Ch[ionicle5/ A Kentucky Settlement Watts Cornell UtttoiJ^itg pihmg ^ BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF 1891 A-mi^^ ZZIl i^^Jj/lZ- Cornell University Library PS 3157.W55C5 Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement 3 1924 022 209 815 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022209815 CHRONICLES OF A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT BY WILLIAM COURTNEY WATTS These, these have left Their spell upon me, and their memories Have passed into my spirit, and are now Blent with my being till they seem a part Of my own immortality. Georoe D. Prentice. G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK LONDON 27 WEST TWENTY- THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND Ube ftnicftecbockei: press 1897 Copyright, 1897 BY WILLIAM COURTNEY WATTS Entered at Stationers' Hall, London i^be ftnicb^cboclier press, 'new ^ottt TO MY WIFE AND CHILDREN THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED PREFACE. AFTER having been actively engaged for twenty- five years in commercial pursuits, in America and Europe, the time came when a long and severe illness left me such a cripple that I have since been unable to engage in any active employment. Then (in 1883) to while away hours that would otherwise have been tedious, I began writing some incidents in the life of one of the early settlers of lyivingston County, intending to present the sketches to one of my children. As I progressed, I became so much interested in my work that, knowing as I did manj^ of the pioneer settlers of the county, I went far beyond my original design, and hence this book. Its title, ' ' Chronicles of a Kentucky Settlement, ' ' was sug- gested to me by an old friend, a fine scholar and a competent critic, as best fitting the character of the work. The book, however, is not, as some may infer from its title, a Eocal History. I endeavored to make it of interest to general readers. The first entry of lands in the Virginia Military Dis- trict when opened at Louisville, Kentucky, in 1784, was in Livingston County, at the junction of the Ohio and Cumberland Rivers. The county was organized in 1798, and Salem, its county seat,— in which town I VI PREFACE. was born, — ^was for the first quarter of this century one of the most important towns in Western Kentucky ; and Smittland, the present county seat, was one of the most important commercial points on the rivers be- tween I^ouisville and New Orleans. Hence I^ivingston County has been the field of as many stirring advent- ures and romantic incidents as perhaps any county in the West. Some of the most interesting and romantic of these I sought to portray in these ' ' Chronicles ' ' ; they are tragic, pathetic, and humorous by turns, and illustrate not only the hardships but also the romance there was in the lives of our pioneer fathers. To make my work the more interesting, I wove it into the form of a continuous story. The incidents, however, are not arranged strictly in chronological order, but as suited the exigencies of the tales I had to tell. There is nothing designedly sensational about the stories told, — nothing of the " blood and thunder " order ; and believing as I do that there is much more of the Divine than there is of the devilish in humanity, however fallen it may be, I have dwelt upon the good rather than the evil there was in some of the characters portrayed. Hence, while I have dealt with real per- sonages, yet, for good and pertinent reasons, which will be apparent to every considerate reader, the vari- ous characters introduced are under fictitious names, but their originals will in many cases be readily recog- nized by our older citizens. It has seemed to me that, as the generation who per- sonally knew some of the pioneers of our State will soon have passed away, some such materials as I have woven into these "Chronicles" should be collected and preserved in all the older counties of our State ; PREFACE. Vll for Kentucky was pre-eminently the Pioneer State, being not only tlie earliest settled west of the Alle- ghany Mountains, but the " friend in need " of all the surrounding Territories, since formed into great States. W. C. W. SMITH1.AND, Kentucky, February 7, 1897. CONTENTS. I. — The Adair Family — Tom Adair as a Soldier — His Marriage — His Three Sons— The Death of his Wife —He Goes to Kentucky— The Three Old Quaker Brothers — Joseph Adair Apprenticed to Mr. Morris — Joseph Goes West with Mr. Morris .... II. — Joseph Adair and the Indian — The Howard Family — An Attack by Indians Feared — Preparations for De- fence — The Signal Gun Fired HI. — Arrival in Knoxville— Joseph Rescues L,ittle Laura — Mr. Morris Leaves for the Cumberland Valley — Hard Work— Jos. Adair a Soldier — His Apprenticeship Ends — Visits his Father, Tom Adair — Revisits Knoxville — His Disappointments and Resolutions — Joined by his Brother, William — Visits Mr. Morris — Gets News of the Howards .... ... 26 IV. — Joseph Adair's Meeting with Laura Howard — Adair Introduces himself to the Howard Family — A Warm Reception — Laura Howard as an Artist ... 38 V. — Joseph Adair and Ada Howard — A Fishing Excurs- ion — The First Trout Caught and the Wager — Acci- dent to Laura Howard, and her Rescue by Adair — Ada's Good Samaritan 57 VI.— Joseph Adair Arrives in Salem— Judge Gilroy— Amos Green — George Duncan — Adair Goes to Work — His Severe Illness— Horace Benton, a Unique Genius- Miss Ritchie — Benton's Ways 76 CONTENTS. VII. — Cave-in-Rock, and its Gang — Jim Wilson — Adair Appointed Deputy Sheriff — Benton, on Fishing and Hunting — Adair's Advice to Benton — Benton's Bsti- mate of himself — Benton and Miss Ritchie — Warren Davidson — Adair's Confession to Benton — Death of William Adair and Joseph's Resolution — A Kind Invitation 91 VIII. — Adair's Mental Conflicts — Mrs. Gilroy and her Daughters — Benton Drives, with Adair, to Squire Howard's — Ben Bolton, the Blacksmith — Jefferson Brantley, the Showman — Miss Emily Wilmot — The Secret, and Ada Howard as Judge . . . . 1 10 IX.— About "A Home"— Col. Andrew Lovelland Wife — Family Prayer — In the Garden — Love as a Disease — Adair Returns to Town — Laura's and Ada's Stroll — Pleasing Sights and Sounds, but Sad Hearts . 