as for the degree, that is neither here nor there." 
 
 The president shook his head, and took snuff, while 
 Tim cast a side-long glance out of the window, gazing 
 wistfully over the green landscape, which was now deck- 
 ed with the blossoms of spring, and longing to rove un- 
 controlled about that beautiful world, that seemed so re- 
 dolent of sunshine, and flowers, and balmy breezes. 
 
 *' It is a sad thing," said the president, " for a young 
 man to be cast upon the cold charity of the wide world." 
 
 " The wider the world is, the better," said Tim, "it
 
 114 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 
 
 is a fine thing to have sea-room ; and as to its coldness, 
 I don't regard that ; a light heart will keep a man warm 
 in the stiffest northeaster that ever blew." 
 
 The worthy president applied his handkerchief to his 
 nose, then wiped his spectacles, and wondered how mar- 
 vellously the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb. 
 
 " Thou hast a bold heart,'* said the president, " still I 
 cannot bear to see you cast forth without a profession." 
 " Oh, never mind that ; I'm all the better without it. 
 To a man without a farthing in his pocket, a profession 
 is only an incumbrance, which forces him to wear good 
 clothes, and talk like a book. I shall put out into the 
 world as light as a feather, and float along with the 
 breeze." 
 
 Arguments were thrown away upon the common sense 
 of our hero, who was already panting to exercise among 
 men, the same devices which had smoothed all the as- 
 perities of college life, which had won him the affection 
 of his f jliow-students, and gained even the kindness of 
 his superiors. 
 
 "There goes," said the president, as he gazed after 
 him, " the shrewdest boy, and the greatest dunce that 
 ever left college the most obstinate, yet the most con- 
 ciliatory spirit." 
 
 Obstinate as he was, there was one point on which 
 he yielded. He abandoned a long cherished intention 
 of going to sea, upon the earnest solicitation of his aunt. 
 It was the only request, from his sole remaining relative.
 
 LEGEND OP CARONDELET. 115 
 
 She had nursed his infancy with unceasing kindness ; 
 she now leaned upon him for support, and her tears were 
 irresistible. But in abandoning the ocean, he stipulated 
 for free permission to roam at large over the wide ex- 
 panse of his native country, and in a few days after the 
 intelligence had arrived of his father's death, he was 
 seen leaving his native village, with an elastic step, with 
 a staff in his hand, and a small portmanteau under his 
 arm. 
 
 Here I must leave my hero for the present, and ask 
 the gentle reader to accompany me to the pleasant vil- 
 lage of Carondelet, or as it is more commonly called, 
 Vuide Poche, on the margin of the Mississippi. Al- 
 though now dwindled into an obscure and ruinous ham- 
 let remarkable o'nly for its outlandish huts and lean po- 
 nies, it was then the goodly seat of a prosperous com- 
 munity. It is situated on the western shore of the river, 
 in a beautiful little amphitheatre, which seems to have 
 been scooped out for the very purpose. The banks of 
 the Mississippi at this place are composed of a range of 
 hills, rising abruptly from the water's edge. The town 
 occupies a sort of cove, formed by a small plat of table 
 land, surrounded on three sides by hills. The houses 
 occupy the whole of this little area, including the hill 
 sides ; and are models of primitive rudeness, careless- 
 ness, and comfort. They were sometimes of stone ; 
 but usually of framed timber, with mud walls ; and all 
 the rooms being arranged on the ground floor, their cir-
 
 116 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 
 
 cumference was often oddly disproportioned to their 
 height. In a few of the be'ter sort, spacious piazzas, 
 formed by the projection of the roof, surrounded the 
 buildings, giving to them both coolness and a remarkable 
 air of comfort. The enormous steep roofs were often 
 quadrangular, so as to form a point in the middle, sur- 
 mounted by a ball, a weathercock, or a cross. Gar- 
 dens, stocked with fruit trees and flowering shrubs, en- 
 compassed the dwellings, enclosed with rough stone 
 walls, or stockades made by driving large stakes in the 
 ground. The dwelling stood apart, having each its own 
 little domain about it ; and when it is added, that the 
 streets were narrow and irregular, it will be observed 
 thnt the whole scene was odd and picturesque. 
 
 The inhabitants presented, as I suppose, a fair speci- 
 men of the French peasantry, as they existed in France, 
 previous to the first revolution. They had all the levity, 
 the kindness, and the contentment which are so well 
 described by Sterne, with a simplicity which was per- 
 fectly childlike. Though subject, at the date of our 
 tale, to a foreign king, they were as good republicans as 
 if they had been trained up in one of our own colonies. 
 They knew the restraints and distinctions of a monar- 
 chy only by report, practising the most rigid equality 
 among themselves, and never troubling their heads to 
 inquire how things were ordered elsewhere. The French 
 commandants and priests, who ruled in their numerous 
 colonies, had always the knack of giving a parental cha-
 
 LEGEND OP CARONDELET. 117 
 
 racter to their sway, and governed with so much mild- 
 ness, that the people never thought of questioning either 
 the source or extent of their authority ; while the Eng- 
 lish invariably alienate the affections of their colonists 
 by oppression. The inhabitants of Vuide Poche wero 
 all plebeians ; a few, who traded with the Indians, had 
 amassed some little property ; the remainder were hun- 
 ters and boatmen men who traversed the great prairies 
 of the west, and traced the largest rivers to their sources, 
 fiddling and laughing all the way, lodging and smoking 
 in the Indian wigwams, and never dreaming of fatigue 
 or danger. 
 
 To return to our story. It was a sultry afternoon in 
 June. Not a breath of air was stirring the intense 
 glare of the sun had driven every animal to some shel- 
 ter the parched soil glowed with heat, and even the 
 plants drooped. There was, however, a pleasant cool- 
 ness, and an inviting serenity among the dwellings of 
 the French. The trees that stood thick around them, 
 threw a dense shade, which contrasted delightfully with 
 the glaring fierceness of the sun beams. The broad 
 leaf of the calalpa, and the rich green of the locust, 
 afforded relief to the eye ; bovvers of sweet briar and 
 honey-suckle, mingled with luxuriant clumps of the 
 white and red rose, gave fragrance to the air, and a ro- 
 mantic beauty to the scene. 
 
 In the cool veranda of one of the largest of those 
 dwellings, sat a round-faced laughing Frenchman. Near
 
 118 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 
 
 him sat madame, his wife, a dark-eyed, wrinkled, 
 sprightly old lady ; and at her side was a beautiful girl 
 of seventeen, their only daughter. The worthy couple 
 had that mahogany tinge of complexion which belongs 
 to this region; as to the young lady, politeness compels 
 me to describe her hue as a brunette and a beautifu4 
 brunette it was fading into snow-white upon her neck, 
 and deepening into a rich damask on her round smooth 
 cheek. The ladies were sewing ; and the gentleman 
 was puffing his pipe with the composure of a man who 
 feels conscious that he has a right to smoke his own 
 tobacco in his own house, and with the deliberation of 
 one who is master of his own time. 
 
 While thus engaged, their attention was attracted by 
 the appaiition of a rnan leading a jaded horse along the 
 street. The stranger was young and slender; his dress 
 had once been genteel, but was much worn, and showed 
 signs of recent exposure to the weather. The traveller 
 himself was tanned and weather-beaten, his hair tangled, 
 and his chin unshaved ; while the sorry nag, which he 
 led by the bridle, had just life enough left in him to limp 
 upon three legs. Worn down with fatigue, and covered 
 with sweat and dust, the new comer halted in the street, 
 as if unable to proceed, and looked around in search of 
 a public house. Of a boy, who passed along, he in- 
 quired for a tavern ; but the lad, unable to understand 
 him, shook his head. He put the same question to 
 several others, with no better success ; until Monsieur
 
 LEGEND OP CARONDELET. 110 
 
 Dunois, the gentleman whom we have described above, 
 eeeing his embarrassment, stepped forward and invited 
 him into his porch. 
 
 The stranger was no other than o^r friend Timothy 
 Eleazer Tompkinson, who, in the course of a few 
 months, had made his way from New England to 
 Louisiana. It is unnecessary to recount the various 
 expedients by which he maintained himself upon his 
 journey. He was a lawyer, a doctor, or a mechanic, 
 as occasion required. At one place, he pleadd a cause 
 before a magistrate ; at another, he drew a tooth ; for 
 one man he mended a lock ; for another he set a time- 
 piece ; and by these and similar devices, he not only 
 supported himself, but procured the means to purchase 
 a horse, saddle, and bridle. Arrived at the frontier of 
 Kentucky, his restless spirit still urged him forward, and 
 he determined to strike across the wilderness to the 
 French settlements, on the Mississippi. The distance 
 was nearly three hundred miles, and the whole region 
 through which he had to travel was uninhabited, except 
 by Indians. Unaccustomed to the forest, he must have 
 perished, had he not encountered a solitary hunter, 
 who, pleased with his free and bold spirit, voluntarily 
 conducted him throughout a considerable part of the 
 route, taught him how to avoid the haunts of the savages, 
 and instructed him in some of the arts of forest life. 
 For the last two days he had wandered without food ; 
 and both himself and his horse were nearly exhausted
 
 120 LEGEND OP CARONDELET. 
 
 when he reached the Mississippi, where some friendly 
 Indians, of the Kaskaskia tribe, had ferried him across 
 in their canoes. The arrival of a stranger at this seclud- 
 
 hamlet,by land was quite an event, and little else was 
 
 Iked of, this evening, at the tea-tables of Carondelet. 
 
 M. Dunois, who had traded and travelled, valued 
 himself highly on his knowledge of the English language, 
 which he had attempted to teach to his daughter ; and 
 he no sooner discovered that this was the vernacular 
 tongue of the stranger, than he opened a conversation 
 in that dialect. The cork was drawn from a bottle of 
 excellent claret, a pitcher of limpid water from the foun- 
 tain was brought, and our hero having moistened his 
 parched lips, and seated himself in the coolest veranda 
 of Vuide Poche, felt quite refreshed. The following 
 dialogue then ensued : 
 
 "Pray sir," said Timothy Eleazer, with his best col- 
 lege bow, " can you direct me to a tavern?" 
 
 " Tavern ! vat you call 1 eh ? Ok la ! d'auberge 
 no, Monsieur, dere is no tavern en Vuide Poche." 
 
 " That is awkward enough what shall I do? my horse 
 must be fed, and I am almost starved." 
 
 "Eh bien! you will have some ros bif, and somebody 
 for eat your cheval! n'est ce pas ?" 
 
 " I need food and lodging, and know not where to go." 
 
 " Fude! vat \sfude, Marie? Ah ha! aliment. Sacre ! 
 Monsieur is hongry; Loge! here is ver good place, chez 
 moi. You shall stay vid me. Ver good loge here, and 
 plenty for eat you, el votre cheval."
 
 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 121 
 
 Timothy " hoped he didn't intrude ;" but a man who 
 has been lost in the woods, is not very apt to stand on 
 ceremony; and as he glanced at the symptoms of 
 plenty which surrounded him, at the good humoured 
 hostess, and at the fair Marie, a spectator would have 
 judged, that his fears of intrusion were overbalanced 
 by feelings of self gratulation, at having fallen into the 
 hands of such good Samaritans. He soon found that 
 the hospitality of this worthy family was of the most 
 substantial kind. In a moment his tired nag was led to 
 the stable, and our hero, so lately a wanderer, found 
 himself an honoured and cherished guest. 
 
 The air of Vuide Poche agreed well with him. The 
 free and social habits of the French were exactly to his 
 taste. Although their pockets, as the name of their 
 town implies, were not lined with gold, there was plenty 
 in their dwellings, and cheerfulness in their hearts. 
 
 He was delighted with the harmony and the apparent 
 unity, both of feeling and interest, which bound this 
 little community together. They were like a single 
 family ; their hearts beat in unison, "as the heart of 
 one man.*' There was but one circle. Though some 
 were poorer than others, they all mingled in the same 
 dance ; and as none claimed superiority, or attempted 
 to put others to shame, by affecting a show of wealth, 
 there was little envy or malice. All were equally illite- 
 rate, with the exception of Mons. Dunois and the priest, 
 who had travelled, and who spoke, the one Latin, and
 
 122 LEGEND OP CARONDELET. 
 
 the other, as we have seen, English. But so far from 
 assuming any airs on account of these attainments, they 
 were the plainest and most sociable men in the village, 
 and were reverenced as much for their benevolence as 
 for their superior knowledge. 
 
 All this chimed so well with the feelings of Mr. 
 Timothy Eleazer Tompkinson, that he resolved forth- 
 with, to engraft himself upon this vigorous and cheerful 
 stock. The next thing was to choose a profession ; 
 but he had too much common sense to suffer so small a 
 matter as this to cause him any embarrassment. I am 
 not aware of the precise motive, which determined him 
 to embrace the practice of physic. It might have been 
 benevolence, or a conviction of special vocation for the 
 healing art ; but I rather attribute it to a motive which 
 I suspect too often allures our youth to become the dis- 
 ciples of JSsculapius, namely, the occult nature of the 
 science, which enables an adroit practitioner to cover 
 his ignorance so completely as to defy detection. 
 Timothy had discovered that when he practised law, 
 any spectator could expose the fallacy of his arguments; 
 when he mended clocks, they often refused to go ; but 
 the case was different with his patients ; if, in spite of 
 his drugs, they refused to go, it was well for them, and 
 for him ; and if they did go, nobody knew whom to 
 blame. To say the truth, he never presumed to " ex- 
 hibit" any drug more active than charcoal, brickdust, 
 or flour ; and his success had heretofore been quite 
 marvellous.
 
 LEGEND OP CARONDELET. 125 
 
 He therefore took the earliest opportunity of dis- 
 closing to his host, that he was a physician, and was 
 disposed to exercise his calling for the benefit of the 
 good people of Carondelet. 
 
 " Eh bien!" exclaimed M. Dunois, " unmedecin! ver 
 good ; ver mosh fine ting for Vuide Poche ; vat can you 
 cure ?" 
 
 " Oh, I am not particular ; I can cure one thing al- 
 most as well as another.*' 
 
 "You can cure every ting, eh? defevre, de break- 
 bone, de catch-cold dat is fine ting, you shall stay chez 
 Vuide Poche." 
 
 So the question was settled. 
 
 Had there been a newspaper in Carondelet, the name 
 of Doctor Timothy Eleazer Tompkinson " from the 
 United States," would, doubtless, have figured in its 
 columns. But as there was 'no such thing, our hero 
 resorted to other means of acquiring notoriety. In the 
 first place, having procured a suitable cabin, the whole 
 village was searched for phials, and gallipots, and little 
 boxes, and big bottles, which being filled with liquids 
 and unguents, of various hues, were " wisely set for 
 show," at the window. But the greatest affair of all, 
 was acertan machine, for the invention of which, Doctor 
 Tompkinson ought to have had a patent. This was no 
 other than a wheel, turning on an axis, and surrounded 
 by an immovable rim, within which it revolved. Upon 
 the wheel, Timothy wrote the name of every disease 
 which he could recollect, as well as every dreadful acci-
 
 124 LEGEND OP CA110NDELET. 
 
 dent to which flesh is heir ; and on the rim he inscribed 
 the cures. When the remedy for any disorder was re- 
 quiied, the wheel was set in motion, and on its stopping, 
 the cure was found opposite the disease. The honest 
 villagers crowded to see the " magic wheel," and vied 
 in their courtesies to its fortunate possessor, who was 
 rising fast into celebrity, when his prospects were 
 clouded by an untoward event. 
 
 In the midst of the village stood the chapel a low 
 oblong building, whose gable end was presented to the 
 street, and behind which was a cemetery, where all the 
 graves were marked by great wooden crosses, instead 
 of tombstones. Here the good catholics repaired every 
 morning and evening to perform their devotions, and 
 confess their peccadilloes to the priest. Hither one 
 morning, at an earlier hour than usual, was seen re- 
 pairing, the fair Marie' Dunois, with a step as light as 
 the zephyr, and a face radiant as the dawn. Kneeling 
 beside the worthy old man, who placed his withered 
 hand upon her raven locks, she began in a low, earnest 
 tone, to unburthen her mind. Suddenly the ecclesiastic 
 started from his seat, exclaiming. 
 
 " Ah the insolent! how did he dare to make such an 
 avowal 1" 
 
 " He meant no harm, I assure you, father," replied 
 Marie. 
 
 " How do you know that V 
 
 " He told me so, with his own mouth. He said that
 
 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 125 
 
 he valued my happiness more than his own ; and that 
 he would rather swallow all the physic in his shop, than 
 offend me." 
 
 " Very pretty talk, truly ! Do you not know that he is 
 a heretic, and that no reliance can be placed in him?" 
 
 "Very true, father Augustin, but then he is so 
 agreeable." 
 
 " Besides, he is a Yankee ; and does not understand 
 your language." 
 
 " Oh, I understand him very well ; ' and he says he 
 will teach me to speak English. Don't you think him 
 very handsome, father Augustin ?" 
 
 " I am afraid, my child, that this adventurer has im- 
 posed too much upon your youth and innocence." 
 
 " No, indeed, father Augustin, I am old enough to 
 know when a gentleman is sincere, and all that. Don't 
 you think Doctor Tompkinson plays beautifully on the 
 flute? and on the violin, he plays almost as well as you, 
 father." 
 
 " Pshaw ! go, go, I shall inform your parents. 5 ' 
 
 " Oh dear, I have no objections to that ; they will feel 
 highly honoured by Doctor Tompkinson's partiality for 
 me." 
 
 Nevertheless, the pretty Marie blushed, and cast 
 down her eyes, .when she met her father at breakfast 
 that morning, and no sooner was that meal despatched, 
 than she hastened to her own room. Presently came 
 father Augustin, and after an hour's conference, Mon- 
 1,2
 
 126 LEGEND OP CARONDELET. 
 
 sieur Dunois, evidently much agitated, sallied forth in 
 search of our hero. 
 
 " Vel sair!" he exclaimed as they met, " I ave found 
 you out ! I ave catch de Yankee /" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " How ! you ave court my daughter ; dal is how ! sa- 
 cre ! you ave make love avec ma Marie, dat is how 
 enough, Monsieur docteur.'' 
 
 " My dear sir, pray be composed, there is some 
 mistake.'* 
 
 " Dere is no mistake. I mil not be compose I will 
 not be impose, too ! diable ! Suppose some gentilhom- 
 me court ma Marie contrair to my vish, shall I sit down 
 compose ?" 
 
 " Really sir, I see no reason for this passion," re- 
 plied the cautious Timothy, who saw his advantage in 
 keeping cool. 
 
 " Sair, I ave rawow." exclaimed the enraged 
 Frenchman, " I ave too mosch raison. Vous etez 
 traitre ! you are de sly dem rogue ! You very pretty 
 docleur ! very ansome Yankee docteur ! can you no mix 
 de physique, and draw de blood, vidout make love avec 
 all de French gal ? 
 
 " I assure you, sir, the ladies have misconstrued 
 something that I have said merely in jest ." 
 
 " Jest ! vat is jest ? ah ha ! raillerie ; fon vat sair, 
 you court ma fille for fon ? very ansome fon! you make 
 love avec de French gal for fon, eh? Suppose 6am bye 
 you marry,-some of dem for fon! diable! Suppose, may
 
 LEGEND OF CARONDELET. 127 
 
 be, I break all your bone, for /on, md my canne, 'eh, 
 how you likehim?*' 
 
 " My dear sir, if you will tell me coolly, what you 
 complain of, I will endeavour to explain." 
 
 " Sair, I complain for many ting. I sorry for you make 
 love avec ma fille, vidout my leave dat is von ting; I 
 very mosch incense, for you court ma chile for /cm dat is 
 nodder ting ; den I ave raison to be fache for you fairs 
 la cour a two, tree lady all same tern." 
 
 The last of these accusations was unjust. Timothy 
 had not really intended to pay his devotions to more 
 than one lady. But the females all admired him, and 
 in their confidential conversations with the priest, who 
 was no great connoisseur in the affairs of the heart, 
 spoke of him in such high terms of approbation, as to 
 induce the holy man to believe that he was actually 
 playing the coquette. What Monsieur Dunois and the 
 priest believed, soon became the belief of the village ; 
 and the men all condemned, while the ladies sympa- 
 thized with, the ingenious stranger. The doctor, of 
 course, changed his lodging ; and ceased to have any 
 intercourse with Mademoiselle Dunois, except by means 
 of expressive glances, and significant pressures of the 
 hand, as they met in the dances, which occurred almost 
 every evening. 
 
 Things now looked gloomy; our friend Timothy lost 
 his practice; and a fortunate circumstance it was for him, 
 as well as for those who might otherwise have been his
 
 128 LEGEND OP C1RONDELET. 
 
 patients. He now had leisure to make hunting excur- 
 sions, and expeditions upon the water ; and his skill in 
 the management of a boat, as well as his courage and 
 address in every emergency, soon gained him friends. 
 His vivacity, his versatility and promptness, won daily 
 upon his comrades ; he became a daring hunter, a skil- 
 ful woodsman, and a favourite of all the young men of 
 the village. 
 
 Such was the posture of affairs, and Doctor Tompkin- 
 eon was sitting one evening in his lonely room, quite 
 out of patients, as a punster would say, when he was 
 called, in haste, to visit a young lady, who had met with 
 the misfortune of having a fish-bone stuck in her throat. 
 The priest had exercised all his skill the old ladies had 
 exhausted their receipts, without effect ; and, as a last 
 resort, it was determined to consult Doctor Tompkinson 
 and the magic wheel. Our hero, with great alacrity, 
 brushed the dust from the neglected machine, set it in 
 motion, and waited patiently until it stopped, when op- 
 posite to the word " choking" was found " bleeding.*' 
 The doctor, somewhat perplexed, repeated the experi- 
 ment ; but, the result being the same, resolved to obey 
 the oracle, and trust to fortune. Having prepared his 
 bandages, and lancet, he repaired to the sufferer, who, 
 opening her eyes and beholding the operator brandishing 
 a bright instrument, and naturally supposing that the 
 part affected would be the first point of attack, and that 
 her throat would be cut from ear to ear, uttered a terrific 
 scream, and out flew the bone! "St. Anthony! what
 
 LEGEND Off CARONDELET. 129 
 
 a miraculous cure !" exclaimed the priest ; " Ste Ge- 
 nevieve ! what a noble physician !" cried all the ladies : 
 and the whole village of Vuide Poche was alive with 
 wonder, and loud in praise of the consummate sagacity 
 of the young American. Never did a man rise so sud- 
 denly to the highest pinnacle of public favour never 
 did Doctor Tompkinson shake so many hard hands, or 
 receive so many bright smiles and courtesies, as on this 
 evening. The news soon flew to the tea-table of Mon- 
 sieur Dunois, who had already begun' to repent of his 
 harshness to our hero, and whose ardent feelings, easily 
 excited, now prompted him into the opposite extreme. 
 Seeing the object of his solicitude passing his door, 
 while the first gush of returning kindness was flowing 
 through his heart, he rushed out and caught him in his 
 arms. " Jlh mon ami!" exclaimed he, "lore been 
 mistake! I ave been impose! you are de grand medecin! 
 you shall marry avec my gal /" and without waiting for 
 any reply, he dragged him into the house. 
 
 Shortly after this event, the smartest and merriest 
 wedding, that ever was seen in Carondelet, was cele- 
 brated under the hospitable roof of Monsieur Dunois, 
 and our hero became the happy husband of the beauti- 
 ful and artless Marie. On that Night, every fiddle and 
 every foot in Vuide Poche did its duty ; even the priest 
 wore his best robes, and kindest smile, at the marriage 
 feast of the lucky heretic. Mr. Tompkinson immediately 
 abandoned the practice of physic ; the magic wheel dis-
 
 130 LEGEND 0* C1RONDELET. 
 
 appeared ; and he embarked in business as an Indian 
 trader. Here his genius found an appropriate field. 
 With his band of adventurous boatmen, he navigated 
 the long rivers of the west, to their tributary fountains ; 
 he visited the wigwams of tribes afar off, to whom the 
 white man was not yet known as a scourge ; he chased 
 the buffaloe over plains, until then, untrodden by any 
 human foot, but that of the savage ; and returned laden 
 with honest spoil. Year after year he pursued this toil- 
 some traffic $ until, having earned a competency, he sat 
 down contented, and waxed as fat, as lazy, and as gar- 
 rulous, as any of his townsmen. He grew as swarthy 
 as his neighbours, and as he wore a capot and smoked 
 a short pipe, no one would have suspected that he was 
 not a native, had it not been for his aunt, the worthy 
 Miss Fidelity Tompkinson, who occupied the best 
 room in his mansion, and who resolutely refused, 
 through life, to eat g-wn&o-soup, to speak French, or to 
 pay any reverence to that respectable man, the priest.
 
 THE IXTESTATE, 
 
 OR JERRY SMITH'S WIDOW. 
 
 I LEFT my residence in Kentucky, a few years ago, 
 and proceeded to Baltimore, for the purpose of transact- 
 ing some business with a mercantile house, with which 
 I had been extensively concerned. No one knew the 
 object of my journey ; because, being a bachelor in 
 easy circumstances, I was under no obligation to dis- 
 close to any person more than I thought proper. I left 
 my farm under the direction of a manager, with the ex- 
 pectation of returning in a few weeks. On my arrival 
 in Baltimore, I found that it would be necessary to pro- 
 ceed to New Orleans. The vessel in which I em- 
 barked, after being baffled and detained by head winds, 
 at length sprung aleak, and we were obliged to put in 
 to the Havana. Here various delays occurred, and as 
 I could neither talk Spanish, play billiards, nor smoke 
 segars, the time hung so heavy upon my hands, that I 
 soon fretted myself into a bilious fever. In this condi- 
 tion my captain left me, without so much as saying good- 
 by ; and when at last I reached New Orleans by ano-
 
 132 THE INTESTATE. 
 
 ther vessel, I found that the person with whom my 
 affair had been entrusted, was absent, and not expected 
 to return for several weeks. There was no alternative 
 left me, but either to abandon the object of my voyage, 
 and risk the entire'loss of a large sum, or by remaining, 
 expose rny constitution, already debilitated and predis- 
 posed to disease, to the dangers of a sickly climate. 
 Unfortunately I adopted the latter course. 
 