124 X. — Adair and his Sister-in-Law — Viney, the Cook, and her Story — Benton Gives in " His Bxperience " — He Makes "An Offering" of Himself— The "Case" Ad- journed — Brantley Tells his Story to Adair— Henry Rudolph Suspected — Adair as Brantley's Friend — Brantley Leaves Salem 139 XI. — Adair Visits Miss Wilmot— His Message to Miss Howard— Miss Wilmot's and Miss Howard's Con- fidential Talk — Laura, Returning Home, Meets Ada — Warren Davidson and Miss Laura — An Angry Suitor 157 XII. — Davidson and Rudolph — The Lost Coins — Adair's Great Depression and Musings — Simon and Polly Wright— Mrs. Kent and her Son— Adair Settles a Debt — Old Tom and Elijah, a Gratifying Discovery . 175 XIII.— The "Unfortunate" Gowan Family— Adair Sum- mons a Posse — Rudolph's Trepidation — The Posse's Ride — Holman's Sad Story of John Dyer and his Wife . .- 193 CONTENTS. XI CHAP. PAGE XIV.— Silas Holman, the Hunter and Fiddler— The Posse Arrives at the Gowan Residence — A Horrible Crime — Suicide in a Graveyard — Walter Gowan Sent under Guard to Salem — Adair Quiets the Alarmed Slaves . 205 XV. — Holman and the Picture — The Strange Note — Holman's "Impressions" — Adair and Holman on the River Bank — Ghostly Predictions — Dr. Clayton and Mr. Hawley — Omens — Mr. Hawley's Statement — Indications of Insanity 216 XVI. — George Duncan's Story— His Recollections of Liverpool, England — His Voyage to Charleston, S. C. — St. Andrew's Society— In Philadelphia— His lyCtter to Jennie Bannerman, and the Answer — George and his Brother Go West — At the Cave -in-Rock — Night and a Storm on the Ohio River — George Arrives in Smithland ..... 226 XVII.— George Duncan in Salem — His Hunts for his Brother— He Meets Miss Catherine Wilson— He Tells her his Mission — Minzo, the Slave — In Wil- son's House— Minzo's Hunt and Warning — Miss Wilson and the Flute — George's Hurried Depart- ure — Minzo's Disclosures — George, and Col. Lov- ell's Family, and Laura Howard .... 242 XVIII.— Silas Holman — Burial of Hinton Gowan— The Return to Salem —Hardin's Knob and the Rosicru- cian — Minerals Near Salem— Duncan's Story Re- sumed — Lovers' Talk . . . 261 XIX.— Duncan's Story Ended— Adair Questions Duncan about Rudolph— Duncan Volunteers Advice— Dun- can and Billy Wilmot — Adair's Confession to Dun- ' can— Adair and the Lion's Den . . . .277 XX.— Adair and his Little Nieces— Viney's Message to Mingo— Benton, Adair, and the Note — Adair and Miss Wilmot — Osculatory Conductors — About Warning a Friend— An Unexpected Meeting . . 294 CONTENTS. XXI.— Henry Rudolph Visits Laura Howard — Ada En- ters — Rudolph Nonplussed — He Becomes Uneasy, and Determines to " Arrange Matters " — Adair's Unexpected Arrival, Strange Speech and Hurried Departure — Rudolph's Appeal . . . .314 XXII. — Adair at Wilson's House — His Interview with Miss Catherine — Her Perplexity and Appeal to Adair — His Compliance — Simon Wright, the Great Preacher — Wilson's Return Home — Adair and Wilson 331 XXIII. — Adair's Appeal to Wilson for Duncan — The Effect — Hearty Congratulations — ^Wilson as a Fond Father — Miss Catherine's Notes — Mingo Made Happy — Adair at Col. I^ovell's — A Flatter- ing Invitation — Adair at Squire Howard's — His Letter and Message for Miss Laura — Her Sur- prise and Pleasure 348 XXIV.— Adair's Return Home— He Tells the Little Ones a Little Story — His Message to Duncan — He Visits Benton — Benton Rants about Another Young Grecian Hero — He Talks Seriously about the Mysterious Note .... . 368 XXV.— How Good News Affected Duncan— Little Anna's Journey — Holman's Unexpected Disclos- ures — Lost in the Woods — Mrs. Adair Questions her Brother Joseph — She Finally Obtains an Ad- mission — Memory of Past Happy Days . . 381 XXVI.— How Time Flies— Adair at Squire Howard's— Ada's Humor — Adair and Miss Laura's Drive to the Meeting-house — They Meet Miss Wilson and her Father — Comments of the Crowd — Mr. Pennyman — Rev. Simon Wright — James Wilson and his Daughter 357 XXVII. — The Basket Dinner — ^Joseph Adair and Simon Wright— Rev. Mr. Freeman— Adair and Miss CONTENTS. xiii CHAP. PAGE Laura on their Return — The Story he Told her —Long-Delayed Confession— True Love . . 414 XXVIII. — Duncan Visits his Kitty — Laura, Catherine, and Emily Meet — Adair and Duncan Visit them — How Ada Solved the Riddle — Duncan Visits his Brother — Adair Buys Mingo — Benton's Crim.- Con. Case — Benton's Letter from Miss Ritchie — Brantley's Return 428 XXIX.— Old Tom Adair and his Son Dan— Dan and Carrie Gilroy — The Old Man and his Daughter — Tom Adair and Elijah Wright — Ben Simon, the Patriotic Jew Peddler— Old Tom and Elijah Meet — James Wilson Killed — Duncan's Return — A Quiet Wedding — A Celebrated Horse Race — Brantley Settles with Rudolph — Rudolph Leaves Salem — Brantley's Grand Wedding — Churched for Dancing 447 XXX. — Adair Asks Squire Howard for the Hand of his Daughter — The Marriage of Joseph and Laura — Dan Adair and his Strawberry Cousins — The Firm of Joseph and Daniel Adair— Mingo Loans them Money — Dan Loses his First Wife— Dan and Carrie Gilroy, his Second Wife — Closing Remarks about Characters Portrayed — Ben Simon, the Horse : a Strange but True Story— — Livingston County Divided — Old Salem Left Desolate 465 XXXI.— Joseph Adair Revisits Hillsboro, N. C— His Last Letter to his Brother Daniel— Closing In- cidents of his Life— Laura Howard Adair, as Wife, Mother, and Widow— The Author's Ardent Hope, 485 CHRONICLES OF A KENTUCKY SETTLEMEIMT. CHAPTKR I. The Adair Family — Tom Adair as a Soldier — His Marriage — His Three Sons — The Death of his Wife — He Goes to Kentucky — The Three Old Quaker Brothers — Joseph Adair Appren- ticed to Mr. Morris — ^Joseph Goes West with Mr. Morris. JOHN ADAIR, a handsome, dark-haired young Knglishman, who had from boyhood been in the naval service of his country, was wounded in the great naval engagement between the English and French off Cape Finisterre, October 17, 1747. In the autumn of the following year, his health being still impaired by the long confinement resulting from his wound, he was advised to spend the approaching winter in a warmer and less humid climate than that of England. Tempo- rary peace had then been given to Europe by the cele- brated treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, between Great Britain, France, Holland, Germany, Spain, and Genoa ; and, seeing a period of comparative inactivity in prospect, young Adair determined to follow the advice given 2 CHRONICLES OF him. He chose to visit the province of Languedoc, in the southern part of France, not only on account of its salubrious climate but from its great historical interest. During his sojourn in the city of Toulouse, in I^an- guedoc, John Adair had the good fortune to rescue from imminent death a young and beautiful lad}-, Mdlle. Beauneau, who belonged to an old and highly esteemed Huguenot family. What the danger was, and how the gallant feat of rescuing the lady was per- formed, we know not, but, according to a family tradi- tion, John Adair's success was purchased at the expense of such serious injuries to himself that for a time his life was despaired of. Mdlle. Beauneau was unremitting in her attentions to her preserver during his confine- ment; and her gratitude and admiration soon ripened into love, which was so ardently reciprocated that, soon after his recovery, they were married. After travelling for a few months in Italy and Swit- zerland, John Adair returned to England with his bride ; but they remained there only a few months, and then set sail for Charleston, South Carolina, in- tending to make it their future home. In the course of time three sons were bom to them — Josiah, Anthony, and Thomas. John Adair and his wife died prior to the Declaration of Independence by the Colonies in 1776. Josiah, the eldest son, succeeded to his father's business as a mer- chant in Charleston ; but on the breaking out of the Revolutionary war he moved, taking with him his stock of goods, to Hillsboro, North Carolina, where he married a Miss Susanna Harcourt. He died a few years later, leaving no issue. Anthony, the second son, seems to have inherited his father's fondness for A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 3 the sea, and, during the war, sailed as an officer on a privateer ; but neither he nor the vessel on which he sailed was afterwards heard from. Thomas Adair, the remaining son, served his country faithfully through- out the Revolutionary war. He was in Charleston during the siege, in 1780 ; but after the surrender of the city, made his escape. Thenceforward, until the close of the war, he was under the command of the famous cavalry officer. General Francis Marion. Thomas Adair — or ' ' Dashing Tom, " as he was gen- erally called by his comrades in arms — was a rollick- ing, frolicsome sort of genius, who had, however, a serious side to his nature. It is said he would some- times get ' ' half-seas-over, ' ' and when in that condition was always in a jolly good humor ; but when his sober senses had returned, he would repent, straighten him- self up, swear off — with a diminutive mental reserva- tion, — and for some time thereafter be the grave and dignified Sergeant Adair. He could, however, never impressively act the part of a " potent, grave, and rev- erend seignior," owing to an habitual twinkle about the corners of his black eyes. These idiosyncrasies, however, by no means militated against his popularity with his comrades. Those ragged soldiers (Marion's men were known as the ragged squad) did not believe in ' ' penance, fasts, and abstinence. ' ' Besides, when the word of command was given, there was no man quicker to the front, none with a stouter heart or more nervous arm, than Tom Adair. But when the battle was over, the wounded cared for, and the dead buried. Dashing Tom was often seen to go aside, — seek some quiet spot, and wipe away his tears. That seven years of soldiering should have unfitted 4 CHRONICLES OF Tom Adair, somewhat, for the sober duties of a peace- ful life is not surprising. Certain it is, that when — the war being over — he visited Hillsboro, where his brother Josiah had died, he was by no means a shining light ; but he had one grand, redeeming trait in a woman's eye, — he could love hard and faithfully. The great attraction in Hillsboro to Tom was a certain fair maiden named Mary Harcourt, a sister of the widow of Josiah Adair. William Harcourt, the father of the fair Mary, was one of three brothers, two of whom, James and Joseph, were blind and unmarried. William, who was himself blind in one eye, had but two children, — the daughters referred to. Mary, the youngest and fairest, was the darling and pet of the three old men, who not only lived under the same roof, but were copartners in busi- ness. The three brothers were members of the Society of Friends, or Quakers ; had emigrated from Kngland many years before the war ; and, engaging in business as importing merchants, had, when the war broke out, accumulated a large fortune for that day and country. During the war. North Carolina, and we believe other of the Colonies, passed an ordinance requiring citizens owing money to subjects of Great Britain to pay the amount into the treasury of the State, which thereby assumed the position of debtor to the foreign creditor. Harcourt Brothers owed at the time a large amount for goods imported, which amount they, as soon as possible, paid to the State Treasurer. After the termination of the war, and the signing of the treaty of peace, the English creditors, unable to recover the amount due them from the State, which was hope- lessly bankrupted by the long and severe struggle for A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 5 independence, came upon the original debtors, as they were allowed to do by the terms of the treaty of peace, and the Harcourts, who were honorable merchants, paid again in full, although in so doing they were, in their old age, left comparatively poor. When Tom Adair first met and won the heart of the. beautiful Mary Harcourt, she was looked upon as a great heiress, and he was accused of fortune-hunting by some. But the charge was unfounded, for the gen- tle Quakeress was, at the time of his visit to Hillsboro, no longer rich, and Tom had come to ask her hand in marriage. What sort of a plea Tom Adair made, when he asked Friend Harcourt for the hand of his daughter, is un- known, but tradition gives us the old man's answer. " Friend Thomas," he said, in a slow and impressive manner, " I knew thy father, and