 I found the weather as hot here as in Cuba, the lan- 
 guage as incomprehensible, and the billiard-tables quite 
 as devoid of interest. The sickly season was fast ap- 
 proaching, and as I had determined not to escape dis- 
 ease by flight, I endeavoured to avoid it by precaution. 
 It is amusing enough, to those who can look on from 
 a distance, to see the various expedients by which men 
 endeavour to contend with death ; as if the great de- 
 stroyer was a foe who could be eluded by cunning, or 
 baffled by force. The yellow fever assailed the inhabi- 
 tants ; I felt the malady, or thought I felt it, creeping 
 slowly into my system, and resorted to every preventive 
 which my own reason, or the experience of others sug- 
 gested. I first tried the Sangrado plan ; drank water, ate 
 vegetables, and suffered phlebotmy. But I soon found 
 that I could not endure starvation, nor carry on the func- 
 tions of life without a due supply of the circulating medi- 
 um. I resorted to stimulants and tonics a mint-julap in 
 the morning,' bitters at noon, and wine after dinner ; but 
 alas! with no better succes; for every time that I looked 
 in the glass, I discovered, by my sallow visage, that
 
 THE INTESTATE. 133 
 
 the enemy was silently making his approaches. My 
 eyes became jaundiced ; my pulse heavy ; my skin dry ; 
 and my complexion received a new coat of yellow every 
 day, deepening at first into a delicate orange, then to a 
 saffron, and lastly to a copper colour ; until I began to 
 fear that I was actually degenerating into a Spaniard, a 
 Quarteroon, or a Cherokee. 
 
 " Coming events throw their shadows before," 
 
 and on this occasion the shadows that tinged my face 
 were but too prophetic. The dreaded fever came at 
 last, and I sunk into a state of helpless and hopeless 
 misery, which none can truly estimate but those who 
 have felt its poignancy. I was a stranger, far from 
 home ; in a climate tainted with disease ; and attacked 
 by a disorder supposed to be fatal. That malady, among 
 other distressing characteristics, has one which is pe- 
 culiarly aggravating. I know not whether others are 
 similarly affected, but to me a fever brings a state of ex- 
 citement and sensitiveness, which produces the most 
 exquisite torture. My whole nature is subtilized 
 every feeling is quickened and every sense sharpened 
 into a painful acuteness of perception. The judgment 
 is weakened, but the imagination acquires a supernatu- 
 ral activity ; the body sinks, but the spirit is feelingly 
 alive. Such was my state. In the early stages of my 
 disease, a thousand wild visions were in my brain. I 
 made rhymes ; repeated pages of Latin, although in a 
 
 M
 
 134 THE INTESTATE. 
 
 moment of sanity 1 could not have connected a sentence; 
 I saw people whose faces had been forgotten for years ; 
 I called up events which had transpired in my child- 
 hood ; I planned novels, composed essays, and devised 
 theories ; I fought battles ; I recalled the joys and re- 
 pented the sins of my whole life. I was a madman, a 
 philosopher, a devotee, and a wag, in the same hour. 
 At one moment I prayed fervently ; at another I dropped 
 the doctor's nostrums in my sleeve, and amused myself 
 with inventing ingenious answers to deceive him, and 
 feigning symptoms which did not exist. I jested, mo- 
 ralized, groaned, wept, and laughed ; and found in each 
 new mood that came over me, a pang as agonizing as 
 that which I had suffered in the one that had passed. 
 Such is fever ! excruciating bodily pain, with a brilliancy 
 and strength of intellectual vision, which looks back to 
 infancy, and forward to eternity, and around upon the 
 whole scene of life, while the mental eye is crowded 
 with images, whose number and vividness weary and 
 distract the brain. Loss of strength, stupor and me- 
 lancholy succeeded. I thought of home, of myself, and 
 of death ; and my visions assumed every day a deeper 
 and more deathlike hue. 
 
 There was one object which intruded into all my 
 dreams. I need only name its character, in order to 
 enlist the sympathy of every tender hearted reader. It 
 was a young widow for whom I felt a particular regard, 
 and to whom if I must speak out I was engaged to
 
 THE INTESTATE. 135 
 
 be married, on my return home. She was my first love. 
 I had paid my addresses to her before her marriage, but 
 was too bashful to declare myself explicitly ; and while 
 I balanced matters in my own mind, and sought by the 
 gentlest hints to disclose my passion, she by some fa- 
 tality by mere accident, as I have since understood 
 married a certain Jeremiah Smith ! a fellow for whom, 
 and for whose name, I had always entertained a sove- 
 reign and special contempt. I did not blame her for 
 marrying, for that was her privilege ; but to wed a fel- 
 low named Jerry ! and of all the Jerries in the world to 
 pitch upon Jerry Smith, a dissipated silly profligate, not 
 worth a cent in the world, was too bad ! It was flying in 
 the face of propriety, and treating her other lovers, who 
 were numerous, with indignity. Poor girl ! she had a 
 sad time of it, for Jerry treated her worse than a brute; 
 but at the end of two years he had the grace to pop off, 
 leaving her pennyless and as pretty as ever. It was a 
 long time after her widowhood before we met ; I would 
 not call on her, and as to courting Jerry Smith's widow, 
 that seemed out of the question. But when we did meet, 
 she looked so sad and so beautiful, and smiled so pen- 
 sively, and talked so sweetly of old times, that all her 
 power of fascination over me revived. I began to visit 
 her, thinking of nothing more at first than to show her 
 my superiority over Jerry Smith, and to convince her 
 how great a slight she had shown to my merits in se- 
 lecting him. But, in trying to make myself agreeable
 
 136 THE INTESTATE, 
 
 to the widow, she became so very agreeable to me, that 
 in spite of all my former resolutions, I offered her my 
 hand, which was accepted with the most charming grace 
 imaginable. This was just before my journey, and as 
 that could not be postponed, we agreed to put off the 
 wedding until my return. 
 
 Such was the beautiful vision that had smiled upon 
 me through all my wanderings ; but which now was 
 presented to my distempered fancy, arrayed in the bright- 
 est colours, fn vain did I sometimes try to banish it ; 
 I thought of my business, my farm, my negroes, my 
 tobacco but anon came the graceful widow, with that 
 same smile and blush that she wore when she faintly 
 murmured " no," and expressively looked " yes" 
 there she was, hanging fondly over me, and chiding my 
 delay. 
 
 This could not last forever ; and just when every bo- 
 dy thought that I was about to die, I grew better ; and 
 to my great joy was put on board a steam-boat bound 
 for Louisville. For a day or two I continued to recruit ; 
 change of air, scene, and food did wonders: but the hap- 
 piness of a speedy recovery was not fated to be mine. 
 I had embarked in a steam-boat of the largest class, on 
 board of which were four hundred passengers. The 
 weather was excessively hot, there were many sick 
 among us, and the atmosphere between the decks soon 
 became impure. The yellow fever was said to be on 
 board; and our comfortless situation was rendered dread-
 
 THE INTESTATE. 137 
 
 ful by the panic that ensued. I relapsed, and was soon 
 pronounced past recovery. I had the yellow fever, and 
 was considered a falal bearer of contagion. It was 
 thought proper to remove me from the boat, and to aban- 
 don me to my fate, rather than endanger the lives of 
 others. 
 
 I was accordingly put on shore ; but when or how it 
 happened I know not. I have a faint recollection of be- 
 ing lowered into the yawl, and seeing people gazing at 
 me ; I heard one say " he will die in an hour ;'* another 
 inquired my name ; one voice pitied me ; and another 
 said I had made a happy escape from pain. I thought 
 they were about to bury me, and became senseless in an 
 agonizing effort to speak. 
 
 When I had recovered my consciousness, I found my- 
 self in a cabin on the shore of the Mississippi. A kind 
 family had received and nursed me, and had brought me 
 back to life after I had been long insensible. They 
 were poor people, who made their living by cutting fire- 
 wood to supply the steam-boats ; a lean and sallow 
 family, whose bilious complexions and attenuated 
 forms attested the withering influence of a corrupted 
 atmosphere. They had the languid southern eye, the 
 heavy gait, and slow speech, of persons enervated by 
 burning sunbeams and humid breezes. 
 
 For two weeks I was unable to rise from the misera- 
 ble pallet with which their kindness had supplied me. 
 I counted every log in the wretched cabin my eye be- 
 
 M2
 
 138 THE INTESTATE. 
 
 came familiar with all the coats, gowns, and leathern 
 hunting shirts, that hung from the rafters I noticed 
 each crevice and set down in my memory all the fur- 
 niture and cooking utensils. For fourteen long sum- 
 mer days my eyes had no other employment but to wan- 
 der over these few objects again and again, until at last 
 nothing was left to be discovered, and I closed them in 
 the disgust occasioned by the sameness of the scene, or 
 strained them in search of something new, until my 
 eyeballs ached. But I had no more feverish dreams, 
 and when I thought of the widow Smith, it was with the 
 delight of a newly awakened hope ; and with the con- 
 fidence that better days and brighter scenes awaited me 
 at home. 
 
 At last I was able to crawl to the door, and to see 
 the sun, the green trees, and the water. It was a most 
 refreshing sight, although the landscape itself was any 
 thing but attractive. The cabin stood on the bank of 
 the river, in a low alluvion bottom. It was surrounded 
 and overhung by a forest of immense trees, whose tall 
 dark trunks rose to the height of sixty or seventy feet, 
 without a branch, and then threw out their vast lateral 
 boughs, and heavy foliage, so luxuriantly as entirely to 
 exclude the sun. Beneath that dense canopy of shade, 
 were long, dark, and gloomy vistas, where the Indian 
 might well fancy himself surrounded by the spirits of 
 his departed friends. The soil itself had a dismal as- 
 pect ; the whole surface had been inundated but a few
 
 THE INTESTATE. 139 
 
 weeks past ; the fallen leaves of last year, saturated and 
 blackened by long immersion, were covered with a thick 
 deposit of mud, and the reeking mass sent up volumes 
 of noxious vapour. Before the house was a naked sand- 
 bar, sparkling and glowing with heat. Tn the middle of 
 the river was a large sawyer, an immense log, the entire 
 trunk of a majestic oak, whose roots clung to the bottom, 
 while the other end, extending down the stream, rose to 
 the surface, the current giving it a heavy and eternal 
 motion ; now uprearing some twenty feet of the huge 
 black mass above the surface, and then sinking it again 
 in the water with the regular swing of a pendulum. I 
 gazed for hours at that perpetual seesaw, wondering 
 what law of nature governed its exact vibrations. Here 
 the hideous alligator might be seen rocking through half 
 a day, as if in the enjoyment of an agreeable recreation ; 
 while droves of those animals, sporting in the stream or 
 crawling on the beach, roared like so many bulls, filling 
 the whole forest with their bellowings. Added to those 
 sounds, were the braying of the wolf, the croaking of in- 
 numerable frogs, and the buzz of myriads of musquitoes. 
 Under any other circumstances I should have thought 
 myself in a pandemonium ; but I had in the last few 
 weeks endured so much pain, passed through so many 
 horrors, and trembled so often, and so long, upon the 
 brink of the grave, that I enjoyed the sun, the breeze, 
 and the verdure, even with these dismal accompaniments. 
 I was even agreeably situated ; for so great and so 
 pleasing was the change, in having my mind relieved
 
 140 THE INTESTATE. 
 
 from its abstraction, that I could gaze placidly for hours 
 upon natural objects of the most common description, 
 and converse with interest on the most trivial subjects. 
 Of all forms none are so hideous or so terrifying, as the 
 horrible creations of a distempered imagination. 
 
 For another fortnight I remained contented, gradually 
 gaining strength ; and then, finding myself again able to 
 travel,! took my passage in a steam-boat for Louisville. 
 The river was now extremely low, and we advanced 
 slowly, sometimes running aground upon the sand-bars, 
 and always getting forward with difficulty. At length 
 we reached our port, and I sprung with delight upon the 
 soil of Kentucky. Among the steam-boats lying along 
 the shore, dismantled and laid up for the season, was 
 the vessel in which I had embarked at New Orleans, a 
 feeble invalid, and which had left me almost a corpse. 
 
 My baggage consisted of several well filled trunks ; 
 one of which, a common black leather travelling trunk, 
 I had purchased at New Orleans, and packed with arti- 
 cles of finery, for my intended bride. On setting me 
 ashore at the wood-cutter's, the captain of the boat had 
 been careful to land my several chattels, and I now pro- 
 ceeded with them to a hotel in Louisville. My baggage 
 was carried into a bar-room crowded with gentlemen, 
 and I had scarcely time to turn round, when a lank, agile 
 Frenchman, with tremendous whiskers, darted forward, 
 and seizing my black trunk, seemed to be about to ap- 
 propriate to his own use all my nuptial presents.
 
 THE INTESTATE. 141 
 
 " That is my trunk, Sir," said I. 
 
 " Aha, sair ! you say dat your tronk? By gar, sair, 
 dat is not your tronk !" 
 
 " Excuse me, sir, it is undoubtedly mine." 
 
 " Ah ! ma foi ! I shall not excuse you, sair ! By 
 gar, sair, if you say dis your tronk you no gentiman." 
 
 As he said this he jerked a key from his pocket, 
 thrust it into the lock, threw open the disputed trunk, 
 and to my utter consternation, and the infinite amuse- 
 ment of all others present, displayed a magazine of 
 " sundries" as undoubtedly French as his own accent. 
 
 " Dare ! vat you say now, sair V 9 he exclaimed tri- 
 umphantly, as he threw out the contents, " you say dat 
 your coat? dat your waistcoat? your fiddle-string? 
 your musique note ? your every ting ! by gar, sair, you 
 no gentiman, if you say dat your tronk!" 
 
 " I ask your pardon," said I, " the trunk is not mine; 
 but there is a strange mystery in this affair, which I 
 cannot pretend to unravel." 
 
 " Ah, very much mystery, for some oder gentiman 
 get my tronk, and make me wear my linen in dis hot 
 contry for five six week !"' 
 
 " The fault is not mine; I purchased a trunk at New 
 Orleans so nearly resembling that one, that if I was not 
 convinced by the contents, I would still think it mine. 
 I am sorry to have been the innocent cause of any in- 
 convenience to you." 
 
 " Very well ; I buy my tronk at New Orleans too
 
 142 THE INTESTATE. 
 
 dat how he look so much alike ; very sorry for you, 
 sair : but I cannot let you have my tronk, indeed, sair." 
 
 I stood mortified and confounded ; cutting a very 
 awkward figure in the presence of a large company, 
 who viewed this odd adventure with astonishment. I 
 began almost to doubt my own identity, and to fancy 
 myself transformed by magic into somebody else. It 
 seemed as if my ill luck was nevar to cease. I dreaded 
 lest this incident should prove prophetic, and as I had 
 seen my trunk transformed under my very nose into 
 the trunk of another gentleman, I fe'ared that I might 
 find my widow changed into another man's wife. I 
 was somewhat relieved by the captain of the steam- 
 boat, who had witnessed this scene, and who now stepped 
 forward, and informed me, that my trunk, which had 
 been exchanged by mistake, was on board his boat. 
 
 Feeling in no mood to visit any of my acquaintances, 
 I directed my course to the counting-house of a mer- 
 chant, upon whom I held a draft. On handing it to his 
 clerk, he returned it, observing, 
 
 " The drawee of this bill is dead, sir ; and we have 
 instructions not to pay it." 
 
 " I am the drawee," returned I. 
 
 " There must be some mistake,'' replied the clerk 
 
 very coldly ; " Mr. M , in whose favour that bill is 
 
 drawn, is certainly dead. We have it from his heir." 
 
 " Heir ! don't you suppose, sir, that I am the best 
 judge whether I am dead or alive !"
 
 THE INTESTATE. 143 
 
 " Can't say, sir sorry to dispute any gentleman's 
 word but my Orders " 
 
 " Sir, you don't only dispute my word, you deny my 
 existence don't you see me, and hear me, and can't 
 you feel me V 1 said I, laying my long cold hand upon 
 his soft white palm. 
 
 " Very sorry," repeated the book-keeper, withdraw- 
 ing his hand as if a viper had touched it, " but my prin- 
 cipal is absent I act under instructions and Mr. 
 
 M 's account is closed in our books. JJ 
 
 " This is the strangest turn of all," said I to myself, 
 as I stepped into the street. " I am dead my heir 
 has entered upon the estate the widow mourns over 
 my grave ! Very pretty truly ! I shall next be told 
 that this is not Kentucky, and that I am not, and never 
 
 was, Edward M ." 
 
 Angry and dispirited, I turned into a public reading 
 room, and sought for a file of newspapers published in 
 my own neighbourhood. I looked for an old date, and 
 soon found my own obituary ! and learned that in my 
 untimely death society had been deprived of a useful 
 member; my kindred, of an affectionate relative; and 
 my servants, of a kind master ! Upon further research, 
 I stumbled upon a notice from my administrator the 
 next of kin inviting all my debtors to settle their 
 accounts. I saw no announcement of the widow's 
 dissolution and concluding that her strength of mind 
 had enabled her to survive my " untimely death," I de- 
 termined to set out for home instantly, as well to re-
 
 144 THE INTESTATE. 
 
 lieve the burthen of her sorrows, as to resume the privi- 
 lege of collecting my own debts. 
 
 After a tiresome journey, I arrived on the night of 
 the third day in my own neighbourhood. Concealed 
 by the darkness, I reached my own door without being 
 recognized. Two of my- negro men stepped up to the 
 carriage as it stopped, and of them, in a disguised 
 voice, I inquired for myself, by my Christian and sur- 
 name. 
 
 " Bless you, sir," replied one of them, " old master's 
 dead and buried long ago I' 1 
 
 " And' who is your master now?" 
 
 " Why, young master, old master's nephew, Mr. 
 Charles." 
 
 I stepped out of the carriage, and the negroes no 
 sooner beheld my form in the moonlight, than they 
 shouted, " A ghost ! old master's ghost !" and scam- 
 pered into the house. I entered after them, but could 
 not obtain an audience of any human being. My servants 
 fled when they perceived me, screaming with surprise 
 and terror. I followed them to the kitchen. It was 
 deserted by all but an old palsied woman. She re- 
 minded me that she had been my nurse, that she had 
 served me faithfully all my lifetime, and begged my 
 spirit not to injure her. She asked me affectionately 
 what troubled me, and promised to do any thing in her 
 power to enable me to repose quietly in my grave. 
 She told me I had been a good and kind master, and that 
 all my people liked me while I lived, and besought me
 
 THE INTESTATE. 145 
 
 not to make them hate my memory, by haunting them 
 after my death. And finally she told me that the spirit 
 of a gentleman like me, who had been ivell raised, might 
 find some better employment, than that of disturbing 
 a peaceable family, and scaring a parcel of poor ne- 
 groes. I was too much affected to make any reply to 
 old Elsey, and turning from her, stepped into the house. 
 In the hall stood a gentleman, and lady, who had been 
 drawn thither by the uproar. They were the " next of 
 kin" and the widow Smith ! The former, being a 
 man of spirit, stood his ground, but the lady screamed 
 and fled. 
 
 " Will you be good enough to tell me, sir," said I, 
 " whether I am dead or alive V 9 
 
 " We have mourned your death," said my nephew, 
 with an embarrassed air, " but I am happy to find that 
 you are alive, and most sincerely welcome you home." 
 
 " Supposing the fact to be that I am alive," said I, 
 " will you do me the kindness to tell me /whether I am 
 master of this house ?" 
 
 " Surely you are, and " 
 
 " Do not interrupt me ; you are my administrator, I 
 find ; do you claim also to be my guardian ? these 
 characters are not usually doubled." 
 
 " I claim nothing, sir, but an opportunity to explain 
 those matters which seem to have offended you so 
 deeply." 
 
 " Then, sir, being master here, and having neither 
 administrator nor guardian, I desire to be alone."
 
 U6 THE INTESTATE. 
 
 The young man looked offended, and then smiled 
 superciliously, as if he thought me insane, and turning 
 on his heel, walked off. 
 
 I retired to a chamber, and having with some diffi- 
 culty drawn my servants about me, and convinced 
 them of my identity, took supper, and went to bed. 
 About the widow I made no inquiry ; circumstances 
 looked so suspicious, that I dreaded to hear the truth. 
 
 In the morning I rose late. I sallied forth, and 
 gazed with delight upon my fields, my trees, and the 
 thousand familiar objects that are comprised within that 
 one endearing word home. My negroes crowded 
 about me, to welcome me, inquire after my health, and 
 tell me all that had happened to them. Passing over 
 these matters as briefly as possible, I proceeded to 
 probe the subject nearest my heart, and what think 
 you, gentle reader, was the result 1 the widow Smith 
 was married to the " next of kin !" They had left my 
 house at the dawn, that morning. 
 
 I have only to add that I have entirely recovered my 
 health and spirits ; and that as Jerry Smith's widow has 
 twice slipped through my fingers, undervalued my cha- 
 racter, slighted my affection, and at last married that 
 wild scamp, my nephew, whom I had before thought 
 of disinheriting, I am determined that neither of them 
 shall ever touch a dollar of my money ; and to effect 
 this laudable object I am resolved not to live single, nor 
 die intestate.
 
 MICHEL. DE COUCY, 
 
 A TALE OF FORT CHARTRES. 
 
 ON a pleasant day in September 1750, two horsemen 
 were seen slowly winding their way along the road 
 leading by the margin of the Mississippi river, from the 
 French village of Notre Dame de Kaskaskia, to Fort 
 Chartres. One of them, who appeared to be about 
 forty years of age, was a man of gay and martial ap- 
 pearance. He wore an elegant military undress, and 
 rode gracefully on a fine and high mettled horse. He 
 was the commandant of Fort Chartres, and in virtue of 
 that office, governor of the French settlements in Illi- 
 nois, which he ruled with a power little less than des- 
 potic, but with a mildness that savoured more of pa- 
 rental than of sovereign authority. His companion 
 was the superior of the convent of Jesuits at Kaskaskia, 
 of whose personal appearance we have no accurate ac- 
 count ; but we suppose that he was a tall, lank, homely 
 man, with a cunning, mysterious, austere look, such 
 as monks and superiors of convents usually wear on 
 public occasions ; and who, while he ruled his own 
 little community with a high hand, acquired considera-
 
 148 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 ble influence in the affairs of the colony, by his defe- 
 rential deportment towards the commander of his ma- 
 jesty's forces. The riders were followed by a small 
 train, which seemed to be paraded rather for show than 
 for protection, consisting of half a dozen gaudily dressed 
 hussars, mounted on the small fiery horses of the coun- 
 try, which having run wild in their early years, retained 
 ever after their original impatience of restraint. 
 
 Their way led through that beautiful plain which is 
 now called the American bottom, an extensive tract of 
 rich, flat, alluvial soil, which lies along the eastern shore 
 of the Mississippi, and Illinois, and reaches from the 
 river to the bluffs, and which is justly regarded as con- 
 taining the greatest body of fertile land in this country, 
 or perhaps in the universe. Part of this plain is covered 
 with timber, the remainder is open prairie, and the whole 
 interspersed with groves of vine and native fruit. Here 
 are to be seen the indigenous productions of this cli- 
 mate, in the greatest variety and highest perfection. 
 The tallest cotton wood and sycamore trees, which rear 
 their enormous shafts to an amazing height, are covered 
 with vines equally aspiring ; while the thickets are 
 matted together with smaller vines, and loaded with 
 innumerable clusters of fine grapes. Our travellers 
 beheld groves of the wild apple, whose blossoms in the 
 spring season fill the air of this region with a delightful 
 fragrance, and whose limbs were now bending under 
 loads of useless fruit. They saw hundreds of acres 
 covered with the wild plum, of which there are many
 
 MICHEL DE COUCY. 149 
 
 varieties, deepening in colour from a light yellow to a 
 deep crimson ; and the ripe fruit of which now hung in 
 amazing quantities, and in appearance rich and beauti- 
 ful beyond description. The walnut, the peccan, and 
 other fine nuts, abounded ; the whole combining with 
 the rerriarkable beauty of the autumn sky in this country, 
 and the serenity and mildness of the atmosphere, to fill 
 the mind with ideas of luxury and plenty. 
 
 The plain, which at some places spreads out to the 
 breadth of twelve miles, was confined to a narrow strip, 
 at the point now travelled by the riders whom we have 
 described ; and their path, which sometimes approached 
 the river, at others wound along the foot of the bluffs, a 
 ridge of abrupt hills, rising perpendicularly to the height 
 of more than a hundred feet, and supposed to have been 
 anciently washed by the Mississippi. Advancing into 
 the Prairie de Rocher, they beheld an open plain, bound- 
 ed on one side by the river, and on the other by a tall 
 barrier of solid rock, whose summit projects over its 
 base, and whose highest points, which are beautifully 
 rounded, are covered with rich soil and prairie grass, 
 and here and there ornamented with a single tree. At 
 the foot of this rock, and extending thence to the river, 
 was a large village, called, in reference to its situation, 
 the village of Prairie de Rocher. Adjoining this was a large 
 enclosure called the " Common Field," which was held 
 in severalty by the inhabitants, each of whom owned a 
 N2
 
 150 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 greater or less number of acres, according to his ability, 
 and the whole of which was surrounded by a common 
 fence, without partitions. Each person cultivated his 
 own part, and had aright to pasturage at proper seasons, 
 in proportion to the quantity of his land ; and the whole 
 business of fencing, tilling, and pasturing, was regulated 
 by village ordinances, and conducted with a harmony 
 which is not known to have existed in any other commu- 
 nity similarly situated. Lots in the " Common Field," 
 were held by purchase, or grant, from the French crown; 
 the rest of the ground in and around the village, was 
 held by the inhabitants in common, and portions of it 
 were reduced to private property by a simple procedure : 
 when a young man married, or a. person wished to settle 
 in the village, an instrument of writing was drawn and 
 signed by all the inhabitants, vesting in him the fee-sim- 
 ple of a lot for building, and equal rights with the others 
 in their common property. But we detain the reader 
 too long from the gay and gentle company who were 
 about to honour the rustic villagers with their august 
 presence. 
 