he was an honest, worthy man. Thy eldest brother, Josiah, when the husband of my daughter Susanna, I loved as a son. Thee, also, I have known from thy boyhood, and I have long suspected thy affection for my Mary. I know, too, that thou hast long been a favorite of hers ; but I am not prepared to give thee an answer. Before doing so, I must not only talk the matter over with my Mary herself, but with my brothers Jaipes and Joseph. This much, however, I may add : Thy comrades in the war reported thee a brave yet merciful soldier. But thou knowest that I and my brethren are men of peace ; and, I frankly tell thee, I had hoped my Mary would find a husband in our own Society. Then, too, since the close of the war, thou hast been very unsettled ; and whilst I doubt not thy purpose to amend and go Steadily to thy work, yet I fear thou wilt soon tire of a 6 CHRONICLES OF peaceful and quiet life. It, however, speaks well for thee, my son, that thou shouldst have placed thy affect- ions upon such a damsel as my Mary, for she is indus- trious, frugal, and cheerful ; and since the loss of. my Frances, her mother, she hath so well performed her part in our household, that, should we give her up to thee, it would be a grievous loss, not only to me, but much more so to my blind brothers, who would miss not only her willing hands and the music of her voice, but her bright eyes, which often serve as eyes for them. But go now, my son, I will speak with thee again to- morrow at this hour. ' ' At the interview the following day, Tom Adair and Marj"^ Harcourt were made as happy as mortals can be by obtaining the full consent of the three old men. A few weeks later they were married. For seven years Tom Adair and his quiet, cheerful wife lived happily together in Hillsboro, and three children were born to them — ^three sons, William, Thomas, and Joseph. But alas ! three days after the birth of the last, the gentle mother died. For two years more Tom Adair went about his work as usual, but many thought he was going into a decline and would soon follow his lamented wife. Then, in search of health, he quitted Hillsboro, and journeyed over the mountains to the West, — to the new State of Kentucky, leaving his three sons with their grandfather and his blind brothers. James and Joseph Harcourt had lost their sight in early manhood, — how is not known, — but they had, before their great affliction, received a good education in England. Being of a kindly, social disposition, and possessing well stored minds and fine conversational A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 7 powers, their society was sought by many, both old and young, and they rarely lacked for friends to read to and converse with them. But for their bUndness they were eminently qualified to instruct the three little boys left mainly in their care. Such, however, was the old men's attachment to the three little fellows, and such the care bestowed on their education, that their progress was very rapid. Unfortunately, before the youngest boy, Joseph, had attained the age of seven, and when he had only learned to read and write a little, the last of his kind old protectors passed away. Following each other in quick succession, the three old Quaker brothers were summoned to their reward : their blind eyes were unsealed in the better world. After the death of the last of the Harcourt brothers, a Mr. Jonathan Whitley, who had married Susanna, the widow of Josiah Adair, took charge of the three sons of Thomas Adair, and sent them to school for a short time ; but, after the custom of the day, soon apprenticed them to learn trades. In this, Mr. Whit- ley was no doubt acting under instructions from the boys' father, who had married again, but was very poor and unable to help his children, from whom he was so far separated. We purpose following particularly the fortunes of but one of the sons of Thomas and Mary Harcourt Adair, namely, Joseph, the youngest of the three. He, Joseph, when about nine or ten years of age, went to live with a distant relative named John Morris, a farmer and saddler, who lived near Hillsboro, and to whom Joseph was bound as an apprentice. Mr. Morris was, at the time Joseph became a mem- ber of his household, about thirty years of age, and 8 CHRONICLES OF had a wife, Jane, and two cliildren.^ohn, aged four years, and Mary, an infant. Neither Mr. Morris nor his wife was unkind to the lonely lad, Joseph, who was well clothed and fed ; but their motto seemed to be — " Work, work, work ! morning, noon, and night ! " and to this they adhered so rigidly that Joseph's life soon became a very laborious one. But, though a deli- cate lad, he was sinewy and possessed of such indomit- able pluck that he stood his heavy tasks much better than might have been expected. Work soon became with him second nature, and he was never afterwards heard to complain of the hardships of his boyhood. In the early autumn of the year 1805, Joseph being then eleven years old, Mr. Morris determined to remove with his family to the West, — to Tennessee or Kentucky. He had fixed upon no point, but, as he expressed it, ' ' would keep moving until he came across a spot that suited him." For some years previous, there had been quite a tide of emigration from the Southern Atlantic States to the new and fertile States of Kentucky and Tennessee ; and although west of the Alleghany Mountains was then an almost unbroken wilderness, occasionally infested by hostile tribes of Indians, the roads little more than tracks through the forests, and few, if any, bridges built across the streams, still, the dangers and hardships of the long journey did not deter the experienced woodmen and bold hunters of that generation. It was a warm bright morning in September when Mr. Morris and his family bade good-by to the rela- tives and friends who had called to see them off. There was little or no emotion displayed, few, if any, tears were shed by those leaving or those left behind, A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 9 but many a hearty " Good-by " and " God speed you " were spoken. The parting between the lad, Joseph Adair, and his brothers was a sad one, for their mutual attachment was very strong. Nevertheless, they bore up like little