 They had passed the Common Field, now covered 
 with a ripening crop of Indian corn, and were entering 
 the village, when their attention was attracted by a crowd 
 of persons, assembled in front of the cottage of Michel 
 de Coucy. Honest Michel himself, who, when at home, 
 usually sat under a spreading catalpa, before his own 
 door, with a red cap on his head, and a short black pipe 
 in his mouth, the very emblem of content and placid
 
 MICHEL DE COUCY. 151 
 
 composure, now stood in the midst of the concourse, 
 weeping, raving, and threatening, with the most vehe- 
 ment gestures. He was a small, thin, dark man, with 
 black hair, and an eye that he might have been suspect- 
 ed of inheriting from the aborigines, had not his charac- 
 ter been so genuinely French, as fully to redeem the 
 purity of descent. >IHe was as honest, as gay, and as 
 contented a soul as ever breathed ; famed for the sim- 
 plicity and benevolence of his character, as well as for a 
 vein of humour, which rendered him at all times an 
 agreeable companion. In fact, to smoke his pipe, to do 
 kind actions, and to tell pleasant tales and sly jests, 
 seemed to be the business of his life, his other occupa- 
 tions being of secondary importance. Born in the wilds 
 of Canada, and reared in the woods and upon the water, 
 he was equally at home, whether paddling his canoe to 
 the sources of our largest rivers, or wandering alone 
 through the trackless forest. After his emigration to the 
 borders of the Mississippi, his chief occupation became 
 that of a boatman, and none pulled a better oar, or sung 
 with truer cadence the animating notes of the boat song, 
 than Michel de Coucy. The Canadian boatmen are the 
 hardiest and merriest of men ; if their boat is stranded, 
 they plunge into the water, in all weathers, diving and 
 swimming about as if in their native element ; if it storms, 
 they sleep or revel, under the protection of a high bank ; 
 and whether pulling down the stream, or pushing labo- 
 riously against it, the shores ring with their voices. One 
 will recount his adventures ; another will imitate the In-
 
 152 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 dian yell, the roar of the alligator, the hissing of the 
 snake, or the chattering of the paroquet ; and anon the 
 whole will chant their rude ditties concerning the dan- 
 gers of rapids, snags, and sawyers, or the pleasures of 
 home, the vintage, and the dance. Michel was an adept 
 at all these things, and he loved them, as a Cossack 
 loves plunder, or a Dutchman hard work and money. 
 He was the darling of the crew ; for he could skin a 
 deer, cook a fish, scrape a chin or a fiddle, with equal 
 adroitness ; and always performed such offices so good 
 humouredly, that his companions, in compliment to his 
 universal genius, kept it in continual employment. 
 When the boat was in motion he was always tugging at 
 the oar, or the fiddle-bow; when it landed, and the crew 
 sat round their camp fire, he cooked, sung, and told 
 merry stories ; on Sunday he shaved the whole compa- 
 ny, even at the risk of neglecting his own visage, and 
 was after all the merriest and most respectable man in 
 the boat. With all this, Michel was temperate, and 
 careful of his earnings, which he shrewdly husbanded 
 in a leathern purse during every voyage, and handed 
 over on his return, to his wife, who hid them under the 
 floor of their cabin. Such talents could not fail to bring 
 honour and promotion to their possessor ; Michel be- 
 came popular among his comrades, and having acquired 
 experience in his craft, in a few years rose to the charge 
 of a boat, and the title of captain. 
 
 Having acquired a decent competency, by the time he 
 reached the meridian of life, Michel thought it expedient,
 
 MICHEL DE COUCY. 153 
 
 and his wife thought so too, that he should consult his 
 own comfort for the rest of his days. He therefore 
 abandoned his frail cabin, which in truth was beginning 
 to tumble about his ears, and built a goodly house, with 
 substantial mud walls, surrounded on all sides by cool 
 piazzas, and planted his yard full of catalpas and black 
 locusts. He purchased a large lot in the common field, 
 and took unto himself herds of black cattle, and droves 
 of French ponies. 
 
 Michel, however, still loved the water, and like a 
 sprightly spaniel, could be induced to leap into it upon 
 the slightest invitation. He continued to make a voyage 
 of three or four months annually, and spent the remain- 
 der of his time in cultivating his crop, smoking his pipe, 
 attending the king-balls, and playing the fiddle. He 
 had his crosses like other men : his chimney often 
 smoked, and Madam Felicite his wife, sometimes got 
 out of temper ; his cattle occasionally had the murrain, 
 the frost nipped his corn, and more than once he lost 
 both boat and cargo by running on the snags and sawyers 
 of the Mississippi. But none of these things ever dis- 
 turbed the placid spirit of Michel ; a single shrug, and a 
 "Sacre!" were the strongest symptoms of emotion which 
 ever were elicited from him by such disasters, and he 
 would most frequently smile, and exclaim in the moment 
 of misfortune, " C'est toute le meme chose." It is said 
 that he could even bear the breaking of a fiddle string, 
 a lecture from his wife, or a public admonition from the
 
 154 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 priest for not going to confession, with the same compo- 
 sure which he preserved on less provoking occasions. 
 He had his joys, too, and these greatly predominated. 
 His wife was an excellent manager,' made charming 
 gumbo soup, and could interpret dreams ; his daughter 
 Genevieve, was as fair as the swans that sailed on the 
 Mississippi ; and his neighbours loved him. He was 
 head man at the balls ; for as they had no hireling fid- 
 dlers in those days, the honourable office of musician 
 was filled in turn by such heads of families as were 
 blessed with musical ears and limber elbows ; and none 
 touched the violin so cleverly as Michel, who continual- 
 ly cheered the dancers with his voice, as he kept time 
 with head and feet. Happy days of equality and glee ! 
 when every man who owned a cabin, a car, and a pony, 
 was a French gentleman, when the evening gun of the 
 fort, and the matin bell of the chapel, were daily heard ; 
 and the song and dance prevailed, wherever a plank 
 floor, a French girl, and a fiddle could be paraded. 
 
 Such being the character and standing of worthy 
 Michel de Coucy, it is not surprising that the whole vil- 
 lage of Prairie de Rocher should have been astonished 
 at beholding him in the attitudes of rage and grief, 
 swearing and wailing, and beating the air with his 
 clenched fists ; nor that even such august personages, 
 as the commandant of Fort Chartres, and the superior 
 of the. Jesuits at Notre Dame de Kaskaskia, should 
 marvel thereat. Nor was Michel a man whose sor-
 
 MICHEL DE COUCY. 155 
 
 rows would be slightly viewed by bis neighbours ; he 
 had as large a house, as much land, and as many 
 horned brutes and ponies, as the best of them ; and a 
 man in easy circumstances is always sure of sympathy 
 when in trouble. Michel, moreover, was popular ; and 
 when the voice of distress issued from his cottage, 
 every one ran to condole with him ; even the com- 
 mandant, and the superior of Jesuits felt it incumbent 
 on them to rein up their steeds, and inquire the cause of 
 this unusual disturbance. 
 
 It seems, that Michel having been many years em- 
 ployed as a carrier of merchandise for others, began at 
 last to think that he might as well freight his boat upon 
 his own account; and had for the last two or three years 
 dabbled pretty extensively in the ticklish business of 
 buying and selling. The long cherished hoard of Span- 
 ish dollars, which his wife had buried under the cabin 
 floor, had been transferred, when he removed to his new 
 house, to a similar place of deposit, a plank having been 
 left unfastened for that express purpose. But when he 
 embarked in traffic,those silver coins were exchanged for 
 furs, the furs for goods, wares and merchandise, and 
 the latter for notes of hand and fair promises. Still 
 Michel and his wife were content ; for the nominal 
 sum secured by fair words and due-bills, trebled the 
 actual amount that had been disbursed in hard money, 
 and they doubted not that it would all come in, in due 
 time. But in the mean while he had entered into some
 
 156 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 pecuniary engagements, which could be discharged only 
 with cash, and found himself in an embarrassing situa- 
 tion. He had never before owed money, and had 
 now to face a creditor for the first time ! In this di- 
 lemma, being unwilling to publish his situation to his 
 own neighbours, he bethought himself of a certain Pe- 
 dro Garcia, a Spaniard, who lived on the opposite side 
 of the river, where the Spanish government at that time 
 had jurisdiction. This Pedro was a black whiskered, 
 ill-looking fellow, who had amassed a large fortune, 
 nobody knew how. He had a farm, and a good many 
 slaves ; he traded with the Indians, who hated him, 
 and went often to New Orleans, where he lost and 
 won large sums by gambling, and was more than once 
 in the hands of the police. Nobody liked Pedro ; the 
 French had little to say to him, and the Indians looked 
 with distrust at the long dirk which he carried rather 
 ostentatiously in his bosom. But Michel wanted mo- 
 ney, and Pedro had it, and without more ado, the dis- 
 tressed Frenchman applied to the Spaniard for a loan. 
 Pedro, who knew that Michel was abundantly able to 
 repay him, and saw that he was only hard pressed at 
 the moment, in consequence of his reluctance to call 
 upon those who owed him, readily advanced the sum 
 required, taking Michel's bond for the amount, payable 
 at the end of six months, with usury. 
 
 The six months soon rolled round, and Michel was 
 not prepared to pay his bond. He had waited from 
 day to day, in the vain hope that his debtors would
 
 MICHEL Dfi COUCY. 157 
 
 discharge their 'dues ; and at last finding that they did 
 not come forward voluntarily, he deferred from hour to 
 hour the disagreeable task of dunning them, because it 
 was so abhorrent to his feelings, that he could not mus- 
 ter sufficient resolution to undertake It. The day of 
 payment came, and with it came Pedro Garcia, and 
 Michel was constrained to acknowledge that he could 
 not fulfil his engagement. Garcia knit his black brows, 
 and swore like a trooper, and although his debtor spoke 
 fairly and humbly, and made liberal propositions, the 
 relentless creditor would take nothing but his money, 
 and forthwith hied to the civil magistrate of the village. 
 The minister of the law heard the application with 
 surprise, and expressed in emphatic language his as- 
 tonishment that a subject of Spain should think of suing 
 a subject of the Grand Monarque, within the territory 
 of France, and above all that he should have the assur- 
 ance to propose to employ an officer of the French 
 crown, in so flagrant an act of contumacy. " The laws 
 of France,'* said this worthy functionary, " are made for 
 the benefit of the French people, and the honour of 
 their king, and not for Spaniards, and my duty is to ad- 
 minister those laws to my fellow subjects, not to fo- 
 reigners. Go, you are not under my jurisdiction I 
 know nothing of you, and am only in doubt whether 
 your attempt to employ the laws of my country against 
 a Frenchman, is not a high misdemeanour." 
 
 Pedro, finding that he could obtain no satisfaction 
 from the civil authority, determined to resort to the
 
 158 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 military, and as the commandant was absent, laid the 
 matter before his lieutenant. This gentleman called to 
 his assistance the chaplain, a very worthy priest, who 
 having been long attached to the army, was experienced 
 in questions ofmeum and tuwn, and being thus fortified, 
 proceeded to hear the complaint, and examine the pa- 
 pers of Pedro Garcia. 
 
 "Mafoi! what is this?*' exclaimed Captain de la 
 Val, as he glanced his eye over the unlucky instrument 
 of writing, laid before him by the Spaniard. 
 
 " It is Michel de Coucy's bond, for the sum I loaned 
 him," replied the plaintiff. 
 
 " Diable ! how shall I know this to be a bond, seeing 
 that it is written in an unknown tongue ?" 
 
 " It is Spanish, a language which your excellency no 
 doubt speaks, with the elegance and propriety of a na- 
 tive Castilian." 
 
 " You do my excellency unmerited honour, and must 
 permit me to inform you, that officially I arn not to 
 be presumed to know any other language than my 
 own." 
 
 u The purport of the instrument," said Garcia, " may 
 readily be ascertained by means of an interpreter. >J 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the 1 officer, " and can you not 
 also provide a deputy commanding officer, to perform 
 the rest of my duty ? If I must read your papers by 
 proxy, I may as well decide in the same way.'* 
 
 " Captain de la Val," said the priest, " takes a very
 
 MICHEL DE COUCY. 159 
 
 proper and nice distinction. The first step in the ad- 
 justment of a controversy, is to ascertain the true in- 
 tent and meaning of the contract between the parties 
 litigant, and it would iH become the dignity of any high 
 tribunal, to entrust the decision of that important point 
 to an irresponsible agent." 
 
 " What shall I do V 1 inquired the alarmed money 
 lender. 
 
 " That I cannot tell," replied the officer ; " of this, 
 however, I am clear, that a paper written in Spanish 
 can be of no validity in a French court, for there would 
 be an obvious absurdity in requiring the ministers of jus- 
 tice, whether civil or military, to decide on that which 
 they cannot read." 
 
 " Besides," said the priest, who began to envy the 
 wisdom of the captain, " his most Christian Majesty 
 has appointed notaries, whose business it is to draw 
 such writings between parties, and as this paper was 
 not drawn by a proper notarial scribe, we cannot know 
 whether it is in due form of law." 
 
 " What matters it about form," said the Spaniard, 
 " if the writing contain a substantial promise ?" 
 
 " My son," replied the chaplain, " you do not under- 
 stand these matters. If a man makes a verbal engage- 
 ment, the form thereof is not material, because in that 
 case the creditor trusts to the honour and honesty of 
 the debtor, and the latter is bound in conscience not to 
 abuse that confidence ; but if the parties reduce their 
 contract to writing, the creditor reposes his trust, not
 
 160 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 in the virtue of the other party, but in the binding ope- 
 ration of the law, and if the work of the law is not 
 made secure, the creditor must lose thereby, for he 
 looked to that only for his payment." 
 
 " My bond is sufficient in law," contended Pedro, 
 " it was attested before a Spanish notary." 
 
 " Worse and worse," exclaimed the priest ; " if his 
 excellency, the commanding officer, should undertake 
 to decide upon the validity of a writing authenticated 
 by a Spanish functionary, it would doubtless be con- 
 sidered by his most Catholic Majesty, as a very indeli- 
 cate interference, inasmuch as he would be enforced 
 
 
 
 not only to weigh the language and construe the laws 
 of Spain, but to look into the acts of a civil magistrate 
 of that nation ; and the consequence might be a war 
 between two Christian princes." 
 
 Pedro Garcia, though he could not comprehend how 
 the settling of a dispute between himself and Michel de 
 Coucy, could become the cause of war between two 
 European kings, began to think that possibly he had 
 mistaken his remedy, and making a sulky bow, was 
 about to retire, when Captain de la Val called him back, 
 and said, 
 
 " Senor Garcia, it is well known that Michel is no 
 scholar, how then could he execute that bond V . 
 
 " He has made his mark," replied the other, showing 
 the cross at the foot of the bond. 
 
 " Aha ! but that same cross might stand with equal 
 propriety for the name of any Catholic in Christendom."
 
 MICHEL DE COUCT. 161 
 
 " But I can prove by the notary, that Michel made it." 
 
 " Like enough, but Michel does not understand 
 Spanish, how then could he know the contents of that 
 paper?" 
 
 " It was interpreted to him." 
 
 " But how can I know that it was interpreted cor- 
 rectly 1 In short," continued the officer, " I am induced 
 to believe that this document is a forgery, and that it is 
 my duty to lodge you in the guard chamber, until the 
 return of the commandant." 
 
 " And if it be a forgery," added the priest, " there 
 is little doubt in my mind, that the counterfeiting the 
 sign of the cross, is an offence against our holy church, 
 and of much higher grade than a common forgery." 
 
 Pedro finding that the aspect of his case grew darker 
 every moment, and fearing that he might be, in the 
 end, handed over to the inquisition, began to supplicate 
 for mercy, and being permitted to retire, hastily made 
 good his retreat, marvelling at the strange turn in his 
 affairs, which, from a simple creditor of Michel de Cou- 
 cy, had converted him into an enemy of his Holiness 
 the Pope, and his most Christian Majesty the King of 
 France. 
 
 Michel, who, when he saw Pedro take the road to 
 Fort Chartres, had suspected his business, and hastily 
 followed him, entered the quarters of Captain de la 
 Val, during the conference above described; and 
 standing respectfully with his cap in his right hand, his 
 o2
 
 162 MICHEL DE COUGY. 
 
 left stuck in his waistband, and his mouth wide open, 
 listened in mute admiration of the wisdom and nice 
 sense of justice displayed by the priest and officer. As 
 Pedro retired, he slipped after him, and tapping him on 
 the shoulder as he passed out of the main gate, said 
 triumphantly, " Bon jour, Senor Garcia, your bond is 
 too small, it will not cover the sore place ! it is not 
 worth a sous ! Now come to my house when you get 
 in a good humour, and I will make a new bargain, to 
 pay you all I owe, and give you the word of honour of 
 a French gentleman, which Father Felix says is better 
 than a Spanish bond.' 7 Pedro paused a moment, and 
 laid his hand on his dirk then turned on his heel, and 
 retired, without deigning to reply. 
 
 When he reached home, he was half inclined to turn 
 back, and embrace Michel's offer, but still believing 
 that a bond, good or bad, was better than any parol en- 
 gagement, he hastened to his friend the notary, and 
 having informed him of all that had passed, requested 
 him, when Michel should next cross into the Spanish 
 territory, to have him arrested for his debt. To his 
 surprise, the notary declined interfering in the business, 
 highly extolling the good sense and courtesy displayed 
 by the French functionaries, and declaring that he knew 
 no law under which a Spaniard could sue a Frenchman, 
 and that at all events, it was extremely proper and deco- 
 rous, that the officers of Spain and France, respec- 
 tively, should abstain from meddling in matters of such
 
 MICHEL DE COUCY. 163 
 
 high import, which ought to be left to ministers pleni- 
 potentiary, or to the crowned heads themselves. 
 
 " Then the long and short of the matter is," said 
 Pedro, as he retired, " that I am to be cheated out of 
 my money," and he forthwith prayed to all the saints of 
 whom he had any knowledge, to visit with special 
 malefactions, the heads of Michel de Coucy, Chevalier 
 Jean Philippe de la Val, Father Felix the priest, and 
 all others directly or indirectly concerned in preventing 
 him from recovering the amount nominated in his bond, 
 with interest thereon, at the rate of ten per cent, per 
 annum until paid. 
 
 People who live on the frontier imbibe very accurate 
 notions of justice, and adopt summary modes of ob- 
 taining it ; and Senor Pedro Garcia, not being a man 
 to sit down quietly under a loss, and finding the door of 
 the law closed against him, began to cast about for 
 some other remedy. After brooding over the matter 
 for several days, he at length devised a plan ; and get- 
 ting into his canoe in the night, paddled secretly over 
 to the Illinois shore, where he remained concealed in 
 a thicket, until Genevieve, the daughter of Michel, 
 passing that way alone, he sallied out, and making her 
 his prisoner, carried her to the Spanish territory, leaving 
 a placard in these words, " Meshell Coosy! French 
 rascal ! pay me my money, and you shall have your 
 daughter!" Genevieve was a beautiful child, of 
 twelve years of age, the pride of the village, and the 
 darling of her parents. She had seen Pedro before,
 
 164 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 and always with repulsive feelings ; and when she found 
 herself rudely seized by him, sued piteously for 
 mercy, believing that he would sell her to the Sioux, 
 the English, or the Long Knives, " of whom by par- 
 cels she had something heard," or to some other 
 outlandish people^ to be eaten at a great war feast. 
 Pedro, without regarding her cries, bore her to a seclud- 
 ed place, among the broken hills, and summoning a 
 score of his associates and dependents, prepared to 
 make a stout resistance in case of pursuit. 
 
 When Michel discovered the outrage committed 
 against him, in the person of his child, on whom he 
 doated, he was inconsolable ; not only were his pa- 
 rental feelings awakened, but his sense of honour was 
 touched to the quick. He wept, raved, swore strange 
 oaths, and vowed bitter vengeance. All who were ac- 
 quainted with him, knew that, gentle as he was, he was 
 brave; he had been accustomed to face danger from 
 his childhood ; and when they heard the deep impre- 
 cations which he now poured forth, they were satisfied 
 that Pedro would pay dearly for the cruel insult he had 
 perpetrated. The whole male population of the village 
 immediately volunteered to accompany him to the res- 
 cue ; and the distressed father, after thanking them 
 with tears of gratitude, urged them to arm themselves 
 without delay. It was at this juncture that the com- 
 mandant, and the superior of the Jesuits, opportunely 
 arrived, and having heard all the circumstances, 
 Michel was enjoined to proceed no further in his plan
 
 MICHEL DE COUCY. 165 
 
 of revenge, the commandant promising to take imme- 
 diate measures for the restoration of his daughter. 
 
 Michel, who believed that in wisdom, power, and good- 
 ness, the commandant was second only to the king, 
 was greatly composed by this assurance, and although 
 his fellow villagers continued to be ripe for an immedi- 
 ate inroad into the Spanish territory, he restrained their 
 ardour, and passed the night in more tranquillity than 
 could have been expected. Early on the folio wing morn- 
 received a summons to attend the commandant at 
 .Chartres, which was distant two miles from the 
 village ; and set out, with Madame Felicite, in one of 
 those commodious vehicles, half chaise, and half cart, 
 which were fashionable among the Canadian French of 
 those days, and are still to be seen in daily use, among 
 their descendants, at the famous village of Vuide PocAe, 
 otherwise called Carondelet, in Missouri. 
 
 Fort Chartres was at that lime the largest and most 
 extensive fortification owned by the French in America, 
 and was the seat of government for all their settlements 
 in Illinois. Its shape was an irregular quadrangle, with 
 bastions at the angles, the sides of the exterior polygon 
 being four hundred and ninety feet in extent ; and the 
 walls, which were two feet and two inches thick, and 
 twelve feet high, were built of stone, and plastered 
 over. It was pierced all round, at regular distances, 
 with loop holes for musketry, and had two port holes 
 for cannon in each face, and two in the flanks of each 
 bastion. If any of my fair readers, who are desirous to
 
 166 MICHEL DE COUCY. 
 
 know the exact description of this celebrated fortress, 
 should be anxious to ascertain what is meant, by " an 
 irregular quadrangle with bastions at the angles^" I am 
 happy to inform them that they may obtain an exact idea 
 of the figure intended to be described, by laying on the 
 table before them, an old fashioned square pincushion, 
 of which one side is a little longer than either of the 
 other three, with large tassels at the corners. Such 
 was precisely the shape of Fort Chartres. Within the 
 walls were extensive buildings of stone, for the 
 modation of the garrison ; a fine house for t 
 mandant, quarters for the officers, and barracks for the 
 soldiers, together with a great magazine, a chapel, and 
 a snug cell for the priest, who officiated here and at the 
 village of Fort Chartres, adjacent. This was the strong 
 hold of power, and the seat of festivity ; here, on all 
 suitable occasions, were assembled the rank, beauty, 
 and fashion of the colony ; and here could be paraded 
 as many handsome French girls, as one could wish to 
 -behold. 
 
 Michel entered the main gate of the fort, with a 
 countenance of sorrow, far different from his usual 
 gayety, when he came to head quarters, an invited 
 guest ; and his feelings could be with difficulty re- 
 strained, when he beheld the dark visage of Pedro 
 Garcia. The latter had been induced to give his at- 
 tendance by a missive from the commandant, assuring 
 him of a safe conduct to and from the fort, and that all
 
 MICHEL DE COUCT. 167 
 
 amicable means would be used to settle the unfortunate 
 difference between Michel and himself. Being natu- 
 rally bold and impudent, and rinding, too, that the deli- 
 cate little Genevieve was withering like a plucked 
 flower, and was at best a troublesome guest ; he came 
 at the summons, and stood confronted with the in- 
 censed Frenchman. There too came all the relations 
 of Michel and Felicite, and divers other of the villagers, 
 burning with indignation there stood Captain de la 
 Val, Father Felix, the magistrate, and the notary, as 
 dignified and complacent as if nothing had happened 
 and there sat several aged chiefs of the Kaskaskia 
 tribe, in grave and solemn expectation, wondering at 
 the levity of the whites, who could hold a council on a 
 matter of such high import, without making pre- 
 sents, tendering the wampum, and smoking the great 
 pipe. 
 
 The commandant examined the bond, heard the 
 evidence, and the decisions of his lieutenant, and of the 
 civil officers on both sides of the river. He pronounced 
 the conduct of all the functionaries, civil and mili- 
 tary to have been highly decorous and proper, and 
 hoped that in future, no Spaniard would presume to sue 
 a Frenchman, without his leave, first had and obtained. 
 He censured Pedro for the violent capture of the innocent 
 Genevieve, and finally decreed, that the latter should be 
 safely returned to her parents, that Michel should pay 
 to Pedro the principal borrowed, without interest, the 
 latter being withheld as a fine for the violence commit-
 
 168 MICHEL DE COUCY* 
 
 ted in the French territory, and that both the parties 
 litigant should stand committed, until this sentence 
 should be fully complied with. Pedro remonstrated 
 against the latter part of the decree, as a breach of his 
 safe conduct, but the commandant decided that he had 
 guaranteed his safety in going and coming, but had not 
 precluded himself from fixing the length of time during 
 which he should have the pleasure of Senor Gareia's 
 company. The latter, finding himself entrapped, made 
 a merit of necessity, and despatched an order for the 
 little Genevieve, who was soon given to her parents' 
 arms. "We cannot describe their joy, nor the sponta- 
 neous burst of sympathy, which ran through the as- 
 sembly, when the lost child was restored. The Indians, 
 who had sat motionless as statues throughout the whole 
 scene, preserving an inflexibility of muscle which 
 nothing could change, rose when they beheld this af- 
 fecting meeting, and said to each other, " Very good." 
 One of them then stepped forward, and addressing the 
 commandant, said, " Father, we came to see you do 
 justice ; we opened our ears, and our hearts are satis- 
 fied. The cunning black serpent crawled into the nest 
 of the turtle, and stole away the young dove ; but our fa- 
 ther is an eagle, very strong and brave ; he is wiser than 
 the serpent ; he has brought back the young dove, and 
 the old turtles sing with joy. Father, we are satis- 
 fied it is all very good. We bid you farewell." 
 Then advancing to the commandant, each of the 
 chiefs gave his right hand, and stalked out of the
 
 MICHEL DE COUCY. 169 
 
 audience chamber, without deigning to notice any other 
 person. 
 
 As for Michel, he had now no difficulty in paying his 
 debt; for those who owed him, when they found that his 
 misfortune had grown out of their own delinquency, im- 
 mediately raised among them the sum required ; and 
 Michel retired well satisfied, but convinced of three 
 truths, which he continued to maintain through life ; 
 first, that French laws surpass all others in wisdom and 
 justice ; second, that Spaniards with black whiskers are 
 not to be trusted ; and third, that it is safer to bury mo- 
 ney under the floor than to embark it in traffic ; and he 
 thereupon made a vow to his patron saint, that whenever 
 the leathern bag should be replenished, it should be re- 
 stored to the place of deposite, there to remain as a ta- 
 lis man against the like misfortune in future.
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 THE events of the present little tale which I am about 
 to relate, occurred some ten or fifteen years ago, when 
 the western states were yet in their minority, and pre- 
 tended not to vie in wealth or population with their bloom- 
 ing and accomplished sisters in the east. It is true, 
 that our people had some vague notions of their own im- 
 portance, and would sometimes talk of their birth-rights 
 and their future greatness, in a strain that would make a 
 stranger stare. Accustomed to the contemplation of 
 great mountains, long rivers, and boundless plains, the 
 majestic features of their country swelled their ideas, 
 and gave a tinge of romance to their conceptions. The 
 immense cotton-woods and sycamores that overhung 
 their rivers, the huge alligator that bellowed in the stream 
 and the great mammoth bones imbedded ill their swamps 
 became familiar standards of comparison ; while their 
 long journeys over boundless plains teeming with the 
 products of nature, gave them exalted notions of the 
 magnificence of their country. One would have thought
 
 172 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 they were speaking in parables, who heard them describ- 
 ing the old thirteen states as a mere appendage of the 
 future republic a speck on the map of the United 
 States a sort of out-lot with a cotton field at one end, 
 and a manufactory of wooden clocks at the other ; yet 
 they were in sober earnest. 
 
 The season of the year was that which poets delight 
 to describe : when the birds are singing their sweetest 
 notes, and the trees assuming the beautiful hues of spring. 
 The snows were melting on the mountains, and the 
 channels of those little streams which, at a later season, 
 murmured quietly along their valleys, were now. filled to 
 their brinks with foaming torrents. The. Ohio was swol- 
 len to a great flood, filling its deep channel to the brim ; 
 and its tide was crowded with the vessels and passen- 
 gers who throng the great avenues of commerce at this 
 propitious season. Among the boats were many of that 
 description, in which families emigrating to the west 
 usually descended the Ohio, before the introduction of 
 steam-boats into general use. These were large flat 
 boats, unfit to stem the current, and so constructed as 
 to float with the stream. Though slow, and unwieldy, 
 they were large, safe, and roomy ; affording space 
 enough for families, merchandise, and even cattle. 
 
 One fine morning, a boat of the kind described was 
 seen to approach the landing place, at a small town on 
 the Ohio. The passengers sprung joyously ashore, as 
 if delighted to escape from their confinement. It was 
 an English family, just arrived from the old country.
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 173 
 
 Mr. Edgarton,the head of this little band of adventurers, 
 was a man of about thirty-five, sprightly and good look- 
 ing, but rather oddly accoutred ; for his dress exhibited 
 a whimsical mixture of fashion and rudeness. He wore 
 cambric ruffles, a diamond breast-pin, a dandy waist- 
 coat, and a store of jewelry appended to a gold watch 
 chain ; but his nether limbs were clad in long spatter- 
 dashes', reaching to the knee, a farmer's coarse frock 
 covered his shoulders", and a great fur cap was on his 
 head. He was equipped, moreover, with a powder- 
 horn, shot-pouch and bird-bag, and held in his hand an 
 elegant double-barrelled gun. We mention these things 
 to show how difficult it is for men to throw oflf their ac- 
 customed habits, and to assume those which are suitable 
 to la change of country or condition. Mr. Edgarton, 
 when at home, was a modest, and a well dressed man ; 
 but in attempting to assume the guise of a farmer, and 
 the equipment of a hunter, had jumbled together a gro- 
 tesque assortment of costume, which gave him the ap- 
 pearance of a stage player dressed for exhibition, more 
 than that of a plain man of business, which was his real 
 character. His wife was a genteel, handsome woman ; 
 a neat article, and neatly put up ; for her dress was as 
 graceful as herself; and the children, some four or five 
 in number, looked as fresh and rosy as the morning. 
 Then there was a maid, a greyhound, a pug dog, and a 
 parrot, all in good order and well conditioned. There 
 was another member of the family, whom I have reserv- 
 ed, as in duty bound, for a separate mention. This was
 
 174 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 Mr. Edgarton's sister, a fair lady whose age, if it be not 
 impolite to specify too particularly,on so delicate a point, 
 was somewhere on the right side of twenty. A maiden 
 sister is a very creditable and useful appendage in any 
 gentleman's family. If she happens to be young, pretty, 
 sentimental, and affected, nothing can be more amus- 
 ing ; while the opposites of these qualities most general- 
 ly elevate her into a rational companion. Julia Edgar- 
 ton was handsome enough to pass for a beauty in any 
 country ; she was sentimental enough to admire the 
 beauties of nature, yet not so sentimental as to travel 
 with a pencil in her hand, or a book in her reticule ; she 
 had just affectation enough to be very agreeable, for a 
 handsome woman should always have a slight tinge of 
 coquetry ; she had taste enough to enjoy the writings of 
 Scott, but not so much as to enable her to dream over 
 the mad rhapsodies of Byron. In short, she was a sen- 
 sible, clever girl, and that is saying as much as it be- 
 comes any grave historian to say of a young lady es- 
 pecially if there is any chance that his work will ever be 
 reviewed in England. 
 
 The goods and chattels of this party were numerous, 
 but not bulky, nor particularly well assorted. The nick- 
 nacks considerably outnumbered the useful articles in- 
 deed there was no end to those nondescript contrivances 
 which brother Jonathan very aptly denominates notions. 
 Of household furniture there was but little ; of farming 
 utensils there was rather more than a little ; the latter 
 consisting chiefly of new inventions, remarkably neat
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 175 
 
 and useless horse rakes, patent ploughs, straw-cutters, 
 and man traps. The heaviest article of transportation 
 was the wardrobe, which was sufficient to have furnish- 
 ed a respectable slop-shop. The stores of linen and 
 flannel, the dozens upon dozens of night-caps and socks, 
 the coats, great coats, frock coats, coatees and surtouts, 
 provided to suit every occasion and contingency, were 
 absolutely miraculous. 
 
 Although Mr. Edgarton was going to farm in a new 
 country, he had not been a farmer at home. He was a 
 mercantile clerk in London, who by his assiduity and 
 good management, had been able not only to support 
 his family respectably, but to lay by each year, a small 
 portion of his earnings. He had never been out of Lon- 
 don until latterly, when beginning to feel independent, 
 he was induced on several successive holydays to make 
 excursions into the country, accompanied by his wife ; 
 whereby his mind was improved, and his thirst for travel- 
 ling increased to such an extent, that he ventured at last 
 to a watering place on the coast, where he spent a week. 
 He became enamoured of the country, and began to talk 
 of rustic pursuits and sturdy independence, fresh air, 
 rosy cheeks, and healthy peasants. His wife threw 
 aside all her songs, except such as treated of cottages 
 and love, innocence and rural felicity. He determined 
 to study agriculture, and immediately purchased " Speed 
 the Plough," "The Farmer's Boy," "The Cotter's 
 Saturday Night," and " The Shepherd of Salisbury 
 Plain," all of which he read with such delight and ad-
 
 176 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 vantage, that he soon determined to exchange the smoke 
 of London for the pure air of the country. While in 
 this state of mind he heard golden accounts of the back 
 settlements in America, and was easily persuaded to 
 emigrate to the land of promise. Of his voyage across 
 the Atlantic, and his journey from the sea-board, I shall 
 not speak, as they were like most other voyages and 
 travels, very dull and tiresome. They had been floating 
 for many days down the smooth current of the Ohio 
 when they found it convenient to halt for a few hours at 
 the rude hamlet to which we alluded above. 
 
 After sauntering through the village, the members of 
 our voyaging party were about to re-embark, when a per- 
 son approached them, and without the ceremony of an 
 introduction, inquired civilly of Mr. Edgarton, if he 
 would accommodate him with a passage in his boat. 
 Surprised at the abruptness of the salutation, the eyes 
 of the whole party were turned towards the stranger. 
 He was a young man, apparently not more than twenty- 
 one years of age. His athletic form was clothed in the 
 common dress of the western hunter. A loose hunting 
 shirt of blue cotton, trimmed with yellow fringe, and 
 confined about his waist with a broad leathern belt, set 
 off his person to the best advantage. From one shoul- 
 der was suspended a powder-horn, from the other a 
 huge leathern pouch, in the belt of which rested a long 
 knife. There was nothing remarkable in his appear- 
 ance except that his form towered above the ordinary 
 height, and that a rifle which he held carelessly in his
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 177 
 
 hand, was double the size of an ordinary weapon, and 
 seemed fit only for the grasp of a giant. His cheek had 
 the flush of youth, his eye was mild, and his counte- 
 nance open and ingenuous, yet the rifle and the hunting 
 knife gave him so much the appearance of an assassin, 
 in the inexperienced eyes of the Englishman, that the 
 latter was not a little startled at beingaddressed by such 
 an apparition with : 
 
 " Pray sir, can I get the favour of a passage down the 
 river in your boat 1" 
 
 The first sensation of a travelling Englishman which 
 is awakened on such an occasion, is that of pride : and 
 Mr. Edgarton being quite indignant at being asked to 
 take a passenger, replied coldly, " Mine is not a passage 
 boat!" 
 
 " So I supposed from her looks ; srre. seems to .be" 
 rather a crazy kind of concern : but I am not particular 
 about that ; I can put up with any thing." 
 
 " We have no wish to increase our company," said 
 the Englishman. 
 
 The young man looked surprised, and seemed to 
 think himself rudely treated ; his eye brightened, and 
 the colour deepened upon his cheek ; but without mak- 
 ing any reply, he turned on his heel and walked away. 
 
 The boat was again shoved out into the stream, and 
 floated heavily on its course. Nothing worthy of note 
 occurred until the following evening about sunset, when, 
 as they drifted near the shore, our emigrants beheld on 
 passing a little headland, a deer standing on the margin
 
 178 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 of the stream, from which he was drinking. They came 
 upon him so suddenly, as the boat turned the wooded 
 point behind which he had been concealed from them, 
 that on first discovering him, they were near enough to 
 distinguish all the lineaments of his fine form, and even 
 to see the flashing of his dark eye, as he gazed for an 
 instant at the boat. It was but an instant, when he turn- 
 ed to fly ; but at the same moment the report of a rifle 
 was heard, and the graceful animal, after a few leaps, 
 fell upon the sand. The hunter who had been conceal- 
 ed in a tuft of willows that overhung the river, now 
 sprung from his covert, and approached his victim. As 
 he advanced, the deer discovered his enemy, and start- 
 ing nimbly to his feet, prepared to avenge himself. He 
 swelled with rage, madness flashed from his eye-balls, 
 a.nd all his motions showed that a momentary ferocity 
 had banished the timidity of his nature, and overcome 
 the sense of pain and of weakness. The boatmen, who 
 knew with what vindictive and desperate courage a 
 wounded deer will turn upon his assailant, gazed in si- 
 lent anxiety, as they beheld the hunter, standing alone 
 upon the sandy beach, exposed to the assault of the en- 
 raged animal. As the furious beast rushed upon him, 
 with his head down, and his sharp antlers thrown for- 
 ward, the hunter stepped nimbly aside, and for that time 
 avoided the deadly thrust ; while the spectators loudly 
 shouted their applause. But the active animal was not 
 to be thus foiled, and suddenly turning, he rushed upon
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 179 
 
 his enemy, and in an instant beat him to the ground 
 with his fore feet, then rising quickly upon his hinder 
 legs, he continued to jump upon the prostrate hunter, 
 striking so rapidly and violently with his fore hoofs, that 
 the blows were distinctly heard as they fell in quick suc- 
 cession on the ground. But the hunter lost none of 
 his presence of mind under these appalling circum- 
 stances, and by dint of rolling and dodging, contrived to 
 avoid his adversary's blows, until, watching a favourable 
 moment, he suddenly sprang up, and threw his left arm 
 round the animal's neck, while with the right he plunged 
 his long hunting-knife deep in its side. 
 
 Curiosity, as well as concern for the fate of the hun- 
 ter, now induced some of the boatmen to jump into the 
 small skiff which usually accompanies such boats, and 
 to row to the shore. They soon returned, bringing the 
 hunter and his spoil, and our travellers were not a little 
 surprised to recognize in the former, the same young 
 man who on the day before had solicited a passage in 
 their boat. The meeting was equally unexpected to him, 
 and he would have returned immediately to the shore, 
 had not Mr. Edgarton pressed him to remain, with a 
 cordiality which sufficiently atoned for his former rude- 
 ness. 
 
 The young stranger, whom we shall call Logan, was 
 a native of Kentucky, who had been reared in the prac- 
 tice of all the athletic exercises and sports of his country, 
 while his intellect had been cultivated by the best in- 
 struction which that region afforded. His fine form and
 
 180 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 vigorous understanding corresponded well with each 
 other, and he possessed in a high degree that hilarity of 
 disposition, and ease of manner, which so often distin- 
 guish his countrymen. Having studied law, he deter- 
 mined to emigrate to a newer state than his own, and 
 had reached the Ohio river, when the accidental loss of 
 his horse, and the want of means to purchase another, 
 induced him to proceed on foot. He accordingly sold 
 his saddle, bridle, and other equipments, and having pur- 
 chased a rifle and hunting-shirt, was about to renew his 
 journey, when the boat of Mr. Edgarton stopped at the 
 village in which he happened to be. Disappointed in 
 his attempt to procure a passage, he manfully threw the 
 small valise containing his wardrobe over his shoulder, 
 and struck into the woods about the same time at which 
 the Englishman's boat departed ; but as the latter float- 
 ed with the current round a circuitous bend of the river, 
 while Mr. Logan pursued a shorter path which led across 
 the country, they met again as we have stated. 
 
 Where all parties are disposed to be pleased with each 
 other, cordiality is quickly established. The family of 
 Edgarton, accustomed to the excitement of a city life, and 
 to the enjoyment of the various expedients by which the 
 idle hours of persons in easy circumstances are amused 
 in the British metropolis, began to tire of the silence 
 and monotony of the forest, and the confinement of a 
 boat. To them, therefore, the accession of an agreeable 
 member to their party, was not an unimportant event ;
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 181 
 
 and no sooner did Mr. Edgarton ascertain that the per- 
 son whom he had before treated with so much indiffer- 
 ence, was a gentleman of easy manners and cultivated 
 mind, than he felt his curiosity awakened, and feelings 
 of kindness springing up in his bosom towards the 
 stranger. As for Mr. Logan, he was infinitely amused 
 at the odd ways of the emigrants, their strange notions 
 about matters and things in America, and especially 
 with their cultivation and intelligence in other respects, 
 as contrasted with their total ignorance of this country, 
 and the childlike simplicity with which they wondered 
 at every thing that attracted their attention. Besides, 
 Miss Julia Edgarton, as we said before, was a very 
 pretty young lady, and as we did not say before, sang 
 like a nightingale, and talked like a book ; and having 
 been for some time deprived of all society but that of 
 the married pair, the children, pug-dog and parrot af- 
 foresaid, was of course delighted, however unwilling she 
 might have been to confess it, to obtain a more suitable 
 companion, and altogether disposed to exert her powers 
 of pleasing in his behalf. 
 
 Thus organized, the party began to realize the 
 pleasures of travelling those pleasures which ever 
 await such as have sufficient taste and good temper to 
 enjoy them. The Edgartons displayed their books, 
 their engravings, their nick-nacks, and exotic curiosi- 
 ties, and endeavoured to edify the young American 
 with descriptions of the magnificence and the wonders 
 of London ; while the latter was equally communicative
 
 182 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 in relation to his own country, and especially that por- 
 tion of it through which they were passing. In the 
 mild serene evenings, as the sun sunk behind the west- 
 ern hills, and the long shadows of the forest extended 
 quite across the river, they would sit on the deck gaz- 
 ing at the rich hues of our noble forest trees, and list- 
 ening to the song of the mocking bird, or the distant 
 notes of the boatman's bugle. Sometimes Edgarton 
 would take his flute, or the ladies would sing. Logan 
 derived pleasure from these amusements ; but they 
 were not sufficient for his inquisitive mind and active 
 habits. He often took his rifle and wandered along the 
 shore, keeping pace with the boat, and returning loaded 
 with game ; and sometimes prevailed on the ladies to 
 accompany him in the skiff, and to visit the cabins of 
 the settlers. 
 
 The difference of characters between the two gentle- 
 men who were thus thrown together was striking and 
 amusing. Both were amiable and honest men. Ed- 
 garton, enervated by a city life and sedentary habits, 
 felt severely all the little privations and inconveniences 
 of the journey ; accustomed to a certain round of duties 
 and enjoyments, he was keenly sensitive of the slightest 
 encroachment upon his personal comfort, and selfish in 
 his exactions of attention from all around him ; and, 
 proud of his native country, was offended if others did 
 not flatter his national vanity. His habits were formed 
 in a land abounding with artificial luxuries, where all 
 the arts which promote comfort or facilitate business
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 183 
 
 exist in high perfection, and where money can purchase 
 every necessary of life, and every personal attention 
 which the most fastidious can require. He was now 
 in a country where many of these comforts and luxuries 
 could not be purchased, because they did not exist, or 
 existed only in the possession of those who would not 
 barter them for money, and where the stranger could 
 only procure them from the hospitality of the people. 
 But too proud to accept that for which money would 
 not be received, too reserved to cultivate the acquaint- 
 ance of strangers, he passed through the country with- 
 out acquiring any knowledge of the character of its in- 
 habitants or rubbing off any of his own prejudices, and 
 suffered many privations which a little affability on his 
 own part would have taught him how to relieve. Lo- 
 gan had all the freshness and originality of character 
 so common to the youth of our country.- Accustomed 
 to regard habits and modes of life in reference to their 
 usefulness, and to pay but little deference to mere form, 
 he was prepared to adapt himself to circumstances, and 
 to take the world as he found it. Mr Edgarton, though 
 he could not resist the attraction produced by the intelli- 
 gence, amiability and interesting frankness of the man- 
 ners of the young American, who seemed as much at 
 home as if in the bosom of his own family, could not, 
 on the other hand, divest himself of that suspicious and 
 repulsive feeling which his countrymen are apt to en- 
 tertain towards strangers. Logan, unaccustomed to 
 the refined deceptions which are practised in crowded
 
 184 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 cities, considered every man a gentleman whose exte- 
 rior and conduct entitled him to that appellation, and 
 felt a disposition to cultivate the acquaintance of any 
 such whom he might meet : while Edgarton, who but- 
 toned his pocket flaps, and kept a bright look out at his 
 trunks, whenever a stranger approached, was continu- 
 ally wondering that so genteel a young man should 
 travel without letters of introduction, and that he him- 
 self should be so imprudent as to admit into his family 
 circle a person of whom he had no personal knowledge. 
 These opposite feelings occasioned some amusing in- 
 terludes in the first scene of the intercourse between 
 the parties, who approximated each other much after 
 the fashion of vessels floating on an agitated sea, 
 which meet with a jar and instantly recoil, but which 
 still float along together, and come into harmonious 
 contact at last when the waves subside. So the gen- 
 tlemen in question, after some sharp repartees, and 
 after their respective nationalities had bumped and 
 jostled awhile, settled down into amicable travelling 
 companions, and maintained the most friendly relations 
 until their arrival at the place of debarkation, where the 
 Edgartons, finding that Mr. Logan's route lay in the 
 direction of their own, insisted on his continuing to 
 travel with their parly. 
 
 The place at which the party landed was a small vil- 
 lage on the bank of the river, distant about fifty miles 
 from a settlement in the interior, to which they were 
 destined.
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 185 
 
 " Here we are on dry land once more," said the 
 Englishman as he jumped ashore ; " come, Mr. Lo- 
 gan, let us go to the stage house, and take our seats." 
 Logan smiled and followed his companion. 
 
 " My good friend,'* said Edgarton to a tall sallow 
 man in a hunting-shirt, who sat on a log by the river, 
 with a rifle in his lap, " can you direct us to the stage- 
 house V 9 
 
 " Well, I can't say that I can." 
 
 " Perhaps you do not understand what we want," 
 said Edgarton ; " we wish to take seats in a mail coach 
 for 
 
 " Well, stranger, it's my sentimental belief that there 
 is n't a coach, male or female, in the county.'* 
 
 " This fellow is ignorant of our meaning," said Ed- 
 garton to Logan. 
 
 " What's that you say, stranger ? / spose maybe you 
 think I never see d a coach 1 Well, it's a free country and 
 every man has a right to think what he pleases ; but I 
 reckon I've saw as many of them arefixens as any other 
 man. I was raised in Tennessee. I saw General Jack- 
 son once riding in the elegantest carriage that ever mor- 
 tal man sot his eyes on with glass winders to it like a 
 house, and sort o* silk curlings. The harness was mount- 
 ed with silver ; it was drawd by four blooded nags, and 
 drove by a mighty likely nigger boy." 
 
 The travellers passed on, and soon learned that there 
 was indeed no stage in the country. Teams and car- 
 riages of any kind were difficult to be procured ; and it
 
 186 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 was with some difficulty that two stout wagons were at 
 last hired, to carry Mr. Edgarton's moveables, and a 
 dearbot-n obtained to convey his family, it being agreed 
 that one of the gentlemen should drive the latter vehicle, 
 while the other walked, alternately. Arrangements were 
 accordingly made to set out the next morning. 
 
 The settlement in which Mr. Edgarton had judicious- 
 ly determined to pitch his tent, and enjoy the healthful 
 innocence and rural felicity of the farmer's life, was new ; 
 and the country to be traversed to reach it, entirely un- 
 settled. There were two or three houses scattered 
 through the wilderness on the road, one of which the 
 party might have reached by setting out early in the 
 morning, and they had determined to do so. But there 
 was so much fixing and preparing, to be done, so much 
 stowing of baggage and packing of trunks, such moment- 
 ous preparations to guard against cold and heat, hunger 
 and thirst, fatigue, accident, robbery, disease and death, 
 that it was near noon before the cavalcade was prepared 
 to move. Even then they were delayed some minutes 
 longer to give Mr. Edgarton time to oil the screws and 
 renew the charges of his double barrel gun and pocket 
 pistols. In vain he was told there were no highwaymen 
 in America. His way lay chiefly through uninhabited 
 forests ; and he considered it a fact in natural history, 
 as indisputable as any other elementary principle, that 
 every such forest has its robbers. After all he entirely 
 neglected to put flints in his bran new locks, instead of 
 the wooden substitutes, which the maker had placed
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 187 
 
 there to protect his work from injury ; and thus " doubly 
 armed," he announced his readiness to start with an air 
 of truly comic heroism. 
 
 When they began their journey new terrors arose. 
 The road was sufficiently plain and firm for all rational 
 purposes ; that is to say, it would do very well, for those 
 who only wanted to get along, and were content to make 
 the best of it. It was a mere path beaten by a succes- 
 sion of travellers. No avenue had been cut for it through 
 the woods ; but the first pioneers had wound their way 
 among the trees, avoiding obstacles by going round 
 them, as the snake winds through the grass, and those 
 who followed had trodden in their footsteps, until they 
 had beaten a smooth road sufficiently wide to admit the 
 passage of a single wagon. On either side was the thick 
 forest, sometimes grown up with underbrush to the mar- 
 gin of the trace, and sometimes so open as to allow the 
 eye to roam off to a considerable distance. Above was 
 a dense canopy of interwoven branches. The wild and 
 lonesome appearance, the deep shade, the interminable 
 gloom of the woods, were frightful to our travellers. 
 The difference between a wild forest in the simple ma- 
 jesty of nature, and the woodlands of cultivated coun- 
 tries, is very great. In the latter the underbrush has 
 been removed by art, or destroyed by domestic animals; 
 the trees as they arrive at their growth are felled for use, 
 and the remainder, less crowded, assume the spreading 
 and rounded form of cultivated trees. The sunbeams 
 reach the soil through the scattered foliage, the ground
 
 188 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 is trodden by grazing animals, and a hard sod is formed. 
 However secluded such a spot may be, it bears the 
 marks of civilization, the lowing of cattle is heard, and 
 many species of songsters that hover round the habita- 
 tions of men, and are never seen in the wilderness, here 
 warble their notes. In the western forests of America, 
 all is grand and savage. The truth flashes instantly 
 upon the mind of the observer, with the force of convic- 
 tion, that Nature has been carrying on her operations 
 here for ages undisturbed. The leaf has fallen from 
 year to year ; succeeding generations of trees have 
 mouldered, until the soil has acquired an astonishing 
 depth and an unrivalled fertility. 'From this rich bed 
 the trees are seen rearing their shafts to an astonishing 
 height. The tendency of plants towards the light is 
 well understood ; of course when trees are crowded 
 closely together, instead of spreading, they shoot up- 
 wards, each, endeavouring, as it were, to overtop its 
 neighbours, and expending the whole force of the vege- 
 tative powers, in rearing a great trunk to the greatest 
 possible height, and then throwing out a top like an um- 
 brella to the rays of the sun. The functions of vitality 
 are carried on with vigour at the extremities, while the 
 long stem is bare of leaves or branches ; and when the 
 undergrowth is removed nothing can exceed the gloomy 
 grandeur of the elevated arches of foliage, supported by 
 pillars of majestic size and venerable appearance. The 
 great thickness and age of many of the trees is another 
 striking peculiarity. They grow from age to age, at-
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 189 
 
 taining a gigantic size, and then fall, with a tremendous 
 force, breaking down all that stands in their downward 
 way, and heaping a great pile of timber on the ground, 
 where it remains untouched until it is converted into 
 soil. Mingled with all our timber, are seen aspiring 
 vines, which seem to have commenced their growth with 
 that of the young trees, and risen with them, their tops 
 still flourishing together far above the earth, vyhile their 
 stems are alike bare. The undergrowth consists of dense 
 thickets, made up of the offspring of the larger trees, 
 mixed with thorns, briars, dwarfish vines, and a great 
 variety of shrubs. The ground is never covered with a 
 firm sward, and seldom bears the grasses, or smaller 
 plants, being covered from year to year with a dense 
 mass of dried and decaying leaves. 
 
 Such was the scene that met the eyes of our travel- 
 lers, and had they been treated to a short excursion 
 in the moon they would scarcely have witnessed any 
 thing more novel. The wide-spread and trackless ocean 
 had scarcely conveyed to their imaginations so vivid an 
 impression of the vast and solitary grandeur of Nature, 
 in her pathless wildernesses. They could hardly 
 realize the expectation of travelling safely through such 
 savage shades. The path, which could be seen only a 
 few yards in advance, seemed continually to have ter- 
 minated, leaving them no choice but to retrace their 
 steps. Sometimes they came to a place where a tree 
 had fallen across the road, and Edgarton would stop un- 
 der the supposition that any further attempt to proceed
 
 190 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 was hopeless until he saw his American drivers, for- 
 saking the track, guiding their teams among the trees, 
 crushing down the young saplings that stood in their 
 way, and thus winding round the obstacle, and back to 
 the road, often through thickets so dense, that to the 
 stranger's eye it seemed as if neither man nor beast 
 could penetrate them. Sometimes on reaching the 
 brink of a ravine or small stream, the bridge of logs 
 which previous travellers had erected, was found to be 
 broken down, or the ford rendered impassable ; and the 
 wagoners with the same imperturbable 'good nature, and 
 as if such accidents were matters of course, again left 
 the road, and seeking out a new crossing place, passed 
 over with scarcely the appearance of difficulty. 
 