men, and, cheered by the natural hopefulness of youth, looked forward to meeting again in the years to come. And Joseph had said that in his journeyings he hoped to come across his father. The train containing Mr. Morris's personal property and effects consisted of two light wagons, each drawn by a pair of strong horses, and a larger wagon drawn by two yokes of oxen. Each wagon was surmounted by arched strips of tough, elastic timber, over which was stretched a covering of thick, white waterproof canvas. The foremost and lightest wagon was driven by Mr. Morris, and in it rode his wife and children ; it further contained a mattress of straw, and such light articles as might be required at any moment. Chief among these, carefully but conveniently strapped behind the wagon, was Mr. Morris's long and heavy rifle, on which he mainly relied to provide his family with meat. The second wagon was driven by a negro boy named Ben, about eighteen years old ; while the ox wagon, in the rear, was driven by Stephen, a middle-aged negro man. In Stephen's wagon, Matilda — his wife, and the mother of the boy Ben — sometimes rode, but she usu- ally preferred to walk. These three were the only slaves Mr. Morris owned. They cheerfully accompa- nied their " Mahs John " and " Missus Jane " to the wilds of the West, and regarded the journey somewhat in the light of a period of relaxation. Besides, these lO CHRONICLES OF slaves were attached to " Missus Jane, an' de chiluns of de fam'ly,"— an almost universal characteristic of their race. With the three negroes, the lad Joseph Adair had become a great favorite, for he was kind and consider- ate both to "Uncle Stephen " and " Aunt Matilda "— for so he called them, — while Ben was his companion and friend. A few hours after the " movers " — for so emigrants were invariably called — had left their old home, they reached the top of a high hill from which they could look back and obtain a view of Hillsboro and the sur- rounding country. A halt was made, and many a long, lingering look was cast back. After a few min- utes of silence, there was a sign from the master, then the crack of a wagon whip was heard, the spell was broken, and the journey resumed. For several weeks the journey continued without any incident worthy of note. The weather was favorable, and fair progress was made. The Blue Ridge Mount- ains had been passed. Their road had led them near the base of Mitchell's Peak, the highest mountain east of the Mississippi River. The grandeur of the mount- ain scenery filled the mind of the boy Joseph with wonder and amazement. He often wandered from the road to clamber some height, and on one occasion went above the cloud line, and stood in the sunUght while rain was falling below him. The incident made a very vivid impression on his mind. A few days later the " movers " reached the waters of the French Broad River, then, as yet, one of the most picturesque stteams in America. As it was then Octo- ber, most of the leaves of the foregt trees h?id turned A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. It from emerald-green to purple, or red, or gold, or brown, interspersed with evergreen holly and verdant pine. The rounded hills looked like huge bouquets of flowers, and were enough to have awakened something like a poetic sentiment in the most callous hearts. The lad, Joseph Adair, oft lingered and surveyed the scenes around him, and acquired, during the journey across the mountains, a love for nature which he preserved to the close of his life. CHAPTER II. Joseph Adair and the Indian — The Howard Family— An Attack by Indians Feared — Preparations for Defence — The Signal Gun Fired. A FEW days later, our " movers," still following the road along the banks of the French Broad River, passed through a defile in the Alleghany Mount- ains, and for the first time trod the soil of the new State of Tennessee. Before crossing the State line, Joseph Adair, boy though he was, paused and cast a melancholy look towards the home of his childhood and the graves of his loved ones. Then, bidding good-by to the ' ' good old North State, ' ' he turned and ran forward. Scarcely had he crossed the State line and overtaken the wagons, when he caught sight of a deer descending a hill to the left of the road, and, judging that it would cross the road a short distance in advance of the foremost wagon, he quickly called Mr. Morris's attention to the chance for a shot. After grasping his rifle, Mr. Morris had but a moment to wait before a ten-antlered stag bounded into the road some seventy yards ahead. In the twinkling of an eye, there was a loud, clear report from the trusty rifle, and the deer, after making a mighty bound, fell dead. This furnished the family A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 13 with a welcome addition to their supply of fresh meat, which at the moment was running rather low. More- over, Stephen and Matilda — who, like most of their race, believed in signs and omens — considered the kill- ing of the deer as an augury of success in the new State they had just entered. That same day a much more exciting incident occurred. Late in the afternoon, Joseph, who had fallen some distance behind the teams — (he had been loitering along ' ' plumping ' ' marbles, a dozen or more of which he had brought with him from Hillsboro), — was much alarmed on seeing in the road, immediately in front of him, a large, fierce-looking Indian, gun in hand, and otherwise equipped with tomahawk, knife, etc., after the manner of his race. Joseph's first im- pulse — so he afterwards related — ^was to turn and run for his life; but this he knew, after a moment's consid- eration, would be unavailing, and would, moreover, be not only equivalent to a confession of cowardice, but, possibly, increase his danger. His next thought was to shout aloud for assistance, but then it struck him that he could not probably make himself heard, and, even if he could, the doubt thus expressed, as to the Indian's peaceable intentions, might anger him, in which event, his deadly work — if such he purposed — could be accomplished before Mr. Morris or any one else could come to his assistance. All of these thoughts ran quickly through the boy's mind ; the Indian, mean- while, standing