 Once they came to a sheet of water, extending as far 
 as the eye could reach, the tall trees standing in it as 
 thickly as upon the dry ground, with tufts of grass and 
 weeds instead of the usual undergrowth. 
 
 " Is there a ferry here?" inquired Edgarton. 
 
 " Oh no, sir, its nothing but a slash." 
 
 " What's that?" 
 
 " Why, sir, jist a sort o' swamp." 
 
 " What in the world shall we do?" 
 
 " We'll jist put right a-head, sir ; there's no dif-fick- 
 ulty ; it's nice good driving all about here. It's sort 
 o' muddy, but there's good bottom to it all the way." 
 
 On they went. To Edgarton it was like going to 
 sea ; for no road could be seen ; nothing but the track- 
 less surface of the water ; because instead of looking
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 191 
 
 down, where his eye could have penetrated to the bot- 
 tom, he was glancing forward, in the vain hope of see- 
 ing dry land. Generally the water was but a few inches 
 deep, but sometimes they soused into a hole ; then 
 Edgarton groaned and the ladies screamed ; and some- 
 times it got gradually deeper until the hubs of the 
 wheels were immersed, and the Englishman then called 
 to the wagoners to stop. 
 
 " Don't be afeard, sir," one of them replied, " it is 
 not bad ; why this aint nothing ; it 's right good going ; 
 it aint a-going to swim your horse, no how.*' 
 
 " Any thing seems a good road to you where a horse 
 will not have to swim," replied the Englishman surlily. 
 
 " Why, bless you," said the backwoodsman, " this 
 aint no part of a priming, to places that I've seed afore, 
 no how. I've seed race paths in a worse fix than this. 
 Dont you reckon, stranger, that if my team can drag 
 this here heavy wagon, loaded down with plunder, you 
 can sartainly get along with that ar little carry-all, 
 and nothing on the face of the yeath to tote, but jist the 
 women and children ?" 
 
 They had but one such swamp to pass. It was only 
 about half a mile wide, and after travelling that far 
 through the water, the firm soil of the woods, which 
 before seemed gloomy, became cheerful by contrast ; 
 and Edgarton found at last, that however unpleasant 
 such travelling may be to those who are not accustomed 
 to it, it has really no dangers but such as are imaginary. 
 As the cavalcade proceeded slowly, the ladies found
 
 192 THE EMIGRANTS* 
 
 it most pleasant to walk, wherever the ground was 
 sufficiently dry. Mrs. Edgarton and the children might 
 be seen sauntering along, and keeping close to the car- 
 riage, for fear of being lost, or captured by some non- 
 descript monster of the wild, yet often halting to gather 
 nosegays of wild flowers, or to examine some of the 
 many natural curiosities which surrounded them. Lo- 
 gan and the fair Julia lingered still farther in the rear. 
 They were in that season of life, when acquaintances 
 are readily formed, and when cordiality soon ripens 
 into confidence. A few days had sufficed to inspire 
 them with an interest in each other, which was growing 
 fast into a tender sentiment. The spring of the year is 
 supposed to be particularly propitious to the passion of 
 love. When the birds are singing, and nature assumes 
 her softest and most beautiful attire, the fancy becomes 
 excited, the heart awakened to the influence of gentle 
 affections, and like the flower buds, the germ of love 
 swells and expands in the genial atmosphere. Inde- 
 pendently of those attractions of mind and person, 
 in which some individuals greatly excel others, there is 
 a loveliness in youth itself sufficiently alluring to create 
 attachment. The temper is then most apt to be amiable, 
 the affections ardent and generous, the mind cheerful 
 and unsuspecting. The cares of life have not clouded 
 the imagination, nor its disappointments chilled the 
 fountains of kindness ; nature is then arrayed in 
 all the graces of a distant landscape, in which the
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 193 
 
 harsher features are unseen, and the beautiful outline 
 with its delicate hues and deceptive shadows alone 
 discovered in the far perspective ; and man is contem- 
 plated in the pristine innocence of Eden, while to the 
 worldly eye he is known in the vices of a fallen creature. 
 
 The sun was about to set when the wagoners halted 
 at an open spot, covered with a thick carpet of short 
 grass, on the margin of a small stream of clear water. 
 On inquiring the reason, Mr. Edgarton was assured 
 that this was the best camp-ground on the route, and 
 as there was no house within many miles, it was ad- 
 visable to make arrangements for passing the night 
 there. 
 
 " Impossible !'' exclaimed the European gentleman ; 
 " what ! lie on the ground like beasts ! we shall all catch 
 our death of cold !" 
 
 " I should never live through the night," groaned his 
 fair partner. 
 
 " We shall be heaten up by vild volves or ungry hing- 
 ins/' whined the maid. 
 
 " Don't let us stay here in the dark, papa,' 5 cried the 
 children. 
 
 Logan expressed the opinion that an encampment 
 might be made quite comfortable, and the sentimental 
 Julia declared that it would be " delightful '."Edgarton 
 imprecated maledictions on the beggarly country which 
 could not afford inns for travellers, and wondered if they 
 expected a gentleman to nestle among the leaves like 
 Robin Hood's foresters.
 
 194 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 " I wisht I hadn't never left Lunnun," sobbed the 
 lady's maid, " this comes ofhemigratin out of Hingland 
 to these here back voods. Only to think of gentle 
 volks and vimmen and children having to vaunder in 
 the voods, like Rob Roy in the novel, or Walentine 
 and Horson in the play. Oh ! I shall never live to see 
 the morning, so I vont ! do Mrs. Hedgarton let us turn 
 back ! 
 
 This storm, like other sudden gusts, soon blew over, 
 and the party begnn in earnest to make the best of a 
 bad business, by rendering their situation as comfol'ta- 
 ble as possible. The wagoners, though highly amused at 
 the fears of their companions, showed great alacrity and 
 kindness in their endeavours to dissipate the apprehen- 
 sions and provide for the comfort of the foreigners ; 
 and, assisted by Mr. Logan, soon prepared a shelter. 
 This was made by planting some large stakes in the 
 ground, in the form of a square, filling up the sides and 
 covering the tops with smaller poles, and suspending 
 blankets over and around it, so as to form a complete 
 enclosure. Mrs. Edgarton had a carpet taken from 
 the wagons and spread on the ground ; on this the beds 
 were unpacked and laid, trunks were arranged for seats, 
 and the emigrants, surprised at finding themselves in a 
 comfortable apartment, became as merry as they had 
 before been despondent. A fire was kindled, and the 
 tea-kettle boiled, and there being a large store of bread 
 and provisions already prepared, an excellent repast 
 was soon placed before them, and eaten with the relish
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 195 
 
 produced by severe exercise. The night had now 
 closed in, but the blaze of a large fire, and the light of 
 several candles, threw a brilliant gleam over the spot, 
 and heightened the cheerfulness of the evening meal. 
 The arrangements for sleeping were very simple. The 
 tent, which had been divided into two apartments by a 
 curtain suspended in the middle, accommodated all of 
 Mr. Edgarton's household : Logan drew on his great 
 coat, and spreading a single blanket on the ground, 
 threw himself down with his feet to the fire ; the team- 
 sters crept into their wagons, and the several parties 
 soon enjoyed that luxury which, if Shakspeare may be 
 believed, is denied to the " head that wears a crown." 
 
 The light of the morning brought with it cheerful- 
 ness and merriment. Refreshed from the fatigues of 
 the preceding day, inspired with new confidence, and 
 amused by the novelties that surrounded them, the emi- 
 grants were in high spirits. Breakfast was hastily pre- 
 pared, and the happy party, seated in a circle on the 
 grass, enjoyed their meal with a keen relish. The 
 horses where then harnessed, and the cavalcade re- 
 newed its march. 
 
 The day was far advanced when they began to rise 
 to more elevated ground than that over which they had 
 travelled. The appearance of the woods was sensibly 
 changed. They were now travelling over a high up- 
 land track, with a gently waving surface, and instead of 
 the rank vegetation, the dense foliage, and gloomy 
 shades, by which they had been surrounded, beheld
 
 196 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 woodlands composed of smaller trees, thinly scattered, 
 and intermingled with rich thickets of young timber. 
 The growth though thick was low, so that the rays of 
 the sun penetrated through many openings, and the 
 beaten path which they pursued was entirely exposed to 
 the genial beams. Groves of the wild apple, the plum, 
 and the cherry, now in full bloom, added a rich beauty 
 to the scene and a delightful fragrance to the air. 
 
 But the greatest natural curiosity, and the most at- 
 tractive scenic exhibition of our western hemisphere, 
 was still in reserve ; and a spontaneous expression of 
 wonder and delight burst from the whole party, as 
 they emerged from the woods and stood on the edge of 
 a prairie. They entered a long vista, carpeted with 
 grass, interspersed with numberless flowers, among 
 which the blue violet predominated ; while the edges 
 of the forest on either hand were elegantly fringed with 
 low thickets, loaded with blossoms those of the plurn 
 and cherry, of snowy whiteness, and those of the crab 
 apple, of a delicate pink. Above and beyond these 
 were seen the rich green, the irregular outline, and the 
 variegated light and shade of the forest. As if to pro- 
 duce the most beautiful perspective, and to afford every 
 variety of aspect, the vista increased in width, until it 
 opened like the estuary of a great river, into the broad 
 prairie, and as our travellers advanced, the woodlands 
 receded on either hand, sometimes indented by smaller 
 avenues opening into the woods, and sometimes throw- 
 ing out points of timber, so that the boundary of the
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 197 
 
 plain resembled the irregular outline of a shore as traced 
 on a map. 
 
 Delighted with the lovely aspect of nature in these 
 the most tasteful of her retreats, the party lingered 
 along, until they reached the margin of the broad prai- 
 rie, where a noble expanse of scenery of the same 
 character was spread out on a larger scale. They 
 stood on a rising ground, and beheld before them a 
 Vast plain, undulating in its surface so as to present to 
 the eye a series of swells and depressions, never bro- 
 ken or abrupt, but always regular, and marked by 
 cuvved lines. Here and there was seen a deep ravine, 
 or drain, by which the superfluous water was carried off, 
 the sides of which were thickly set with willows. 
 Clumps of elm and oak were scattered about, far apart, 
 like little islands ; a few solitary trees were seen, re- 
 lieving the eye as it wandered over the ocean-like sur- 
 face of this native meadow. 
 
 A few more hours brought them to the place of their 
 destination. Mr. Edgarton had as yet no house, nor 
 any spot selected for his residence. In choosing a 
 neighbourhood, he had been directed by the advice of 
 some English friends ; but he had now to exercise his 
 own judgment in purchasing land and erecting build- 
 ings. He found the inhabitants kind and hospitable, 
 especially in giving him such advice and information as 
 his situation required ; and many eligible spots were 
 pointed out to him, on the vacant lands of the govern- 
 ment. An Englishman, however, drop where he may,
 
 198 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 considers it his prerogative to know more about the 
 country than its awn inhabitants, and our emigrant 
 wisely concluded that he was the best judge of his own 
 business. He looked for a picturesque spot. Unac- 
 quainted with the nature of soils, or the business of 
 farming, he imagined that rural occupations could be 
 carried on as successfully at one place as at another,and 
 having pleased his eye in the surrounding scenery, was 
 satisfied that he had found all that was necessary to 
 happiness. His fancy was attracted by a long arm of 
 the prairie, reaching back into the forest to the vicinity 
 of a large rivulet. In the depth of this recess he placed 
 his house, so that its front commanded a view of the 
 widening vista, while its sides and rear were embow- 
 ered in woods. In vain was he told that the prairie, at 
 this point, was low and flat, that the soil was a cold 
 sterile clay, and that the surface being concave retained 
 the water. He could drain it : the most dreary mo- 
 rasses had been reclaimed in England. In vain was he 
 told that the rivulet in the rear of his house annually 
 over-flowed its banks, leaving standing pools, and creat- 
 ing noxious vapours. He would convert these inun- 
 dated lands into meadows, and become a benefactor to 
 t\\Q country by abating a nuisance. His little cottage 
 was soon reared upon the spot at which he intended, 
 at some future day, to build a splendid mansion, and 
 the delighted man, surrounded by scenes as beautiful 
 as the most romantic fancy could imagine, sat down 
 contented in the solitary wilderness.
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 199 
 
 What was to be done next? Fields were to be en- 
 closed, grain to be planted, and stock to be purchased, 
 and our farmer's notions of either of these operations 
 were so vague, that he was unable to take the first step 
 without advice. The neighbours, whose admonitions 
 had been already rejected, were applied to, and gave 
 the desired information. Books were also consulted, 
 and at length Mr. Edgarton matured a plan of opera- 
 tions. A plan of the farm was laid down upon paper. 
 Here was to be a garden, and there a lawn ; here an 
 orchard, there meadows, and there corn-fields. The 
 requisite lanes, fences, and ditches, were dotted off 
 with mathematical accuracy ; plans of the mansion, the 
 ice-house, the dairy, the barn, &c. were drawn sepa- 
 rately; Miss Julia, who had a pretty taste for drawing, 
 coloured them all very handsomely, and they were 
 shown to visitors with no small degree of exultation. 
 
 The next thing was to put these splendid plans into 
 operation ; but Mr. Edgarton now found, to his sur- 
 prise, that it was almost impossible to procure labour- 
 ers. The first settlers of a new country are farmers 
 who do their own work, and but few persons could be 
 found, who would work for hire. With great difficulty 
 a few men were employed at extravagant prices ; ths 
 buildings were deferred until another year, and the 
 enclosing the fields commenced. Planting was out of 
 the question, because the grbund was too wet ; drain- 
 ing was attempted, but for this also the season was un- 
 propitious, and after a vast expenditure of labour and
 
 200 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 money, Mr. Edgarton found that he had scarcely ad- 
 vanced a step towards accomplishing the herculean task 
 before him. We shall not weary the reader with a de- 
 tail of all his bad speculations, in buying horses that 
 turned out to be unsound, cattle that ran away, and were 
 never again heard of, and sheep that were incontinently 
 eaten up by the wolves 1 nor shock the feelings of the 
 sympathetic by reciting the dismal fate of numerous 
 broods of chickens and goslins, nurtured by the tender 
 assiduity of Miss Edgarton, and which fell an easy prey 
 to the cunning fox and the audacious raccoon. Trou- 
 bles thickened on every side ; the sturdy peasantry af- 
 forded no society for the polished inmates of the cot- 
 tage, and the advantages of rural felicity began to be 
 doubted. Often did Mr. and Mrs. Edgarton wish 
 themselves back again in their snug back parlour in 
 London ; and as often did the pretty Julia wish to see 
 Mr. Logan, who was understood to be figuring at the 
 bar of a neighbouring county. 
 
 Summer came, and the little cottage, which served 
 for parlour, kitchen, and hall, was found to be oppres- 
 sively confined and hot. Nor was this all : while the 
 salubrious region around was blessed with genial 
 breezes, the dreadful malaria hung in baleful clouds 
 over the dwelling of Edgarton. The rivulet was dried 
 up by th'e fervent heats of the season, leaving along its 
 former channel a few stagnant pools, which gave birth 
 to myriads of musquitoes, who, from their musical pro-
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 201 
 
 pensities and sanguinary -dispositions, might be imagined 
 to sing, as they hovered around this ill-fated family, 
 
 ' " Fee faw fum, 
 
 I smell the blood of an Englishman, 
 And dead or alive 1 will have some." 
 
 These dreadful precursors of disease were, as usual, soon 
 followed by the pestilence itself. -The summer wore 
 away, and the autumn found the family of Edgarton 
 writhing under burning fevers. Mr. Edgarton was first 
 attacked, and in a few hours, was prostrate, helpless, 
 and delirious. Burning fever, raging thirst, and intense 
 pain, seemed to threaten a speedy and excruciating death. 
 The sallow death-like complexion, the blood-shot eye, 
 the throbbing arteries, and the distortions of the counte- 
 nance of the sufferer, filled the minds of his trembling 
 family with the most agonizing apprehensions. Now it 
 was that the helplessness of their solitary condition, 
 impressed their hearts with terror. Their nearest neigh- 
 bour resided at a distance of several miles, and they 
 had no domestic. To the females, the idea of losing a 
 husband and a brother, their dearest relative and only 
 protector, was sufficiently mourrfcul but when they re- 
 flected that he might expire for want of assistance which 
 they knew not how to procure, the thought was full of 
 agony. But women are not apt to yield to despair, 
 when the objects of their affection are in danger ; and 
 while Mrs. Edgarton assiduously attended the sufferer, 
 Julia boldly mounted a horse, and rode to the nearest
 
 202 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 house for assistance, although the way led through the 
 forest by a dim path with which she was little acquaint- 
 ed, and the approach of night rendered the attempt some- 
 what dangerous. She succeeded, however, in procur- 
 ing a messenger, to go in search of a physician. Be- 
 fore medical assistance arrived, which was late the next 
 day, Mrs. Edgarton had taken the fever then the chil- 
 dren, one after another, until Julia was left alone, the 
 sole nurse of all whose blood was kindred to her own in 
 the new world. 
 
 Week after week rolled heavily away. The Edgar- 
 tons, parents and children, still withered in the grasp of 
 the pestilence. Julia, pale and worn down with fatigue 
 and watching, was their devoted nurse. Giving up her 
 whole heart to this duty, with that intensity of affection 
 and singleness of purpose, of which woman is alone ca- 
 pable, she had become skilful in the management of her 
 patients. A physician came as often as his duty to others 
 would permit ; the neighbours were kind, but they were 
 few, and their own cares often called them away. Then 
 came the long, the solitary, the anxious hours, when 
 poor Julia, left alone ^ith her heavy charge, had need 
 of all her fortitude to support her. The invalids under- 
 went many changes ; some grew better and others 
 worse alternately ; hope was excited one day by the 
 favourable symptoms of one, and, on the next, the dan- 
 ger of another created thrilling alarm. At last there 
 came a trying crisis. The youngest child, an interest-
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 203 
 
 ing boy of two years old, breathed his last, in the arms 
 of Julia. The rest of the family were lying, some in- 
 sensible, and all unable to rise. Not another human 
 being was near, and, as Miss Edgarton wept over the 
 corpse, she was bowed under a sense of hopeless des- 
 pondency that seemed to wither all her energies. All 
 the fond hopes that had so long cheered the path of duty, 
 were destroyed the angel of death had entered the 
 dwelling one victim had fallen and the others, all, 
 all, appeared to be hovering on the brink of the grave. 
 It was evening when this melancholy event happened. 
 The sun was setting. Julia went often to the door, and 
 looked over the prairie in the eager hope of seeing some 
 human being ; but none appeared. Night came, and 
 she was alone with the dead and the dying. 
 
 At last her agony became insupportable, and she left 
 the chamber of disease, for the purpose of refreshing 
 herself for a few moments in the open air. As she step- 
 ped out of the door a brilliant light attracted her atten- 
 tion, and she discovered to her surprise that the southern 
 horizon glowed with a resplendent blaze, which threw 
 its radiance over the whole landscape, and rendered 
 every object as distinctly visible as at noon-day. The 
 prairie was on fire ! The novelty of the spectacle could 
 be equalled only by its splendour. The fire itself was 
 not yet visible, in consequence of the rising ground that 
 intervened, but the spot where it raged was distinctly 
 indicated by a strong and vivid glare, which extended
 
 204 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 along the horizon from east to west. Above were seen 
 heavy volumes of smoke rolling upwards in masses of 
 inky blackness, tinged with a fiery redness on those 
 ' parts which were exposed to the reflection of the ele- 
 ^ient. The fore-ground of the scene was a prairie, co- 
 vered with dried and yellow grass, illumined with a fear- 
 ful and peculiar radiance. Here and there stood a soli- 
 tary tree, tinged with light on one side, and throwing 
 from the other a shadow of supernatural length .across 
 the plain. The forest on either side was thrown back 
 into a deep shade, which bounded the prospect, except 
 where here and there a point of timber running out into 
 the prairie like a cape into the ocean, became exposed 
 to the full glare of the fire, and presented its hues and 
 outlines distinctly to the eye. All was still and silent ; 
 no animated object was seen upon the plain, not a sound 
 was heard except that occasioned by the conflagration, 
 a low incessant roaring, resembling the distant but tre- 
 mendous rush of waters. 
 
 The fire had now reached the most elevatect grounds, 
 and was seen advancing, in a long line, fanned by a 
 breeze from the south. Its march was slow but fear- 
 fully regular. Then the breeze died awayand was 
 succeeded by a calm. The smoke now curled upwards 
 for a short distance, and then descended in thick vo- 
 lumes upon the plain, discolouring the atmosphere, and 
 giving a red and ghastly hue to the surrounding ob- 
 jects. 
 
 Julia Edgarton gazed at this scene with intense
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 205 
 
 interest. At first its sublime beauty awakened a lively 
 feeling of admiration ; and she watched with timid won- 
 der the progress of an element always awful when raging 
 uncontrolled in its splendid and terrific majesty ; but 
 when the flame was seen extending across the whole 
 plain, and advancing towards the dwelling that contained 
 the helpless objects of her affection, heart-sickness and 
 unconquerable panic filled her bosom. In another hour, 
 perhaps, that dwelling would be surrounded by the 
 flames, and they must all perish together. Her first 
 impulse was to fly; but the selfish thought was instantly 
 banished, and she resolved rather to die than forsake 
 her charge. A slight noise drew her attention, and 
 looking round she beheld several animals, that she knew 
 to be wolves, crouching upon the ground, and glaring 
 upon her with their fierce eyeballs. By a sure instinct 
 they had scented the house of death, and waited for 
 their prey. Julia rushed distractedly into the house. 
 
 "Aunt," said one of the little girls, "is the sun rising? 
 oh how cheerful the light is !" 
 
 " Oh ! the dreadful flame !" groaned Mr. Edgarton, 
 whose senses were quickened to an exquisite acuteness, 
 " I see it ! I hear the dreadful roaring ! The fiends 
 are preparing their tortures ! oh my God, why did I not 
 seek thee before it was too late !" 
 
 Julia was stricken to the heart by these words. Like 
 most rational and well disposed persons, she had always 
 entertained a respect for religion, but it had formed no 
 part of her education, and had seldom occupied her
 
 206 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 thoughts. Now, abandoned by all the world, and sur- 
 rounded by the dreadful ministers of death, she was con- 
 vinced of the solemn truth, that no hand less powerful 
 than that of an Almighty God could bring relief. In 
 vain had she exerted her tenderness, her ability, her 
 heroism in vain had she relied on herself. The words 
 of her brother sunk into her heart, " Why did I not seek 
 thee before it was too late '!" She dropped upon her 
 knees, and for the first time in her life prayed with ear- 
 nestness and sincerity. A calm resignation followed 
 the performance of this act of duty, and although no 
 supernatural hand was seen stretched out to snatch 
 herself and those who were dear to her from the jaws 
 of death, she felt that courage was given to her to abide 
 the event. As she rose, her hand was grasped with a 
 gentle pressure, a tender voice pronounced her name, 
 she turned, and sunk weeping with joy and gratitude 
 upon the shoulder of Logan. 
 
 He bore the afflicted girl into the 'open air, and having 
 assured her that the danger from the fire was much less 
 than she apprehended, she had courage to contemplate 
 again the terrific scene. The line of flame was advanc- 
 ing slowly towards the house, extending entirely across 
 the plain in front, and into the woods on either side. As 
 it rolled on, the flames were seen darting upward, like 
 agitated waves, and the spectator could scarcely resist 
 the idea that a sea of flaming liquid was spreading its 
 boiling and foaming billows over the land. The heat 
 was now intense ; the roaring and crackling sounds of
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 207 
 
 the conflagration, as deafening as the din of a tempest. 
 On it swept until it reached the beaten ground in the 
 vicinity of the house, which afforded no fuel, and here 
 the flame separated into two divisions, and passing along 
 on either hand, swept away the fences, the stacks, and 
 other combustibles, leaving nothing but the solitary cot- 
 tage and its wretched inmates upon that wide spread 
 and smoking plain. 
 
 Julia acknowledged her gratitude to God, and felt 
 that, although in a land of strangers, and surrounded by 
 dangers, she had how one Friend whose hand is mighty 
 to save those who put their trust in Him. 
 
 On the following morning Mr. Logan made arrange- 
 ments to procure assistance for this afflicted family. 
 The deceased infant was decently buried, and the rest 
 of the family carefully removed to the houses of the 
 neighbours, where skilful attention and pure air soon 
 restored them to health. Mr. Logan remained with 
 them, and having convinced his friend of the futility of 
 his agricultural schemes, easily induced him to remove 
 to the village where he was settled himself, and to invest 
 the remains of his fortune in merchandise. The change 
 was a happy one. Mr. Edgarton, embarked in business 
 for which his education and talents fitted him, succeeded 
 to the utmost extent of his hopes. Health and cheer- 
 fulness smiled again at his fireside. The interesting 
 Julia became .Mrs. Logan ; both families are now in 
 easy circumstances ; and the members of the happy
 
 208 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 circle, in reciting their adventures, never fail to ascribe 
 praise to that Providence, which conducted them in 
 safety through the perils of the ocean, the wilderness, 
 and the pestilence, and gave them a pleasant home in a 
 land of strangers.
 
 THE 
 
 BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 A LEGEND OF FORT CUMBERLAND. 
 
 EVERY person of taste who has enjoyed the luxury of 
 travelling over that splendid monument of national mu- 
 nificence, the Cumberland road, must have been struck 
 with the romantic beauty of the village from which it 
 takes its name. It is situated on a small plain in the 
 bosom of a deep valley, surrounded by tall mountains, 
 whose abrupt cliffs seem to be inaccessible, unless to 
 the soaring eagle, or the adventurous hunter. A small 
 tributary of the Potomac flows in a clear and beautiful 
 stream through the vale, winding its serpentine course 
 round the bold promontories and sharp angles of the 
 mountain, until it reaches the plain, where it forms a 
 graceful curve round the site of the village. The sides 
 of the mountains are rocky, and their summits covered 
 with pines; but the valleys are rich, and thickly wooded, 
 luxuriant in vegetation, and lovely to the eye.
 
 210 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Here stood Fort Cumberland, a frontier fortress, in 
 the colonial wars between the French and English. At 
 the period at which we commence this narrative, in the 
 year 1758, the fort was garrisoned by a numerous and 
 gallant host, engaged in active preparations for a distant 
 enterprise. Colonel Grant, a Scottish officer, at the 
 head of eight hundred Highlanders, was about to lead 
 an expedition against Fort Du Quesne, on the Ohio, 
 and every young officer who panted for fame, was 
 anxious to volunteer in this arduous service. 
 
 " What think you, Major Gordon ?" said the colonel 
 to his second in command, as they strolled one evening 
 along the banks of Will's creek, at some distance from 
 the fort, " will the French be able to stand against our 
 brave Highlanders?" 
 
 " Of the French, could we meet them fairly in the 
 field, I have little fear," replied the other ; " but 1 must 
 confess that I think our troops but poorly calculated to 
 contend in the mountains against their Indian allies." 
 
 " Pshaw ! Major Gordon, I'm ashamed of you. It is 
 a reflection upon the honour of his majesty's troops, to 
 mention them in the same breath with a horde of naked 
 savages ! Sir, with my regiment, I can burn all the 
 wigwams in North America ; and punish the mutinous 
 sachems for their contumacy, at a drum-head court 
 martial, if they should dare to object." 
 
 " You may, perhaps, live to change that opinion. At 
 all events, be advised, in so important an enterprise as
 
 THE BARRACK-MISTER'S DAUGHTER. 211 
 
 the one before us, to employ the necessary caution to 
 insure success." 
 
 " What cautious measure would the chivalrous de- 
 scendant of the noble line of Gordons suggest?" inquired 
 the colonel, in a tone which almost conveyed a sneer. 
 
 " The one I have so often pointed out," replied his 
 friend calmly, "the employment of a small body of men 
 from the frontiers of Virginia, whose knowledge of the 
 country, and of the habits of the enemy, might serve as 
 a safeguard against stratagems, to which our ignorance 
 would expose us." 
 
 , " A safeguard !" retorted the proud Scot, drawing up 
 his fine form, and darting a glance of unmingled scorn 
 from his fierce eye, " truly, it would be an edifying sight 
 to behold the Grant and his followers marching to vic- 
 tory under the protection of a guard ! a guard, too, of 
 paltry peasants ! a squad of militia led by a negro driver, 
 or a village attorney ! If such notions are the result 
 of your long residence in America, Major Gordon " 
 
 At that instant Gordon suddenly halted, and directed 
 the eye of his companion to some object before them. 
 They had just passed a solitary cabin, surrounded by a 
 few acres of cultivated land, where an adventurous back- 
 woodsman ventured to reside, beyond the reach of the 
 guns of the fort. Beyond his clearing their path led 
 through a slip of marshy ground covered with high grass 
 and bushes. The attention of the officers was drawn 
 to two boys, the children of the backwoodsman, whose 
 hut they had just passed, one of whom was about eight,
 
 212 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 and the other ten years of age, who were stealing through 
 the woods with cautious steps, bearing a couple of mus- 
 kets, the butts of which were born by the larger boy, 
 while the muzzles rested on the shoulders of the smaller. 
 They stopped by a large log at the edge of the swamp, 
 and peeped eagerly over it, and the officers then beheld, 
 a few paces from the log, a large bear, apparently asleep, 
 imbedded in the mud. The boys, having ascertained 
 that the animal remained where they had discovered 
 him a few minutes before, placed one of the guns over 
 the log, and the oldest lad, after taking a deliberate aim, 
 fired. The bear, mortally wounded, sprung up in his 
 bed, and uttered a howl of agony. The youngest boy 
 ran towards the house, while the other climbed nimbly 
 up a small tree. Here he sat in security, watching 
 with delight the expiring struggles of his victim, until 
 the latter sunk exhausted in the mire when he 
 screamed after his brother, "Bill, come back, I've saved 
 him!" Again they took their post by the log, and gazed 
 at their grim adversary, who by an occasional twitching 
 of the muscles showed that life was not entirely gone. 
 
 "I guess he 's sort o' Hive yet," said one of the boys. 
 
 " Let 's give him another pill," rejoined the other. 
 
 Accordingly, the other gun was pointed over the log, 
 and discharged. The larger boy then advanced with 
 a long stick, with which he felt his adversary at a dis- 
 tance ; and having thus satisfied himself, he at last 
 approached the body, and seated himself on it in triumph. 
 He then shouted for his brother, " Come here, Bill !
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 213 
 
 where are you 1 why you're no account, to be afraid of a 
 dead bear. I 've used him p, the right way. He *s cold 
 as a wagon-tire." 
 
 The officers now came forward to speak to the heroic 
 children, and learned that they had discovered the bear 
 while at play, and ran to the house; but finding that both 
 their parents were absent, and knowing that their father's 
 guns were always loaded, they' had determined to at- 
 tempt the exploit themselves.* 
 
 *When the officers turned to retrace their steps, Colo- 
 nel Grant expressed his admiration of this singular ad- 
 venture in strong language ; and Major Gordon took 
 the opportunity to remark that it afforded an apt illus- 
 tration of the subject on which they had been conversing. 
 " It is thus," said he, " that the people of the frontier 
 rear their children. Their very sports lead them into 
 danger, and they learn the artifices of the chase so early, 
 that the knowledge is almost an instinct. The moment 
 a lad can carry a gun, he becomes a hunter, as the 
 young falcon as soon as he can prune his wing darts 
 upon his prey." 
 
 " What inference do you draw from that fact ?" 
 
 " Simply, that these backwoodsmen are better fitted 
 for a campaign in their own forests than our European 
 soldiers." 
 
 Perhaps the colonel was convinced. It is no small 
 evidence in favour of such a supposition, that he dropped 
 
 * Founded on fact.
 
 214 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the subject, and remained silent for some time. He 
 then gaily asked his young friend, " when he had last 
 seen the Barrack-master's daughter?" 
 
 " This morning," replied the other, with some hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 "And will not the gallant Major Gordon, who has 
 met his majesty's enemies on so many fields, acknow- 
 ledge that his stock of prudence has been very suddenly 
 and marvellously increased, by his tenderness for the 
 safety of a fair lady ?" 
 
 "Whenever my commanding officer can show his 
 right to act the part of the father confessor, I will answer 
 the question." 
 
 " Pardon me, Gordon ; I pry not into your secrets. 
 Here we are at the gate. Go to the fair Alice, if such 
 be your intention. At two we meet in council at the 
 mess-room." 
 
 Perhaps the most important character, at this time, 
 in Fort Cumberland, was the Barrack-master. Ensign 
 Hagerty had entered the service some thirty years be- 
 fore, a spruce Irish lad, with no other ambition than 
 that of living like a gentleman, and dying like a soldier. 
 The first he had always done, and the last he had never 
 avoided. But although he used to boast that he had 
 been in more battles than he had hairs on his head, he 
 had somehow never been able to advance beyond the 
 grade of ensign. Yet he had all those good qualities 
 that used to be so highly regarded in the mess-room.
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 215 
 
 His good-humour was infinite, he sung an excellent 
 song, told a story well, loved good eating, and could 
 starve, on proper occasions, with the patience of a 
 camel. He had married, for love, a beautiful but 
 penniless woman, and become the happy father of five 
 girls, who were now grown the youngest just turned 
 of fifteen, and the eldest in the full bloom of her beauty. 
 What would have become of these females, after the 
 death of their mother, it is hard to tell, had not a relative 
 in Philadelphia taken them, and reared them. The 
 decease of their kind friend, which had recently taken 
 place, threw them once more on the hands of the ensign, 
 or as he expressed it, obliged him to take command of 
 his own company. Jt is necessary to state in this place, 
 that the worthy ensign was not only above the ordinary 
 stature, but had been annually increasing in circumfe- 
 rence, until he had grown so unwieldy as to be wholly 
 unfit for actual service. Putting all these things toge- 
 ther, he conceived himself a fit subject for the special 
 favour of his majesty's government ; and accordingly 
 waited on the commander of the forces to solicit some 
 employment which would impose less duty, and yield 
 more profit, assigning for reasons that he had a larger 
 amount of clay to nourish than ordinary men, and more 
 daughters than became an ensign. The consequence 
 was that he received the appointment of Barrack-master 
 at Fort Cumberland, where there were no barracks to 
 superintend, with several other sinecures, the aggregate 
 emoluments of which placed him in easy circumstances.
 
 216 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER* 
 
 What was still better, he was promised, on the reduction 
 of Fort Du Quesne, the office of town major, with the 
 addition of a lucrative post in the commissariat. After 
 all, his five daughters constituted his greatest wealth. 
 They were tall, beautiful women, very showy, and quite 
 accomplished. A remarkable circumstance was the 
 strong likeness which they all bore to each other in form 
 and feature; the two youngest particularly could scarcely 
 be distinguished by their acquaintances. It may be well 
 supposed that with such a family, the Barrack-master 
 was a prosperous candidate for all sorts of honours. 
 The title of major fell to him by courtesy. His house 
 became the rendezvous of all the officers, as it certainly 
 afforded the most attractive society in the garrison. 
 Whenever there was a profitable job to be executed, or 
 a fat contract to be given, he was sure to get it ; and 
 after spending the prime of his life in hardship, neglect 
 and poverty, he had reached that enviable period in the 
 career of an old soldier, when he might lawfully sit by 
 his own fireside, smoke his pipe, sing merry songs, and 
 tell over his campaigns to the young officers. 
 
 The preparations for the march were now going rapidly 
 forward. The troops had been for some time engaged in 
 cutting a road across the mountains, and had advanced as 
 far as the Laurel Ridge. The fort was surrounded by the 
 Indian allies of the British, who had been engaged to join 
 in the expedition, and whose slight lodges were scat- 
 tered irregularly through the valley. The warriors, fan-
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 217 
 
 cifully painted, and profusely decked with feathers and 
 other ornaments, were seen strolling about, or engaged 
 in councils, war dances, or athletic exercises. 
 
 .While things were in this situation, the young Alice 
 to wit Miss Hagerty Number 4 went one day to 
 visit the sick wife of a soldier, who resided in a hut 
 outside of the fort, and having paid her the attention 
 which her situation required, attempted to return by a 
 path that seemed to be nearer than the usually travelled 
 road, which was somewhat crowded with soldiers and 
 Indian warriors. Another motive might have induced 
 her to wander from the beaten track. Alice had given 
 iier young heart, and plighted her faith to Major Gor- 
 don ; and as it is a generally received opinion that ladies 
 thus situated are much given to solitary contemplation, 
 it is possible that she might have chosen this secluded 
 way in the hope of enjoying in its picturesque shades, a 
 few moments of delightful abstraction. If that was the 
 case, the young lady displayed more good taste than 
 prudence, for it was a romantic path, leading by a ser- 
 pentine course to the little rivulet that waters this noble 
 valley ; and she lingered along the bank of the stream, 
 delighted with miniature cascades and eddies, and the va- 
 rious attractions of the scenery, still keeping the narrow 
 path-way, which was closely hemmed in with bushes. 
 At last she began to fear that she had lost her way. 
 But she was a high-spirited girl, and felt little alarm. 
 Although the fort was not visible, she could occasion- 
 ally, through the openings of the woods, see its proud 
 T
 
 218 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 flag, waving gaily in the breeze, and she felt no appre- 
 hension of an enemy while in sight of that emblem of 
 her country's power. It would be easy, too, to retrace 
 her steps, and she was about to do so, when a bird' of 
 beautiful plumage attracted her attention. Young la- 
 dies in love are fond of birds too for the tender pas- 
 sion softens the heart, and renders it sensitive to all 
 that is lovely in nature, and the plumed songster, so 
 melodious in the expression of his attachment, so 
 tender, faithful, and assiduous, is an especial object of 
 sympathy. She followed it with her eye as it alighted 
 on the bough of a large tree, and was attentively watch- 
 ing its graceful movements, when the figure of an In- 
 dian sitting among the branches arrested her attention. 
 He was painted with colours so nearly resembling those 
 of the bark of the tree, that it was difficult to distinguish 
 his form among the branches ; and Alice would not 
 have discovered him, had not her glance been in- 
 tensely fixed upon the very spot where he sat, but a few 
 yards above her head. She started back in terror, and 
 the spy, for such he was, hastily discharged an arrow 
 that whistled by her ear, and buried itself in the ground. 
 Uttering a piercing shriek, she turned to fly, while the 
 Indian, dropping from his place of concealment, pur- 
 sued, caught her flowing dress, and was raising his 
 tomahawk to strike, when a young man of athletic frame 
 thrust himself between them. With one hand he 
 pushed back the assailant, and with the other brandished 
 his knife. The Indian waited not for the attack, but
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 219 
 
 darting backward, fled at full speed. The forester 
 shouted a signal cry, and in a moment a number of the 
 friendly Indians appeared, who, being informed of the 
 cause of the alarm, dashed off in pursuit of the fugitive. 
 The war-cry was re-echoed by a hundred voices : the 
 whole of the surrounding woods seemed instantly to be 
 alive ; the terrific yell sounded on every side ; the tread 
 of feet upon the dry leaves and the tramp of horses, an- 
 nounced that the whole Indian host was awakened. 
 Then all was silent. The alarm given and the cause 
 understood, the warriors were tracking the fugitive spy 
 with noiseless steps. Again, another shout arose ; 
 they had secured their victim. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the stranger who had so provi- 
 dently rescued the Barrack-master's daughter from the 
 tomahawk, offered her his arm, and reconducted her to 
 the fort. He was a young man, who might have been 
 considered surpassingly ugly, if it had not been that 
 his features, though coarse and irregular, wore an 
 expression of . courage and honesty. He was a lieu- 
 tenant in a company of volunteers recently arrived from 
 the frontiers of Yirginia, and had already served seve- 
 ral campaigns against the enemy. Though of a good 
 family, he was rugged and unpolished ; for the country, 
 in its then unsettled state, afforded none of the means 
 of education, and while other gentlemen were sent to 
 distant schools, the youthful Dangerly engaged as a 
 private soldier in all the military enterprises of the 
 frontier. Naturally modest and sensible of his un-
 
 220 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 graceful appearance, he soon became bashful, and was 
 famous among his comrades for his aversion to female 
 society ; and while he never shrunk from the face of an 
 enemy, the approach of a lady never failed to put him 
 to instant flight. In the field he was in his element, 
 daring, active, and fertile of expedient ; in camp he was 
 the best of all good fellows always happy, ready for 
 duty, and true to his friend, enjoyed an excellent appe- 
 tite, and slept as soundly on the ground as in a feather 
 bed. 
 
 Mr. Dangerly was not a woman-hater he had too 
 much good feeling for that, but a woman-fearer ; and 
 on this occasion the distress of the beautiful girl who 
 stood trembling and almost fainting called all his better 
 qualities into action. He was surprised into the polite- 
 ness of a true cavalier, and gave her his arm with the 
 kindness of a brother and the ease of a gentleman. He 
 assured her of the absence of all danger, and soothed 
 her inquietude in tones which, though habitually rough, 
 were bland and sympathetic. Had he been patting his 
 favourite horse on the neck, he could not have used 
 more coaxing language ; and his brother officers were 
 struck with astonishment when they beheld the worthy 
 lieutenant advancing towards the fort arm in arrn with 
 the Barrack-master's daughter, and pouring soft expres- 
 sions in her ear with the eagerness of a devoted lover. 
 
 Mr. Dangerly was not aware of the warmth of his 
 expressions, or the tenderness of his manner, for they 
 sprang warm from as kind a heart as ever throbbed,
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 221 
 
 and thinking only of the fears of his companion, he 
 gave full vent to the utterance of his native benevo- 
 lence. He was placed, too, for the first time, in con- 
 tact with a young and lovely woman, who, besides being 
 habitually polite, was under the excitement of a deep 
 sense of gratitude towards her protector, and replied to 
 his remarks with an ease and spirit, softened by the 
 circumstances of the moment into that confidence which 
 so easily steals into youthful hearts. The gracefulness 
 of her beautiful form, as it hung for support on his 
 manly arm, her low tremulous voice, and the rich melo- 
 dy of her tones, all went directly to the heart of the 
 gallant Virginian ; and he wondered how it happened, 
 that, among the numberless enjoyments of life, he had 
 never before learned to estimate the most exquisite of 
 them all, the love of woman. It was therefore with 
 some surprise that, on accidentally looking round, he 
 found himself an object of general attention, and saw 
 that he was detected in the fact of gallanting a lady. 
 But there was no room for retreat ; the lady was under 
 his escort, and although the main entrance of the fort 
 was thronged with spectators, drawn thither by the 
 alarm, and whose glances were more formidable to him 
 than the guns of that fortress would have been in an 
 engagement, yet, having satisfied himself, by a hasty 
 glance, that he must run the gauntlet, he boldly pre- 
 pared " to pass defile in front," and pushed on. The 
 evolution was happily accomplished ; and the British 
 officers being all engaged in a council of war, he con- 
 
 T2
 
 222 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ducted his fair charge to her father's door without in- 
 terruption, and then, having exhausted his stock of 
 courage, hastily bowed, and retired, covered with con- 
 fusion, to his own tent. We pass over the rough jokes 
 that were levelled at our worthy officer by his relentless 
 companions. He bore them with his wonted compo- 
 sure, but inwardly vowed that while he would cherish 
 through life the delightful vision that was impressed 
 upon his fancy, he would never again venture his heart 
 within the fascination of a woman's eye, or subject him- 
 self to the shame and ridicule which had followed his 
 first adventure under the banners of Cupid. 
 
 The event just related induced Colonel Grant to 
 fasten his preparations. A part of the troops had al- 
 ready been sent forward, and were employed in cutting 
 a road across the mountains. Washington, then a 
 young officer, had urged Colonel Bouquet, who com- 
 manded on this frontier, to advance the troops by the 
 route which had been travelled by General Braddock 
 three years before, which followed the trace pursued by 
 the Indians, and being now somewhat beaten, was bet- 
 ter than any new road could be made with the small 
 force and limited means at the disposal of that officer. 
 But " those whom the gods doom to destruction they 
 first deprive of understanding ;" the same power which 
 decreed the downfal of British power on this continent, 
 seems to have almost invariably used her own officers 
 aa the instrument of defeat ; and the contempt of the 
 latter for the advice and aid of their colonial friends.
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 223 
 
 produced always the same disastrous consequences. 
 Month after month had been consumed in the hercu- 
 lean task of opening a military road over the Alpine 
 cliffs and gloomy abysses of the Allegheny range. The 
 work had now proceeded as far as the Loyalhanna, 
 where a post was established, at which the troops were 
 about to be concentrated. 
 
 Arrived at the latter place, Colonel Grant's detach- 
 ment, consisting of the Highlanders and a small body 
 of Virginians from the regiment of Colonel Washing- 
 ton, attached to it much against the will of Grant, was 
 organized, and set forward on their march, towards 
 Fort Du Quesne. The alacrity of this leader, and his 
 gallant bearing, were now as conspicuous as his total 
 ignorance of the country and of the habits of his enemy. 
 He had no idea of the rapidity and secrecy of move- 
 ment which form the most striking feature of border 
 warfare ; where every soldier carries his own ammu- 
 nition and provisions, sleeps in his blanket under a tree, 
 and is ready for a march or for battle at a moment's 
 warning. But under every disadvantage the brave 
 Highlanders moved forward with a noble spirit. The 
 newly cut road which they had passed, embracing all 
 the ridges of the Alleghany mountains, was already 
 blocked up in some places by fallen trees, or rendered 
 almost impracticable by deep ravines washed by the 
 heavy rains that poured in torrents down the sides of 
 these precipitous heights. Sometimes the path wound 
 over a series of hideous precipices, which seemed inac-
 
 224 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 cessible ; and sometimes an impetuous river, rushing 
 and foaming over the sharp fragments of. rock which 
 formed its bed seemed to render any further advance 
 impracticable. But this inhospitable region was at length 
 left behind them, and they entered that great western 
 valley which was destined to become the home of mil- 
 lions. 
 
 Major Hagerty, the Barrack-master, accompanied the 
 expedition, for the purpose of being on the spot to en- 
 ter on the new duties which would devolve onhim at the 
 capture of Fort Du Quesne. Notwithstanding his un- 
 wieldy ponderance of body, he made his arrangements 
 with the alacrity of an old campaigner. Though not 
 elated like his junior companions with the hope of lau- 
 rels to be gathered on the field of battle, he entered 
 with spirit into their cheerfulness, and seemed to share 
 their bright anticipations of success. There was, it is 
 true, some difficulty in procuring him a suitable con- 
 veyance ; some of the officers proposed to stow him in 
 an extra baggage-wagon ; others suggested that a fa- 
 tigue party should be detailed to carry him on a litter, 
 while a better opinion seemed to be that he might be 
 advantageously mounted in a horizontal position on a gun 
 carriage and drawn by four horses. The worthy man, 
 however, was seated at last on a strong charger, and 
 set out in high glee ; and if on any occasion his un- 
 wieldy bulk and difficulty of locomotion rendered him 
 burthensome to his companions, he fully compensated
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 225 
 
 for the inconvenience by the life and merriment with 
 which he inspired the whole party. 
 
 After many toils they descended into the vale of the 
 Monongahela, and never did the traveller's eye trace 
 the course of a more lovely stream. Winding through 
 bold hills with a gentle current, the river itself is as 
 placid as the surrounding scenery is wild and pictur- 
 esque. At some places the steep promontories that 
 hemmed it in, seemed barely to afford room for its pas- 
 sage, and at others it was margined by fertile valleys, 
 and rich table lands. The most remarkable feature of 
 the scenery was the gigantic growth of the forest trees, 
 and the exquisite luxuriance of the foliage. The boughs 
 were weighed down with their load of leaves. There 
 was also a depth and richness of colouring, which the 
 face of nature displays only in the most favoured climates 
 and luxuriant spots. In the many varieties of green 
 exhibited in the forest, there was always a brilliancy of 
 hue, which conveyed to the mind an impression of 
 vigour and freshness ; the flowers and wild fruits as- 
 sumed every shade of the gorgeous and the delicate in co- 
 lour : while the whole was illumed with the intense bril- 
 liancy of a September sun, which had slightly tinged 
 the most prominent points of the uplands with autumnal 
 tints, without destroying- the verdure of summer. 
 
 An excursion through such a region in so delightful 
 a season, might, under different circumstances, have 
 afforded high enjoyment to a romantic mind. But here 
 were dangers to be surmounted, and toils to be endured.
 
 226 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Sometimes the thunder cloud, rolling along the moun- 
 tain side, poured down torrents of rain, the vivid light- 
 ning shattered the tall trees, and the heavy explosions, 
 reverberated from a thousand caverns, struck the stout- 
 est heart with awe. Sometimes a whole day's march 
 was performed without rest or food. A lurking Indian 
 was occasionally seen, prowling around the camp, and 
 darting away when discovered, with the fleetness of the 
 antelope, yelling defiance, or laughing in derision. The 
 straggler who imprudently wandered from his compa- 
 nions, perished of hunger among those savage fast- 
 nesses, or fell under the tomahawk ; while the nightly 
 howl of the wolf admonished the weary soldiers, that the 
 beast of prey was patiently pursuing their footsteps, and 
 eagerly thirsting for their blood. 
 
 After a long and arduous march, they at length 
 reached the vicinity of Fort Du Quesne. It was late in 
 the night when they descended towards the fortress, and 
 encamped on the brow of a small eminence which over- 
 looked it. The enemy slept in security unconscious of 
 their approach. The French were doubtless aware 
 that such an expedition was in progress, but the at- 
 tempts of the English to penetrate the wilderness in this 
 direction, had hitherto been uniformly disastrous, and 
 but little danger was now apprehended from the troops 
 of that nation. Perverse in their opinions, rash and 
 headstrong in their plans, they had neither conciliated 
 the Indian tribes, availed themselves of the aid of the 
 native American troops, nor gathered wisdom from the
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 227 
 
 lessons of experience. The French, therefore, prepared 
 and awaiting their enemy in the confidence of suc- 
 cess, supposed him to be still at the distance of several 
 days march. 
 
 The British soldiers slept that night with their accou- 
 trements on, and their arms at their sides, ready for ac- 
 tion upon the first alarm. 
 
 An hour before the dawn of day. Colonel Grant was 
 awakened by a slight touch of a friendly hand. He 
 sprung from his mattrass with the alacrity of a well- 
 trained soldier. 
 
 1 " Ah, Major Gordon ! What is the matter? It is not 
 day ! 
 
 " No, but it soon will be, and if we are to fight the 
 French this morning, it is time to be stirring." 
 
 " You are right. It will be a glorious day for us, I 
 trust. And yet if I was a believer in some of the super- 
 stitions of our country, I should feel discouraged by the 
 dreams that have haunted ray pillow during the night. 
 Do you believe in such things, Gordon ?" 
 
 " It is hard to believe that which is contrary to rea- 
 son ; yet it is difficult to deny what so many of our an- 
 cestors have asserted, and what many of our country- 
 men still hold to be true.'' 
 
 " You are a believer then ; I might have known that ; 
 where is the true Scot who will give up one jot of the 
 faith of his fathers. But come, let us see if all 's well." 
 
 So saying, the two officers stepped out of the t^nt, and
 
 228 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 walked through the encampment. The morning was 
 clear and calm. The air had that chilliness which pre- 
 cedes the dawn of day. The soldiers slept ; not a sound 
 was heard in the camp or in the surrounding forest. 
 The dim form of the centinel, as he walked his post, was 
 the only object that moved. The officers passed round 
 the chain of sentries, giving the word in a low tone, and 
 then returned towards the colonel's tent. 
 
 " It is strange," resumed Colonel Grant, " that the 
 firmness of a man can be shaken by a mere phantasy. 
 I am not superstitious. Yet, last night, lying as I sup- 
 posed, wide awake, I distinctly saw our soldiers passing 
 one by one through my tent, so slowly that I could re- 
 cognize every individual. They were all bloody and 
 mutilated. I have seen men stretched on the field of 
 battle, but never did I behold such dreadful gashes, such 
 marks of wanton butchery. They seemed to bid me 
 farewell. I arose, looked round, but saw no one. The 
 sentry, in front of my tent, assured me that no one had 
 entered. I threw myself down, but again, and again, 
 and again, the same apparitions appeared. This inci- 
 dent has affected me. But come, let us shake offthese 
 unbecoming fancies. They are unworthy of British 
 soldiers, especially of us, who have really no danger to 
 encounter, and are sent to crush a nest of half civilized 
 French and ignorant savages." 
 