like a statue in the road. It then occurred to Joseph that the Indian was closely observ- ing the marbles, and, thereupon, he determined to resort to a little friendly diplomacy ; and, picking up the marbles, and holding them out in the palm of his 14 CHRONICLES OF hand, he approached the dusky stranger, and with as calm a voice as he could command — but, it must be confessed, with no little inward trepidation — said, " Marbles ! Do you want one? May have both ; I have more. ' ' The Indian took the marbles and scrutinized one of them — ^Joseph's favorite white alley — so closely that the boy supposed the savage had never before seen such a toy, and was trying to determine its use ; whereupon he drew two other marbles from his pocket, and casting one some six or eight feet from him, he then properly adjusted the other between his thumb and fingers, and, showing the position to the Indian, took deliberate aim and hit the marble he shot at so plump that it was knocked several yards, while the one shot spun around in almost the same spot from which the other had been knocked. It was a good shot. The Indian, observing the shot, uttered something like a grunt of approval and, placing the marbles given him in his pouch, with- out a word or gesture, stepped from the road and soon disappeared in the forest, which at that point was unusually dense with undergrowth. A little later the negro boy, Ben, who had stopped his team near a small stream at the base of a long hUl, for the purpose of watering his horses, saw Joseph com- ing down the hill at such a break-neck speed that he cried out, loud enough to be heard by every one of the company : " My golly ! lookee yonder ! Dar mus' be a bar' or a pant'er arter Mister Josef, way he 's runnin'." " Heigh ho ! what 's the matter ? " asked Mr. Mor- ris, coming forward as the panting boy came to a halt. It was some moments before Joseph had sufficient A KElSfTUCKY SETTLEMENT. I J breath and composure to relate what had occurred ; and when he had done so, there were several grave faces around him, for this was the first Indian seen upon the journey. Mr. Morris was the first to speak, and, addressing Joseph, said : "As soon as you are rested, go ahead until you overtake Mr. Howard, and say to him that I wish him to halt his teams until I come up. And, that he may understand, and be on his guard, you must tell him of your having seen the Indian, that I think it probable there are others in this vicinity, and that I wish to talk with him about it." Away sped the boy on receiving his message, and as Mr. Howard, with his wagons, was only some half a mile in advance, he soon overtook him, and delivered the message. Mr. Howard at once halted his wagons. Several days before, Mr. Morris had overtaken Mr. Howard on the road ; and learning that he was from South Carolina, and with his family — which consisted of his wife, six children, and four slaves — was on his way to Knoxville — at that time the capital of the State of Tennessee, — the two men had concluded to journey together for greater security ; for nearly every part of East and Middle Tennessee was, at that early day, occasionally invaded by predatory bands of Creek and Cherokee Indians. Mr. Howard was a man of more than ordinary intelligence, was somewhat noted as a mathematician, and had gained considerable reputation in his native State as a surveyor. He questioned Joseph particularly about the Indian he had seen, and, after listening with interest to the boy's prompt and intelligent repUes, complimented him on his coolness in danger. Then l6 CHRONICLES OP turning to one of his daughters — a very pretty, black- haired, blue-eyed girl of about Joseph's age, who had been standing by listening attentively to what had been said : "Come, Harriet," he said, "you were having a snack a few minutes ago ; have you nothing left that you can offer our young friend here ? ' ' The daughter bounded away, like a young fawn, to one of the wagons and soon returned with a sweet potato and some cold slices of broiled venison, portions of the deer which Mr. Morris had that morning killed ; a hind-quarter of which had been sent to Mr. Howard. Approaching Joseph and handing him the food, " I 'm sorry," the girl said rather timidly, " I have no bread to offer you, and that the sweet potato is cold." " Thank you," Joseph replied, " this is very good. I 'm fond of a juicy sweet potato like this ; and, although it is cold, I 'm not likely " — he added with a smile — " to choke myself." And, without more ado, he began eating, for, after the excitement and violent exercise of the day, he was indeed hungry. By this time Mr. Morris had come up with his wagons, and he and Mr. Howard at once walked aside to talk over their situation. Mr. Howard, who had had much experience on the frontier, and more know- ledge of Indian customs and character, was the first speaker. "I am satisfied," he said, " that the Indian Joseph saw was not so far from the villages of his nation and alone. I have, however, heard of no recent Indian depredations, and am inclined to think the one seen is merely one of a party on a hunting expedition, the A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 17 season being now favorable for preserving any game killed. We should, however, be on our guard, for, whilst there may be no danger to life, so highly do the Indians prize horses, that they may attempt to stam- pede and steal ours." "You are perhaps right," said Mr. Morris, "and the question is, what should we do ? " lyet us try and find some open spot on a hill-top for our camp, ' ' answered Mr. Howard. ' ' We can then arrange our wagons in such a position as to form an inclosure for our animals. We should then surround the inclosure with pine branches, so as to prevent any one, not close up to the inclosure, from seeing within, and obtaining a mark for a rifle." ' ' All right ! ' ' was the prompt response of Mr. Mor- ris ; who, after a short pause, added : ' ' And we had better stand guard to-night. Don't you think so ? " ' ' Yes, ' ' answered Mr. Howard, ' ' for an Indian is a treacherous and cunning foe. Should it come to fight- ing, I am no marksman ; I am very fond of trapping and fishing, but never hunted, and don't think