 " You despise our foe too much," replied Major 
 Gordon, " however deficient they may be in disci-
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 229 
 
 pline, they are brave and cunning ; and their fortress is 
 capable of affording a stout resistance to a force like 
 ours, unprovided with a train of artillery." 
 
 " Mere fudge !" exclaimed the colonel, " they know 
 better than to resist us. At the first sight of his majes- 
 ty's flag they will sue for peace." 
 
 " Believe it not ; with their advantage of numbers, of 
 position, of ample supplies, and of a familiar knowledge 
 of the country, success on our part will be gained only 
 by hard fighting 'and artful management.*' 
 
 " What artifice would Major Gordon propose ? 
 1 " No other than an early attack, by which the enemy 
 shall be surprised, before he is aware of our presence." 
 
 " No, by Jupiter ! I'll fight the rascals here, and by 
 daylight. I hate ambuscades, midnight attacks, and 
 scaling walls like a thief in the night. They will be 
 sufficiently surprised, I take it, at not being allowed 
 time to run away. No, sir, we will fight them at our 
 leisure. Let the reveille be sounded. We will try the 
 metal of these monsieurs. If they are brave, let them 
 come out and fight us on the plain ; if not, let them sur- 
 render." 
 
 " Perhaps they may not choose to do either." 
 
 " Then by St. Andrew we shall scale their ramparts 
 in broad day. A band of brave Scots with a Grant and 
 a Gordon at their head, need fear no odds. Let the 
 music sound, if you please, major." 
 
 With a reluctant step, and a melancholy fogpboding
 
 230 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 of the disastrous consequences of so imprudent a mea- 
 sure, the second in command obeyed the order of his 
 superior. In a few minutes the cheerful tones of the 
 bugle were heard echoing from hill to hill, the ruffle of 
 the drum, and the shrill notes of the fife succeeded, and 
 then the martial melody of the full band burst upon the 
 repose of the valley. The troops paraded at the sound, 
 and stood by their arms, slowly and gradually filling up 
 the long line, as a number of the beautiful airs of their 
 native glens were played in succession, and the music 
 floated over the hills. The darkness of the night was 
 around them, but a number of lights held by the ser- 
 jeants who called the rolls, shed a faint light along the 
 ranks, and showed a line of stern faces and athletic fi- 
 gures, clad, as was allowable, in all the varieties of mili- 
 tary undress. Some were in regimentals, some in great 
 coats, some wore the Highland bonnet, and others night 
 caps ; but all these gallant soldiers, as they leaned on 
 their muskets, showed the stern indifference, or careless 
 courage, of men who, having imbibed the opinions of 
 their leader, felt no sense of danger to themselves, or 
 of respect for their foe. The officers strolled along the 
 lines, yawning from their slumbers, or collected in 
 groups, some looking suspiciously towards the surround- 
 ing thickets, and others conversing in low accents on the 
 anticipated events of the ensuing day. 
 
 " These are new tactics," said the old serjeant major 
 to the Barrack- master, as they sat together on the end
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 231 
 
 " Quite novel," replied the latter, " the Frenchman 
 ought to be much obliged to us, for giving him timely 
 notice of our approach. If monsieur would only stretch 
 his courtesy so far as to invite us all to breakfast, I 
 should take it as a kindness. This bush-fighting, O'Do- 
 herty, makes sad inroads upon the regular habits of old 
 campaigners like you and I. Nothing but cold meat and 
 forced marches. If we were snug in yonder fort, I 
 should like it, if it were only for the honour of the regi- 
 ment, and the credit of sitting once more at a decent 
 table." 
 
 " Young men will have their own way," croaked the 
 serjeant major, whose appetite just then was not the 
 
 keenest. 
 
 
 
 " Aye," rejoined his friend, " and old soldiers, who 
 look for promotion, should have quiet tongues bushes 
 have ears, as well as walls." 
 
 The day now began to dawn, and Colonel Grant ad- 
 vancing towards a circle of officers, began to give 
 orders. 
 
 " Major Lewis," said he to a brave Virginian, who 
 commanded the small corps from the regiment of Colo- 
 nel Washington, "you will take charge of the baggage, 
 and retire with it two miles to the rear." 
 
 The major bowed assent, remarking that it would 
 have been gratifying to him and to his men to participate, 
 in the action. 
 
 45 It will be a mere skirmish," replied the cqpimand-
 
 232 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ing officer, " these fellows will not fight, depend upon 
 it ; and, if they should, your militia, major, would only 
 be in the way.'* 
 
 " Captain Brinton," continued he, " you will take an 
 escort, and reconnoitre the enemy's works. We have 
 no time to spare, sir : ride up to the esplanade, and 
 take a rough plan. If there are any buildings in the 
 vicinity that would interrupt our approach, burn them. 
 Let us dress for parade, gentlemen, and after that, if 
 the Frenchman should not be polite enough to give us 
 the first call, we will pay him a morning visit." 
 
 The troops dispersed, and were soon engaged in ac- 
 tive preparations for breakfast, for the morning parade, 
 and for battle. Fires were kindled round the encamp- 
 ment, and the business of cooking commenced. Men 
 were seen brushing their clothes, burnishing their guns, 
 placing new flints in their locks, and preparing in various 
 ways for the active business of the day. The sun now 
 rose in unclouded splendour over the eastern hills, light- 
 ing up a landscape of unrivalled beauty. The camp 
 was situated on a small hill, overlooking the woods on 
 either side. On the left was seen the Monongahela, a 
 placid serpentine river, meandering through a broken 
 picturesque region, and margined with forests of match- 
 less luxuriance. Beyond this stream was a range of 
 tall hills, covered with timber, and whose western ex- 
 posure, not yet lighted by the morning sun, was clothed 
 in the o^epest and richest shades. On the right was
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 233 
 
 the Alleghany, a bold rapid current, rushing over broken 
 rocks, and covered with foam, which sparkled with sun- 
 beams, while the hills beyond were glowing with bril- 
 liant hues. In front, these rivers were beheld mingling 
 their waters, and forming by their junction the beautiful 
 and majestic Ohio, which swept off to the west in a 
 broad, smooth, and rapid stream. On the point of land 
 formed by the " meeting of the waters," stood Fort Du 
 Quesne, whose massy parapets were embosomed in 
 forests, and whose gaudy flag was sporting its gay co- 
 lours over a wilderness of green. Not a sound was 
 heard from that solitary fortress, not a living creature 
 was seen, to give evidence that it was the abode of man, 
 or the seat of military power. Between that and the 
 British camp was a plain, thickly wooded, with the ex- 
 ception of a strip occupied by a cluster of straggling 
 huts, and a few small newly cleared fields. Such was 
 the scene displayed to the eyes of the military strangers ; 
 and if its silence and solitude conveyed to their minds 
 an idea of the timidity of the foe, who seemed to shrink 
 from observation, and retire from conflict, there was also 
 a sense of awe induced by the vastness of the amphi- 
 theatre, and the noiseless repose of its secluded valleys. 
 The excitement produced by the sight of a proudly 
 marshalled enemy, by the clangor of arms, the rapid 
 transit of neighing steeds, the flourish of trumpets, and 
 the bustle of military evolutions, was absent from this 
 exhibition, and the soldiers gazed around thern in doubt 
 u ?
 
 234 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 and silence. Suddenly a thick column of smoke was 
 seen ascending into the air, and in another moment the 
 cabins near the fort were wrapped in flames. Still not 
 an enemy was seen. The engineer who had been 
 charged with the duty of reconnoitring the fort, and who 
 had fired the village, marched leisurely and carelessly 
 back to camp, with the security of one who having 
 taunted the foe by approaching to the muzzles of his 
 guns, was convinced of his cowardice or weakness. 
 
 " What news ?" inquired the colonel, as his emissary 
 advanced to report the execution of his orders, " I hope 
 you had a pleasant visit, captain, and found Monsieur 
 in good health and spirits." 
 
 " Monsieur was not at /tome," replied the officer ; " I 
 found the gate locked, and not even a porter to answer 
 my call. Having no opportunity, therefore, of even leav- 
 ing my card, I kindled a bonfire, as the only feasible 
 mode of announcing to him that I had paid my re- 
 spects." 
 
 " A very good idea, captain ; now gentlemen, let us 
 to breakfast ; and after that, if this unsocial Frenchman 
 should continue to keep his gates barred, we will try 
 the virtue of an escalade." 
 
 The officers retired to their tents, the soldiers sat in 
 little groups in the open air with their smoking messes 
 before them, and all were engaged in doing justice to 
 the coarse fare of the camp, with the keen appetites of 
 veteran campaigners, when the report of a musket was 
 heard, and a bullet whistled over their heads. The
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 235 
 
 soldiers started to their feet, and the officers rushed 
 from their tents. 
 
 " Who fired that gun 1" demanded the officer of the 
 day. 
 
 No one replied, and the soldiers looked round at 
 each other, for even yet none suspected that a foeman 
 was near. 
 
 " The enemy ! the enemy !" shouted several of the 
 sentinels, and the same moment a shower of balls 
 poured in upon the British accompanied by the signal 
 calls of numerous bugles, and the loud yell of the savage. 
 
 " To arms!" exclaimed the colonel. 
 
 " Fall in ! fall in !" cried the company officers. 
 
 "Form your companies, gentlemen!" roared the 
 colonel, " the day is our own, my brave Highlanders ! 
 Music there ! beat all the drums, and drown that cursed 
 yelling ! Let the guard be called in ! Major Gordon, 
 take a company and dislodge the enemy from the 
 thickets on our right !" 
 
 Before these several orders could be executed the 
 battle thickened around the devoted party, and the bul- 
 lets poured in upon them from every side. The In- 
 dians, hideously painted, and decked in their savage 
 finery, advanced audaciously so near that their dark 
 forms could be plainly distinguished, as they glided 
 from tree to tree. The sharp shrill sound of the war 
 whoop, uttered in tones resembling the barking of a 
 small dog, acquired a terrific volume and frightful ener- 
 gy fioin the number of voices engaged in the horrible
 
 236 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 concert. The sentinels, disdaining to fly, were slain at 
 their posts before they could be relieved, and their bodies 
 wantonly butchered in full view of their comrades, by 
 the fiends who tore them in pieces with hellish exul- 
 tation. 
 
 Colonel Grant displayed all the co.ojness and gallantry 
 of an accomplished soldier ; exposing a solid front to 
 the enemy, and bravely attempting, by desperate 
 charges, to dislodge them from the surrounding coverts. 
 But he now learned how unavailing is courage when it 
 is not guided by prudent counsels and accurate infor- 
 mation ; and how inefficient are the tactics of regular 
 warfare, in a contest with barbarian hordes in their 
 native forests. The French and Indians, dispersing 
 themselves through the woods, occupied every thicket 
 which afforded concealment, and lurked behind every 
 object which afforded the protection of a natural ram- 
 part. Some were placed in the ravines and hollows, 
 stretched at full length on the ground, some kneeled 
 behind the great trunks of fallen trees, while the bold- 
 est warriors advanced singly, each selecting a standing 
 tree as a cover, and firing from behind it with but little 
 exposure of his own person. If they pressed forward, 
 it was by darting rapidly from one tree to another, if 
 they retreated, the same operation was practised in an 
 inverted order ; and thus while the European troops 
 stood together in compact ranks, affording a broad and 
 stationary mark to an army of sharp shooters, their own 
 bullets whistled harmlessly through the forest. The
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 237 
 
 lines of the brave Highlanders were rapidly thinned, 
 and their leader, stung to desperation, determined at last 
 to rush into closer conflict, be the consequence what it 
 might. Placing himself at the head of the whole de- 
 tachment, he dashed forward into the thickest body of 
 the enemy. The Indians, smeared with blood, and ex- 
 cited to fury, closed around them. The bayonet and 
 the cutlass came into contact with war-club and toma- 
 hawk, and the shouts of the maddened soldiers were 
 mingled with the yell of the savage. For a moment 
 the stout Scots felt the stern joy of gratified revenge 
 as their foes fell around them ; but their success 
 was but momentary ; out-numbered, hemmed in, 
 and entangled in the brushwood, they were rapidly 
 dwindling in force, while the places of their slain foes 
 were continually supplied by new reinforcements. "At 
 this crisis, a heavy volley was heard in the rear, min- 
 gled with loud and reiterated cheers, and Major Lewis, 
 with that band of Virginians who had been ordered 
 away, that they might not impede the motions of the 
 regulars, was seen advancing. Adopting, to some ex- 
 tent, the Indian mode of warfare, his men came for- 
 ward in a long irregular line, firing from behind the 
 trees, and each individual aiming at a particular foe, 
 and discharging his rifle at his own discretion with dead- 
 ly effect. Rapidly but cautiously they moved on, 
 sweeping the enemy before them, and reached the bat- 
 tle ground just as Colonel Grant had been struck down, 
 and was about ;o be dragged away by the Indians,
 
 23S THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Major Lewis rushed to the rescue, but these officers 
 were soon separated from their troops and both taken 
 captive. The patriotic Virginians stood their ground, 
 undismayed by the loss of their commander, and un- 
 daunted by the fierceness of the battle, while the enemy 
 fell back under the destructive energy of the American 
 rifle, and collected their forces for a more desperate ef- 
 fort. Two hundred of the Highlanders had now fallen, 
 and the remainder, panic struck, and thrown into con- 
 fusion, stood crowded -together in stupid dismay, while 
 their brave defenders faced the enemy with cool disci- 
 plined courage. The battle still raged with great fury, 
 for the Virginians, adding experience to ardour, and 
 magnanimously devoting themselves to the protection 
 of those who had so lately spurned their assistance, 
 fought like men resolved to conquer or to die. The 
 enemy was soon forced to act on the defensive, and at 
 length, after a great loss, retired sullenly from the con- 
 test. Major Gordon rallied the Highlanders, and a re- 
 treat was effected in good order, to the place where 
 Major Lewis had left the baggage under a small guard. 
 The conduct of the handful of Americans who so gal- 
 lantly turned the fortune of the day, may be estimated 
 not only by their brilliant success, but by their loss. 
 Out of eight officers, five were killed, a sixth wounded, 
 and a seventh taken prisoner ; and of one hundred and 
 sixty-six privates, sixty-two were killed. 
 
 But what became of the Barrack-master? Having 
 no command, and being too honourable to fly, Major
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 239 
 
 Hagerty stationed himself as near the centre of the 
 troops as he could, from a prudent conviction that an 
 unnecessary exposure of his person would neither bene- 
 fit his country nor himself* Here he stood for a long 
 while, pushed forward when the troops advanced, 
 pushed backward when they recoiled, and dreadfully 
 pushed all the while, in his fat sides, by the soldier's el- 
 bows and the butts of their muskets. At last wearied 
 with this exercise, he very deliberately seated himself 
 on a log, and watched the conflict with a wary eye, until 
 finding that the prospect of becoming town major was 
 every moment growing more faint, his military ardour 
 began to kindle, and seizing the sword of an officer who 
 had fallen, he stepped into his place. Here he per- 
 formed good service, until the retreat was ordered, an 
 evolution which was performed in good order, but with 
 such rapidity that he was soon left puffing and blowing' 
 in the rear. The Indians in full pursuit were yelling 
 behind him like a pack of hungry wolves, while the Vir- 
 ginian rangers were fiercely beating them back and 
 covering the retreat. On he waddled, nearly ex- 
 hausted ; at last the Highlanders were almost out of 
 sight, and the covering party came sweeping by, led 
 by an officer mounted on horseback, and covered with 
 blood and dust. 
 
 " Run, FalstafT!" shouted the officer. 
 
 "Run yourself!" replied the exhausted veteran, 
 " my race is over.*' 
 
 " Hurra boys !" shouted the officer, " beat back the
 
 240 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 blood-hounds ! Old Yirginia for ever ! Run old gentle- 
 man ! 
 
 The Barrack-master stopped, folded his arms, stag- 
 gered against a tree, and stood in sullen desperation 
 awaiting his fate, " I can go no further," said he faintly, 
 " I can die my poor children !" 
 
 In a moment the officer, who was Mr. Dangerly, was 
 at his side, and dismounted ; " take my horse," said he. 
 
 Hagerty was brave, but exhausted with heat and un- 
 wonted exertion, daunted by the near approach of a 
 cruel death, and overcome by the recollection of his 
 helpless family, a desperate apathy was creeping over 
 him. He gazed at his preserver wildly. A mingled 
 expression of stupidity and fierceness marked his fea- 
 tures ; mental agony and bodily exhaustion combined 
 to unsettle his faculties. " Let them come !" he ex- 
 claimed, " I can die but once. Tell my poor girls that 
 I acted like a soldier, and run as long as I could." 
 
 Dangerly, assisted by his men, placed him on the 
 horse; the change of position brought him to his senses, 
 he looked round for a moment like one awakened from 
 a dream, then pressing his heels into the charger's sides, 
 was borne in a few minutes to his companions. 
 
 "There goes the last of them!" shouted Dangerly, 
 " now for another charge ! Hurra, my brave fellows ! 
 Virginia forever !" 
 
 The Indians, once more driven back, pursued no fur- 
 ther ; and the covering party, dripping with sweat and 
 blood, soon joined the main body.
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 This was a proud triumph for the Virginia troops. 
 At the commencement of the expedition, their services 
 had been pressed upon Colonel Grant against his wishes, 
 and he had on the morning of this eventful day ordered 
 them away from the field of battle in the most ungracious 
 manner. Forgetting these indignities, they came to the 
 rescue of the king's troops with a magnanimity, as cre- 
 ditable to them as the skill and gallantry displayed in the 
 conflict. They had decisively beaten the same enemy 
 which had first defeated a vastly superior number of the 
 regular forces ; and while the latter were well content 
 to escape captivity or death, the brave Virginians were 
 entitled to all the laurels of this hard fought field. Mr. 
 Dangerly especially looked back upon the events of this 
 day with emotions of pride and pleasure. Although a 
 very young officer, the death or capture of all his supe- 
 riors had placed him in command, and to him chiefly 
 redounded the glory of retrieving the battle. But above 
 all, he felt a secret joy in the service which he had ren- 
 dered to the Barrack-master. The beautiful vision of 
 Alice Hagerty had not faded from his memory. The 
 adventure at Fort Cumberland, the only one of his 
 life in which a fair lady was a party, had been che- 
 rished, and brooded over, until it had made a permanent 
 impression upon his imagination. Ardent and romantic 
 in his temperament, he suffered his fancy to dwell upon 
 this agreeable incident, until that which was at first 
 viewed as a mere possibility, began to assume the form 
 of truth, and he not only became fully persuaded that he
 
 242 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 was in love himself, but even ventured to fancy that the 
 young lady might in time be proved to possess a heart 
 as susceptible as his own. As for the Barrack-master, 
 he was not ungrateful, as will be seen in the sequel of 
 this veracious legend. 
 
 We shall now leave these perilous wars, of which the 
 reader has perhaps had a surfeit, and change the scene 
 to Fort Cumberland. The troops had returned, and 
 Major Hagerty sat by his own fireside, surrounded by 
 all his social comforts, and tall daughters. He was 
 repeating the story of the battle the twentieth edi- 
 tion with copious notes and was dwelling especially 
 on his own miraculous /ia'r-breadth escape from the 
 barber-ous surgical operation of scalping, wherein he 
 spake eloquently of the magnanimous conduct of Mr. 
 Dangerly, in giving up his horse, at a time when this 
 heroic young man was so exhausted from fatigue and 
 loss of blood as to render the act one of generous self- 
 sacrifice. 
 
 " What a noble deed !" exclaimed Alice. 
 
 " Considering that he was never out of America, it 
 was quite remarkable," said Miss Hagerty Number 1. 
 
 " A very clever action, I declare," echoed Num- 
 ber 2. 
 
 " We are under infinite obligations to him," sim- 
 pered Number 3. 
 
 The Barrack-master puffed the tobacco smoke in 
 large volumes from his mouth, and after musing for 
 some minutes, said, with a significant glance,
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 243 
 
 " I fear, Alice, my dear, that he has lost his heart." 
 
 The young lady blushed deeply, for the impression 
 made by her beauty upon the heart of the American 
 officer, had been the subject of so much conversation 
 and merriment, that the allusion could not be misunder- 
 stood. 
 
 " Gordon need hardly fear such a rival," remarked 
 Number 1, ironically for Number 1, with reverence be 
 it spoken, had passed the mature age of fi ve-and-twenty, 
 and sometimes spoke tartly in relation to young men. 
 
 The father seemed hurt, and warmly replied, " You 
 might be proud, either of you, of such a lover. Would 
 to Heaven he had placed his affections on either of 
 my daughters, except Alice, whose heart is not her 
 own." 
 
 " I hope, papa," said Number 2, bridling her pretty 
 head, " you do not intend to offer us to this singularly 
 uncouth young man ?" 
 
 4< A person of no family " continued Number 3. 
 
 " And a mere colonist " added Number 1. 
 
 " Don't be at all alarmed, girls," exclaimed Number 
 5, a blooming maiden of sixteen, with an arch eye, a 
 round blushing cheek, and a forehead of snowy white- 
 ness, " be quite easy I intend to have Mr. Dangerly 
 myself." 
 
 " Eleanor !" said Miss Hagerty. 
 
 " Nay, do not lecture me, sister. If my seniors 
 choose to waive their birthrights, I shall put in my 
 claim. I set my cap . for the .lieutenant shall I not,
 
 244 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Pa?" cried the laughing girl. And there the confer- 
 ence ended. 
 
 Eleanor was quite in earnest. She was a girl of high 
 spirit, with a warm heart, and a quick wit. Dangerly's 
 chivalrous conduct on two occasions, in both of which 
 her family had become so largely his debtor, had inte- 
 rested her greatly in his favour. She was very young, 
 and her feelings were easily excited. Having never 
 seen Mr. Dangerly, her curiosity became strongly 
 awakened, and her impatience to behold one whose 
 name was now frequently mentioned in connexion with 
 his brilliant exploits, contributed to kindle in her bosom 
 certain tender sensations, which she called admiration, 
 but to which the experienced reader will be able to affix 
 a much more appropriate appellation. Besides, she had 
 been brought up in Philadelphia, and though too young, 
 while there, to go into company, her taste was formed, 
 and certain associations impressed upon her mind. 
 These were by no means favourable to his majesty's 
 officers, who-were now her only male companions. She 
 liked neither their red coats, nor their red faces. Accus- 
 tomed to the neatness, order, intellectuality, and strict 
 morals of a respectable Philadelphia circle, she found 
 little to please her, in the overbearing manners, the 
 coarse wit, and dissipated habits of the British officers ; 
 while the young American was always spoken of as one 
 whose good sense and virtue equalled his courage. It 
 will therefore not be wondered at, that the fair Eleanor 
 should have formed the determination expressed above.
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 245 
 
 nor that while she thus spoke in jest, she should in sober 
 earnest have resolved to " set her cap for the lieutenant." 
 
 One more scene, and we shall have ended. Lieu- 
 tenant Dangerly, in spite of his bashfulness, had 
 resolved to pay a visit to the fair Alice. Perhaps 
 he never would have plucked up courage for such an 
 enterprise, had not his comrades teased him until he be- 
 came desperate, while the report of her engagement to 
 Major Gordon awakened his jealousy. " If it be true," 
 thought he, " that her heart is plighted to Gordon, 
 I shall not complain. He is a fine fellow, and de- 
 serves her. But I shall feel better satisfied, when I 
 know from her own lips that there is no hope for me." 
 
 Behold him now seated in the Barrack-master's 
 parlour, twirling his hat in his hands, and watching the 
 door with a palpitating heart. At length a light step 
 is heard, and the fairy form of Eleanor glided in. The 
 lieutenant rose, scraped his best bow, dropped his hat, 
 picked it up, and was about to hand a chair, when he 
 perceived that the young lady was already seated. He 
 glanced wistfully at the door, and meditated a retreat 
 " If I could only avoid a close action by passing defile 
 in the rear," thought he but it was too late. 
 
 Eleanor was too polite, and entertained too sincere a 
 regard for her visiter to notice these things. She led 
 the way in conversation talked of therecentcampaigns, 
 of guns, horses and parades, with the fluency of one 
 well versed in such subjects and her visiter, forgetting 
 his embarrassment, unconsciously fell into an animated 
 v 2
 
 246 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 dialogue. Dangerly's heart was now irrevocably gone. 
 If the young lady's beauty had fascinated his senses, 
 her wit, her spirit, above all, her respectful politeness, 
 and the evident interest with which she listened to him, 
 completed the 'conquest of his affections. An hour 
 rolled away, when, unable to remain longer in sus- 
 pense, he said, 
 
 " May I, without giving offence, ask you one 
 question ?'' 
 
 " Oh, yes, I love to answer questions." 
 
 " Are you is Major Gordon pardon me for seeming 
 so inquisitive are you absolutely engaged to Major 
 Gordon?" 
 
 " Major Gordon is engaged to my sister " replied 
 Eleanor quite composedly. 
 
 Dangerly rose and paced the room ; his heart was in 
 his throat, and his limbs trembled with emotion. Elea- 
 nor walked to a window, and began to feel a little 
 choked too. 
 
 " One more question," said he, approaching her. 
 
 " I only promised to answer one." 
 
 Dangerly involuntarily laid his hand on hers. She 
 did not withdraw it. Their eyes met, and a language 
 which cannot be mistaken, revealed to each the trea- 
 sured secret of the other's heart. 
 
 At this moment Alice entered the room leaning on 
 Major Gordon's arm. " Mr Dangerly," said the latter, 
 " I have never, until now, felt authorized to thank you 
 for the brave service which you rendered to this lady, for
 
 THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER. 247 
 
 I was not before at liberty to mention her name in con- 
 nexion with my own. But the happy day being now 
 appointed, I am privileged to indulge my feelings of 
 gratitude." 
 
 " That lady ! you mistake sir ; this is the lady, to 
 whom I was so fortunate as to render a slight service." 
 
 " It is you that mistake," replied Alice. 
 
 Dangerly gazed at the two sisters alternately. " If 
 such is the fact," said he, " Pythagoras was right in 
 his doctrine. To that lady I gave a heart, which had 
 never before been touched by the exquisite sensation 
 of love, and it is equally certain that it has transferred 
 itself to the person of this, her lovely sister. I am very 
 sure that I love this lady, there is no mistake about 
 that." 
 
 A month after this time, the two sisters stood to- 
 gether before the hymeneal altar, dressed exactly alike. 
 
 " Gordon," said Dangerly, " be good enough to 
 stand a little further off, for fear we change partners. 
 You took the first pick, but I love my Eleanor too well 
 to have the slightest inclination to swap. Be pleased, 
 Mr. Clergyman, to dress the ranks before you begin, 
 and take care not to get the parties mixed."
 
 THE IXDIAff HATER. 
 
 IN the course of a journey, which I lately took 
 through Illinois, I stopped one day at a village for a few 
 hours, and stepped into a store to purchase some tri- 
 fling article of which I stood in need. Finding a number 
 of persons there, and being not unwilling to while 
 away a few minutes in conversation, I leaned my back 
 against the counter, and addressed myself to a well 
 dressed farmer, who answered my inquiriea respecting 
 the country with intelligence and civility. 
 
 While thus engaged, my attention was drawn to a 
 person who s.tood near. He was a man who might 
 have been about fifty yeats of age. His height did not 
 exceed the ordinary stature, and his person was rather 
 slender than otherwise ; but there was something in 
 his air and features, which distinguished him from 
 common men. The expression of his countenance 
 was keen and daring. His forehead was elevated, his 
 cheek-bones high, his ^ips small and compressed 
 while long exposure to the climate had tanned his com- 
 plexion to a deep olive. The same cause seemed to
 
 250 THE INDIAN HATER. 
 
 have hardened his skin and muscles, so as to give him 
 the appearance of a living petrifaction. There was 
 over all a settled gloom a kind of forced composure, 
 which indicated resignation, but not content. In his 
 eye, there was something peculiar, yet it was difficult 
 to tell in what that peculiarity consisted. It was a 
 small grey orb, whose calm, bold, direct glance seemed 
 to vouch, that it had not cowered with shame, or quailed 
 in danger. There was blended in that eye a searching 
 keenness, with a quiet vigilance a watchful, sagacious 
 self possession so often observable in the physiog- 
 nomy of those who are in the habit of expecting, meet- 
 ing, and overcoming peril. His heavy eye-brows had 
 once been black ; but time had touched them with his 
 pencil. He was dressed in a coarse grey hunting-shirt, 
 girded round the waist with a broad leathern belt, tightly 
 drawn, in which rested a long knife, a weapon common 
 to the western hunter. Upon the whole, there was about 
 this man an expression of grim and gloomy sternness, 
 fixedness of purpose, an intense, but smothered pas- 
 sion, which stamped him as of no common mould ; yet 
 there were indications of openness and honesty, which 
 forbade distrust. His was not the unblushing front of 
 hardy guilt, nor the lurking glance of underhanded 
 villany. A stranger would not have hesitated to confide 
 in his faith or courage, but would have trembled at the 
 idea of provoking his hostility. 
 
 I had barely time to make these observations, when 
 several Indians, who had strolled into the village, entered
 
 THE INDIAN HATER. 251 
 
 the store. The effect oftheir presence upon the back- 
 woodsman, whom I have described, was instantaneous 
 and violent. His eyes rolled wildly, as if he had been 
 suddenly stung to madness, gleaming with a strange 
 fierceness ; a supernatural lustre, like that which flashes 
 from the eyeballs of the panther, when crouched in a 
 dark covert, and ready to dart upon his prey. His hol- 
 lowed cheek was flushed the muscles, that but a mo- 
 ment before seemed so rigid, became flexible, and moved 
 convulsively. His hand, sliding quietly to the hilt of 
 his large knife, as if by instinct, grasped it firmly ; and 
 it was easy to perceive, that a single breath would be 
 sufficient to blow up the smothered fire. But, except 
 these indications, he remained motionless as a statue, 
 gazing with a look of intense ferocity at the intruders. 
 The Indians halted when their eyes met his, and ex- 
 changed glances of intelligence with each other. Whe- 
 ther it was from instinct, or that they knew the man, or 
 whether that sagacity, which is natural to their race, led 
 them to read danger in his scowling visage, they seemed 
 willing to avoid him, and retired. The backwoodsman 
 made a motion as if to follow; but several of the persons 
 present, who had watched this silent scene with interest, 
 gently withheld him, and after conversing with him a 
 few moments in an earnest, but under tone, led him off* 
 in one direction, while the Indians rode away in another. 
 Having understood from the farmer, with whom I had 
 been talking, that he was about to return home, and that 
 my route led through his neighbourhood, I cheerfully
 
 252 THE INDIAN HATER. 
 
 accepted the offer of his company, and we set out toge- 
 ther. Our discourse very naturally fell upon the scene 
 we had witnessed, and I expressed a curiosity to learn 
 something of the history and character of the man, whose 
 image had impressed itself so forcibly upon my mind. 
 
 " He is a strange, mysterious looking being," said 
 I, "and I should think he must be better, or worse, than 
 other men." 
 
 "SAMUEL MONSON is a very good neighbour," replied 
 the farmer cautiously. 
 
 " You say that in a tone," rejoined I, " which seems 
 to imply, that in some other respects he may not be so 
 good?" 
 
 "Well, as to that I can not say, of my own know- 
 ledge, that I know any harm of the man." 
 
 " And what do other people say of him?" 
 
 The farmer hesitated, and then, with a caution very 
 common among people of this description, replied : 
 
 " People often say more than they can prove. It 's 
 not good to be talking of one's neighbours. And Mon- 
 son, as I said before, is a good neighbour." 
 
 " But a bad man, as I understand you." 
 
 "No far from it: the man's well enough ex- 
 cept " and here he lowered his tone, and looked cau- 
 tiously around. " The folks do say he is rather too 
 keen with his rifle." 
 
 " How so ; does he shoot his neighbour's cattle?" 
 
 " No, sir Samuel Monson is as much above a mean 
 action as any other man."
 
 THE INDIAN HATER. 253 
 
 " What then ; is he quarrelsome ?" 
 
 " Oh, bless you, no ! There's not a peaceabler man in 
 the settlement; but he used to be a great Indian fighter 
 in the last war, and he got sort o* haunted to the 
 woods; and folks do say that he is still rather too keen 
 on the track of a moccasin." 
 
 " I do not exactly comprehend you, my dear sir. 
 The Indians are, I believe, now quiet, and at peace with 
 us." 
 
 " Why, yes, they are very peaceable. They never 
 come near us, except now and then a little party comes 
 in fo trade." 
 
 " They are civil, are they not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, quite agreeable bating the killing of a 
 hog once in a while and that we don't vally seeing 
 that it is but just natural to the poor savage to shoot any 
 thing that runs in the woods." 
 
 " In what way then does this Monson interfere with 
 theln?" 
 
 " I did not say, stranger, that Monson done it. No, 
 no ; I wouldn't hurt no man's character ; but the fact 
 and truth are about this. Now and then an Indian is 
 missing ; and sometimes one is found dead in the 
 range; and folks will have their notions, and their talk, 
 and their suspicions about it and some talk hard of 
 Monson." 
 
 " But why charge it upon him ?" 
 
 " Why, if you must have it out, stranger, in this coun- 
 try we all know the bore of every man's rifle. Monson's
 
 254 THE INDIAN HATER. 
 
 gun carries just fifty to the pound. Now the bullet 
 holes in all these Indians that have been shot, are the 
 same, and we know whose rifle they suit. Besides this, 
 horse tracks have been seen on the trail of the moccasin. 
 They were very particular tracks, and just suited the 
 hoof of a certain horse. Then a certain man was known 
 to be lying out about that same time; and when all these 
 things are put together, it don't take a Philadelphia 
 lawyer to tell who done the deed. Then he sometimes 
 goes off, and is gone for weeks, and people guess that he 
 goes to their own hunting grounds to lie in wait for them. 
 They do say, he can scent a red skin like a hound, and 
 never lets a chance slip." 
 
 " But is it possible, that in a civilized country, within 
 the reach of our laws, a wretch is permitted to hunt 
 down his fellow creatures like wild beasts ; to murder a 
 defenceless Indian, who comes into our territory in good 
 faith, believing us a Christian people 2" 
 
 " Why, it is not exactly permitted; we don't know for 
 certain who does it, nor is it any particular man's busi- 
 ness to inquire more than another. Many of the settlers 
 have had their kin murdered by the savages in early 
 times ; and all who have been raised in the backwoods, 
 have been taught to fear and dislike them. Then Mon- 
 son is an honest fellow, works hard, pays his debts, and 
 is always willing to do a good turn, and it seems hard to 
 break neighbourhood with him for the matter of an In- 
 dian or so.'*
 
 THE INDIAN HATER. 255 
 
 " But the wickedness the shame the breach of law 
 and hospitality !'* 
 
 " Well, so it is. It is a sin; and sorry would I be 
 to have it on my conscience. But then, some think an 
 Indian or two, now and then, will never be missed ; 
 others, again, hate to create an interruption in the settle- 
 ment ; others, who pretend to know the law, say that 
 the general government has the care of the Indians, and 
 that our state laws wont kiver the case ; and withal Mon- 
 son keeps his own counsel, and so among hands he es- 
 capes. After all, to come to the plain sentimental truth, 
 Monson has good cause to hate them ; and many a man, 
 that would not dip his own hand in the blood of an In- 
 dian, would as soon die as betray Monson ; for few of 
 us could lay our hands on our hearts, and say that we 
 would not do the same in his situation." 
 
 At this point of the conversation, we were joined by 
 several horsemen, who were pursuing the same road 
 with ourselves ; and my companion seeming unwilling 
 to pursue the subject in their hearing, I was unable to 
 learn from him what injury the Indian hater had received, 
 to provoke his sanguinary career of vengeance. Nor 
 did another opportunity occur ; for we soon came to a 
 point where the road diverged, and although my friendly 
 companion, with the usual hospitality of the country, in- 
 vited me to his house, I was obliged to decline the invi- 
 tation, and we parted. 
 
 I continued my journey into the northwestern part of 
 Illinois, which was then just beginning to attract the at-
 
 256 THE INDIAN HATER. 
 
 tention of land purchasers, and contained a few scattered 
 settlements. Delighted with this beautiful country, and 
 wishing to explore the lands lying between this tract 
 and the Wabash, I determined, on my return, to strike 
 directly across through an uninhabited wilderness of 
 about a hundred and fifty miles in extent. I hired an 
 Indian guide, who was highly recommended to me, and 
 set out under his protection. 
 
 It is not easy to describe the sensations of a traveller, 
 unaccustomed to such scenery, on first beholding the 
 vast prairies which I was about to explore. Those which 
 I had heretofore seen, were comparatively small. The 
 points of woodland which make into them like so many 
 capes or promontories, and the groves which are inter- 
 spersed like islands, are, in these lesser prairies, always 
 sufficiently near to be clearly defined to the eye, and to 
 give the scene an interesting variety. We see a plain 
 of several miles in extent, not perfectly level, but gently 
 rolling or undulating like the swelling of the ocean when 
 nearly calm. The graceful curve of the surface is sel- 
 dom broken, except when here and there the eye rests 
 upon one of those huge mounds, which are so pleasing 
 to the poet, and so perplexing to the antiquarian. The 
 whole is overspread with grass and flowers, constituting 
 a rich and varied carpet, in which a ground of lively 
 green is ornamented with a profusion of the gaudiest 
 hues. Deep recesses in the edge of the timber, resem- 
 ble the bays and inlets of a lake ; while occasionally a 
 long vista, opening far back into the forest, suffers the
 
 THE INDIAN HATER. 257 
 
 eye to roam off and refresh itself with the calm beauty 
 of a distant perspective. 
 
 The traveller as he rides along these smaller prairies 
 finds his eye continually attracted to the edges of the 
 forest, and his imagination employed in tracing the beau- 
 tiful outline, and in finding out resemblances between 
 these wild scenes and the most highly embellished pro- 
 ductions of art. The fairest pleasure grounds, the no- 
 blest parks of European princes, where millions have 
 been expended to captivate the fancy with elysian 
 scenes, are but mimic representations of the beauties 
 T/hich are here spread by nature ; for here are clumps 
 and lawns, and avenues, and groves the tangled 
 thicket, and the solitary tree and all the Varieties of 
 scenic attraction but on a scale so extensive, as to offer 
 an endless succession of changes to the eye. There is 
 an air of civilization here, that wins the heart even 
 here, where no human residence is seen, where no foot 
 intrudes, and where not an axe has ever trespassed on 
 the beautiful domain. So different is this feeling from 
 any thing inspired by mountain, or woodland scenery, 
 that, the instant the traveller emerges from the forest 
 into the prairie, he no longer feels solitary. The con- 
 sciousness that he is travelling alone, and in a wilder- 
 ness, escapes him ; and he indulges the same pleasing 
 sensations, which are enjoyed by one, who, having been 
 lost among the labyrinths of a savage mountain, sudden- 
 ly descends into rich and highly cultivated fields. The 
 gay landscape charms him. He is surrounded by the
 
 258 THE INDIAN HATER. 
 
 refreshing sweetness and graceful beauty of the rural 
 scene ; and recognises at every step some well remem- 
 bered spot, enlarged and beautified, and, as it were, re- 
 touched by nature's hand. The clusters of trees so 
 fancifully arranged, seem to have been disposed by the 
 hand of taste, and so complete is the delusion, that it 
 is difficult to dispel the belief, that each avenue leads 
 to a village, and each grove conceals a splendid man- 
 sion. 
 
 Widely different was the prospect exhibited in the 
 more northern prairies. Vast in extent, the distant forest 
 was barely discoverable in the shapeless outline of blue, 
 faintly impressed on the horizon. Here and there a 
 solitary tree torn by the wind, stood alone like a dis- 
 mantled mast in the ocean. As I followed my guide 
 through this desolate region, my sensations were similar 
 to those of the voyager, when his bark is launched into 
 the ocean. Alone, in a wide waste, with my faithful 
 pilot only, I was dependent on him for support, guid- 
 ance, and protection. With little to diversify the path, 
 and less to please the eye, a sense of dreariness crept 
 over me a desolation and withering of the spirit, as 
 when the heart, .left painfully alone, finds nothing to 
 love, nothing to admire, nothing from which to reap in- 
 struction or amusement. But these are feelings, which 
 like the sea sickness of the young mariner, are soon dis- 
 pelled. I began to find a pleasure in gazing over this 
 immense, unbroken waste ; in watching the horizon in 
 the vague hope of meeting a traveller, and in following
 
 THE INDIAN HATER. 259 
 
 the deer with my eyes, as they gallopped off their forms 
 growing smaller and smaller, as they receded, until they 
 faded gradually from the sight. Sometimes I descried 
 a dark spot at an immense distance, and pointed it out 
 to my companion with a joy, like that of the seaman, 
 who discovers a distant sail in the speck which floats on 
 the ocean. When such an object happened to be in 
 the direction of our path, I watched it as it rose and en- 
 larged upon the vision supposing it one moment to be 
 a man and at another a buffaloe ; until, after it had 
 seemed to approach for hours, I found it to be a tree. 
 
 Nor was I entirely destitute of company ; for my 
 Pottowattomie guide proved to be both intelligent and 
 good humoured, and although his stock of English was 
 but slender, his conversational powers were by no 
 means contemptible. His topographical knowledge was 
 extensive and accurate, so that he was able not only to 
 choose the best route, but to point out to me all the lo- 
 calities. When we halted, he kindled a fire, spread my 
 pallet, and formed a shelter to protect me from the 
 weather. When we came to a stream which was too 
 deep to ford, he framed a raft to cross me over with my 
 baggage, while he mounted my horse and plunged into 
 the water. Throughout the journey, his assiduities 
 were as kind and unremitting as all his arrangements 
 were sagacious and considerate. A higher motive 
 than the mere pecuniary reward which he expected for 
 his services, governed his actions : a genuine integrity 
 of purpose, a native politeness and dignity of heart,
 
 260 THE INDIAN HATER. 
 
 raised him above the ordinary savage, and rendered him 
 not only a respectable, but an interesting man. 
 
 After travelling nearly five days without beholding a 
 human habitation, we arrived at the verge of a settle- 
 ment on the Wabash. We passed along a rich bottom, 
 covered with large trees, whose thick shade afforded a 
 strong contrast to the scenes we had left behind us, 
 and then ascending a gentle rise, stood on a high bluff 
 bank of the Wabash. A more secluded and beautiful 
 spot has seldom been seen. A small river, with a clear 
 stream, rippling over a rocky bed, meandered round the 
 point on which we stood, and then turning abruptly to 
 the left, was lost among the trees. The opposite shore 
 was low, thickly wooded, and beautifully rich in the va- 
 riety of mellow hues painted by the autumn sun. The 
 spot we occupied was a slip of table land, a little higher 
 than the surrounding country. It had once been 
 cleared for cultivation, but was now overgrown with 
 hazle-bushes, vines and briars, while a few tall, leafless 
 trunks, once the proudest oaks of the forest, still ad- 
 hered tenaciously to the soil. A heap of rubbish, in- 
 termingled with logs half burnt and nearly rotten, 
 showed the remains of what had once been a chimney 
 but all else had been destroyed by time or fire. One 
 spot only, which had been beaten hard, was covered 
 with a smooth, green sward, unmixed with brush ; and 
 here we stood gazing at this desolate spot and that 
 beautiful stream. It was but a moment, and neither of
 
 THE INDIAN HATER. 261 
 
 us had broken silence, when the report of a rifle was 
 heard, and my guide uttering a dismal yell, fell postrate. 
 
 Recovering his senses for an instant, he grasped his 
 gun, partly raised his body, and cast upon me a look of 
 reproach, which I shall never forget ; and then, as if 
 satisfied by the concern and alarm of my countenance, 
 and my prompt movement to assist him, he gave me 
 one hand, and pointing with the other towards the 
 woods, he exclaimed " Bad bad, white man ! Take 
 care! " and expired. 
 
 I was so much surprised and shocked at this catas- 
 trophe, that I stood immovable, thoughtless of my own 
 safety, mourning over the brave Indian, who lay welter- 
 ing in his gore, when I was startled by a slight rustling in 
 the bushes close behind me, and raising my eyes, I be- 
 held Monson ! Advancing, without the least appear- 
 ance of shame or fear, until he came to the corpse, and 
 paying not the slightest attention to me, he stood and 
 gazed sternly at the fallen warrior. 
 
 " There's another of the cursed crew," said he, at 
 length, " gone to his last account! He is not the first, 
 nor shall he be the last. It's an old debt, but it shall be 
 paid to the last drop." 
 
 As he spoke, he gnashed his teeth, and his eyes 
 gleamed with the malignity of gratified revenge. Then 
 turning to me, and observing the deep abhorrence with 
 which I shrunk back, he said : 
 
 " May be, stranger, you don't like this sort of business?" 
 
 "Wretch miscreant murderer! begone! Approach
 
 262 THE INDIAN HATER. 
 
 me not," I exclaimed, drawing a large pistol from my 
 belt ; but, before I was aware, the backwoodsman, with 
 a sudden spring, caught my arm, and wrested the wea- 
 pon from me ; and then remaining perfectly calm, while 
 I was ready to burst with rage, he said, 
 
 " This is a poor shooting-iron for a man to have 
 about him it might do for young men to ' tote' in a 
 settlement, but it is of no use in the woods no more 
 than a shot-gun." 
 
 "Scoundrel!" said I, " you shall repent your vio- 
 lence " 
 
 " Young man !" interrupted he, very coolly, " I am 
 no scoundrel ; you mistake you do not know me." 
 
 " Murderer!" repeated I, " for such I know you to 
 be, think not this bloody deed shall go unpunished. My 
 life is in your power, but I dread not your vengeance !" 
 
 While I was thus exhausting myself in the expression 
 of my rage and horror, the more politic Monson, having 
 possessed himself of the Indian's gun, dropped it, to- 
 gether with my unlucky pistol, on the ground, and 
 placing one foot on them, he proceeded deliberately to 
 re-load his rifle. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, young man," said he, in reply to 
 my last remark, '* I shall not hurt a hair of your head. 
 You can not provoke me to it. I never harmed a 
 Christian man to my knowledge." 
 
 " See here !" he continued, as he finished loading 
 his piece. Then pointing to the ruins of the cabin, he 
 proceeded in a hurried tone ;
 
 TfiE INDIAN HATER. 263 
 
 " This was my home. Here I built a house with 
 my own labour. With the sweat of my brow I opened 
 this clearing. Here I lived with my wife, my children, 
 and my mother. We worked hard lived well and 
 were happy. One night it was in the fall I had 
 gathered my corn, the labour of the year was done, and 
 I was sitting by the fire among my family, with the 
 prospect of plenty and comfort around me when I 
 heard a yell ! I never was a coward, but I knew that 
 sound too well ; and when I looked round upon the wo- 
 men and the helpless babes that depended on me for 
 protection, a cold chill ran over me, and my heart 
 seemed to die. I ran to the door, and beheld my stacks 
 in a blaze. I caught up my gun but in a moment, a 
 gang of yelling savages came pouring in at my door 
 like so many howling wolves. I fired, and one of them 
 fell. I caught up an axe, and rushed at them with 
 such fury that I cleared the cabin. The monsters then 
 set fire to the roof, and we saw the flames spreading 
 round us. What could I do 1 Here were my poor old 
 mother, and my wife, and my little children, unable to 
 fight or fly. I burst the door, and rushed madly out ; 
 but they pushed me back. The blazing timbers came 
 falling among us my wife hung on my neck, and 
 called on me to save her children our pious mother 
 prayed while the savage wretches roared and laughed, 
 and mocked us. I grasped my axe, and rushed out 
 again. I killed several of them : but they overpowered 
 me, bound me, and led me to witness the ruin of all that
 
 264 THE INDIAN HATER. 
 
 was dear to me. All all perished here in the flames 
 before my eyes. They perished in lingering torments. 
 I saw their agonies I heard their cries they called 
 on my name. Oh, heaven ! can I ever forget it?" 
 
 Here he stopped, overcome with his emotions, and 
 looked wildly around. Tears came to his relief, but the 
 man of sorrows brushed them away, and continued : 
 
 " They carried me off a prisoner. I was badly 
 wounded, and so heart broken that for three days I was 
 helpless as a child. Then a desire of revenge grew up 
 in my heart, and I got strong. I gnawed the ropes they 
 had bound me with, and escaped from them in the night. 
 In the Indian war that followed, I joined every expedi- 
 tionI was foremost in every fight ; -but I could not 
 quench my thirst for the blood of those monsters. I 
 swore never to forgive them, and when peace came, I 
 continued to make war. I made it a rule to kill every 
 red skin that came in my way, and so long as my limbs 
 have strength I shall continue to slay the savage." 
 
 " Go !" he continued, " pursue your own way, and 
 leave me to mine. If you have a parent that prays for 
 you, a wife and children that love you, they will receive 
 you with joy, and you will be happy. I am alone ; 
 there is none to mourn with me, no one to rejoice at 
 my coming. When all that you cherish is torn from 
 you in one moment, condemn me, if you can : but not 
 till then. Go ! That path will lead you to a house : 
 there you will get a guide."
 
 THE 
 
 ISLE OF THE YELLOW SANDS. 
 
 THE legends of the northern Indians speak of an island 
 in Lake Superior, which is called the " Isle of the Yel- 
 low Sands," and was said to be protected by spirits. 
 The sands were thought to be of gold ; and whenever a 
 mortal approached the shore, the vultures and other 
 animals of prey, as they seemed to human eyes, but 
 which, in fact, were malignant spirits in those shapes, 
 raised such a dreadful outcry, as to terrify the traveller, 
 who wandered unwarily to those shores. It is said that 
 no one who persisted in landing on the fatal beach, ever 
 escaped. The following lines describe the fate of an 
 Indian maid who voluntarily sought the island, induced 
 either by that curiosity which our first mother is supposed 
 to have bequeathed to her fair descendants, or by that 
 love of the " Yellow Sand" which is inherent in the 
 whole race of Adam. 
 
 She has gone to the isle of the golden sands, 
 In the prow of her light canoe she stands, 
 And the south wind howls, and the billows roar, 
 As they bear the maid to the magic shore.
 
 266 THE ISLE OP THE YELLOW SANDS. 
 
 But her spirit is high, and her heart is proud, 
 She dreads not the wave, nor the lowering cloud, 
 For her soul is undaunted, and swift is her way, 
 As she guides her canoe through the foaming spray. 
 
 She has left a brave lover ah ! feeble and cold 
 Is a young maid's affection when tempted by gold ! 
 She has left the lone wigwam, too lowly for her 
 Who could follow the chase, or could mingle in war. 
 
 " Ah pause, heedless maid ! ere to pause be too late, 
 For see, all around thee, the omens of fate; 
 And the shore of that terrible isle is nigh, 
 Where the spirits dwell, and the death birds fly." 
 
 A voice through the tempest, thus kindly essay 'd 
 To arrest the wild course of the Indian maid, 
 But a sunbeam fell bright on the yellow sand 
 And she urges her skiff on the fatal strand. 
 
 " Then onward ! speed onward ! thy story is told, 
 Thou hast barter'd thy innocence, maiden, for gold ! 
 The spirits have warn'd thee, the elements speak, 
 Then onward ! fly onward 1 thy destiny seek !" 
 
 In vain the monition " On, on !" cries the maid, 
 " See the gold how it glitters, let fools be afraid, 
 Though my mother may weep, and my lover may swear, 
 Be mine the bright treasure that dries ev'ry tear." 
 
 She has reach'd the bright isle of the golden sand, 
 And she gazes in fear o'er that lone wild land, 
 For the clouds are low, and the night birds shriek, 
 And her frail canoe is a shapeless wreck.
 
 THE ISLE OF THE YELLOW SANDS. 267 
 
 " Yet turn thee, dear maiden, while life is thine, 
 Nor gaze at the gems that deceitfully shine, 
 For before thee is tempest, and death and the tomb, 
 And behind thee is peace, and affection and home." 
 
 She turn'd 'twas her lover, came o'er the wave, 
 Through tempest, through danger, that dear one to save, 
 She paus'd and the bold hunter stood by her side : 
 " I claim thee, I claim thee, Moina, my bride !" 
 
 Ah feeble of purpose ! what woman can hear 
 Unmov'd the fond name to her bosom so dear, 
 Or could balance the wealth of a golden isle, 
 With a bridal kiss, and a lover's smile ? 
 
 Her dream is past o'er, and her fault confess'd, 
 She has hidden her face in her warrior's breast, 
 And she vows if each sand were a golden isle, 
 She would barter them all for that one lov'd smile ! 
 
 THE END.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE WEST 2D ED PHILA