I ever fired a gun a half-dozen times. If any shooting is necessary, I trust to my negro man Peter, who has an old musket, and has occasionally supplied us with game on our journey. I have had, too, so many proofs of Peter's fidelity and courage, that I am sure, should 2iny Indians annoy us to-night, he will render us good service. He is, however, like most of his race, too sleepy-headed to stand guard. ' ' ' ' Stephen, my man, will fight too, if cornered, ' ' said Mr. Morris, emphazing the last word. I/ittle more was said, and an hour later a very advan- tageous spot was found for a camp. The wagons were 1 8 CHRONICLES OP arranged as before indicated, and the animals secured as well as possible in the inclosure, in the centre of which a large fire was soon blazing ; and Matilda and Fanny, the negro cooks of the two families, were soon busily employed in preparing supper. In the mean- while, Stephen and his son Ben, and Peter and his son Nelson — a boy of fourteen years, — were employed in cutting and interlacing, around and between the wagons, young bushy-topped pines, which soon formed a satisfactory screen. Mr. Howard and Mr. Morris, after giving instructions how the work should be done, made a careful inspection of the surroundings — ^in- specting every tree behind which an Indian might skulk. By the time supper was ready the two men had returned, and having inspected the screen, they expressed themselves as well satisfied with their camp and the precautions taken. Harriet Howard and Nora — a fair-haired, blue-eyed sister some two years younger — ^had gone with Joseph Adair to a spring near at hand, and they took up so much time chatting, and talking of the old homes and friends left behind them, that supper was ready before they returned with their pails of water. Everything was now in readiness for a much better meal than usual ; for, this being the first occasion of the two families eating together, each of the ladies had selected from her stores some deli- cacy, — one tea, and dried peaches for stewing ; the other, enough flour to make biscuits for the entire party, and some butter bought at a farm-house on the road. The meal was a hearty one, but, as it pro- gressed, there was very little conversation, and that little carried on in an undertone ; for, while no serious alarm was expressed, nor indeed apprehended, yet A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 1 9 every one seemed to regard the position as too grave to admit of mirth or levity. By the time the meal was over the twinkling stars were shining with unusual brilliancy through the clear, dry atmosphere. All around was profound quietude, excepting the roar, soft and subdued, of the French Broad River, not far distant, the rapid current of which was here obstructed by hundreds of huge boulders which had rolled down from the mountain's side. Preparations were soon made to obtain such rest for the women and children as circumstances would admit of, aroused, as every one was, by the possible danger of their situation. Mr. Howard specially cautioned the entire party to keep as much as possible from the light of the fire, so as not to be seen by any stealthy Indian who might approach in the darkness, and to preserve the utmost silence, since the sound of a voice would indicate the speaker's position in the camp. It was thought that should the Indians approach to make a survey, or an assault on the camp, they would most likely do so from the south, for on that side the forest was most dense and would afford them a better chance to approach unseen. Mr. Howard insisted on standing sentinel on that side, and said he would take with him his dog Rover, a large brownish- yellow cur ; a grave, sedate dog with the courage of a mastiff, and the scent of a bloodhound. This dog had been Mr. Howard's almost constant companion for sev- eral years, and so well was he trained that he could be kept quiet, and by his master's side by a look or the wave of his hand. Mr. Howard trusted much more to his dog's instinct to warn him of the approach of any stranger, than he did to his own quick ears and keen 20 CHRONICLES OF gray eyes. So little confidence had lie in his skill as a marksman, and in the efficiency of Peter's old musket, that he proposed to go to his post without that weapon, but he was prevailed upon by his wife to take it. The dog gave his master such an inquisitive look, as he started ofif with the gun on his shoulder, that Mr. Howard turned to his wife and said, ' ' See, Sarah, even old Rover is surprised at my strange armament ' ' ; to which she only replied by a smile. Mr. Morris, armed with his long and heavy rifle, after addressing a few words of caution to his wife, quickly moved off in an opposite direction to that taken by Mr. Howard. The two men had, before starting out, agreed upon a signal to be given — the firing of a gun — in the event of discovering any lurking savage, when both were to return immediately to the camp. As soon as Mr. Howard and Mr. Morris had left, the entire party retired to rest excepting Joseph and the two negro men. The latter lit their cob pipes, and, seated upon a mat of pine straw, exchanged a few words in whispers. Joseph had also collected a mat of pine straws, and with a saddle for a pillow, and a blan- ket wrapped around him, had lain down, but so strained were his ears to catch every sound that he could not sleep. The wolves, then very numerous in that section, soon surrounded the camp— attracted, it was thought, by the scent of the food which had been cooked, and for some hours they kept up their dismal barking, but this had been of such common occurrence lately that it excited no alarm or surprise. About midnight, a sudden cessation in the barking of the wolves, on the hills south of the camp, attracted A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 21 the attention of Peter, who had passed so many days in the forest with his master, when surveying, that he was quite an expert woodman and skilful hunter, attentive to every passing sound from beast or bird. Turning to Joseph, who was near him, in an undertone he said : "If de barkin' of dem wolves has kep' you 'wake, yous ken now go ter sleep. ' ' "No," replied Joseph, "they have not kept me awake ; and I don't feel sleepy." Hear dat ? ' ' said Peter, again addressing the boy, " hear dat owl ? Dat 's a big horn-owl. He 's got a full belly, or he w'u'd n't make dat hoot. But, by- hoky, dar 's 'nuther on tuther side hootin' back ! Ise bin in de woods many nights, but I neber he-ars dem big-eyed owls hoot dat way dat it don't gib me de col' shivers ! Dar 's allers sumfin in dar hoot what sounds like de wail of de departed spiruts of dead folks. ' ' " Why ! uncle Peter, you don't believe " But before Joseph could complete his question, the loud report of a gun reverberated through the wood. " Dat 's my ole gun ! " exclaimed Peter, forgetful of the injunction of silence. " I knows dat report, but, by-hoky, I '11 bet Massa haint killed no Injun, nor nufSn else." A few moments later both Mr. Howard and Mr. Morris entered the camp, and were soon joined by their wives and servants, for all had been aroused by the report of the gun, excepting some of the younger children who, dreaming of no danger, slept more soundly than the rest. Mr. Howard soon explained that his attention had been attracted by the unusual proceedings of his dog, which, several times, while lying by him, erected his 22 CHRONICLES OP bristles angrily, but without making any other sign. " A few minutes later," Mr. Howard continued, " I heard the hooting of an owl— at least, what sounded like it, and knowing that Indians often exchange sig- nals by mimicking the cries of night-birds, my suspi- cions were aroused, when, suddenly, old Rover not only bristled up but uttered a very ferocious growl ; and, looking in the direction indicated by the dog, I caught a glimpse in the darkness of some moving object distant some forty or fifty yards, at which I fired ; but I am quite sure I did not hit it, for my ears told me that it retreated rapidly over the hill. I am satisfied," he added, " that the object I saw was a man, and doubtless an Indian ; for, had it been some beast of the forest, old Rover would not have growled so fiercely, and would, after I had fired, shown some disposition to bound forward to the attack, instead of which he remained close to my side." " Yes, Mahs Kit, dat wus a Injun you seed," said Peter, who, in an emergency like this, felt that he was warranted in expressing his opinion. " Kase it mus- a-bin a human bein' a comin' down dat hill what made dem wolves over dar stop barkin', jist 'fore you fired. An' de hootin' of dat big horn-owl ! I wus a listnin' ter it, an' now I cum ter tho't 'bout it, de hoot wa'n't jist a-cordin' ter natur', tho' 't was mi'ty nigh it, 'cept de las' part o' de hoot, was cut mi'ty short." As there no longer remained any doubt that hostile Indians were close at hand, Mr. Morris, who was ever a prompt man, and given to few words, turned to Mr. Howard and asked him if he had reloaded his gun. "No," was the answer. "And here, Peter, you take it," Mr. Howard continued, " for you can handle A KENTVCKY SETTLEMENT. 23 it better than I can. Load it quickly, and if we have to fight, by George ! give it to the imps. And you, Sarah, ' ' he said, addressing his wife, ' ' bring me my Jacob-staff, for, pointed and iron-shod as it is, it is just the weapon for me ! And Fanny," he added, turning to his negro cook, " bring me the large butcher-knife. ' ' ' ' And you, Stephen ! you and Ben get your axes, ' ' said Mr. Morris. ' ' And look alive ! " he exclaimed, seeing their movements were not so quick as he desired. ' ' Well, Joseph, what are you going to do if we have the Indians upon us ? " asked Mrs. Howard, who had returned with the Jacob-staff, and was apparently as cool and collected as any one of the party, though her heart must have been weighed down by anxiety ; for she was not onlj^ a loving wife but a most devoted mother, and four of her children were standing by her side, and two others — the youngest — were asleep near her. Joseph, who seemed to think that he should, like good Mrs. Howard, do what he could to dispel any gloom that hung over the party, answered very promptly : " I have a hatchet, and will do all I can to protect your daughters, and particularly your little Laura and our little Mary. ' ' The boy did not aim to make a gallant speech, nor mean to limit his assistance to the girls alone, but he was thinking at the moment of Harriet and Nora who were before him, and of their two little sisters, Eva and Laura, who were asleep. His reply pleased Mrs. Howard very much and, turning to her daughters, she nodded her head at them and said, " There now ! " as 24 CHRONICLES OF if she meant to assure them that they would be safe in any event ; and Mr. Howard quietly exclaimed, as he stuck his Jacob-staff in the ground, " Bravo, my lad ! " Then turning to his two little sons, Thornton and William, aged seven and five respectively, he added encouragingly, ' ' You chaps keep a sharp look-out through the bushes." Stephen on returning with his axe, brought with him his long ox- whip, the handle of which was a dry, elastic hickory rod, and the cord, composed of strips of leather braded so as to be round, was tipped with a lash of rawhide. Peter observing this — for what is more attractive in the eyes of a negro wagoner than a good whip ? — said, in a good-humored way, ' ' I,ook-ee he-ar, nigger ! What 's yous goin' ter do wid dat whip?" " Just yous keep dat fly-trap o' yourn shut, an' dem eyes o' yourn open," was the jocular, boastful reply of Stephen, " an' yous '11 .see what I 's goin' ter do, ef enny o' dem Injuns cum clos' ter dis nig ! Why, see he-ar, Souf Calliner," for so he designated Peter — " gib me a clare swing, an' wid dis he-ar whip Ise c'u'd pick de eyes out' en a Injun at twenty foot ; or Ise c'u'd, wid a twelve-foot reach, wind de whip 'roun' a Injun — perwided de Injun war' a standin' up — so as ter bind his arms, or trip him up by a jerk, which 'ud gib me time ter spank down on ter him, an' finish de work wid de axe. Humph ! dis nig knows what he 's 'bout." Everything being now in readiness for the defence, the women and children were placed in as secure a place as possible, and the men took their positions at the different small openings made in the screen of pine A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 2$ branches, to look and listen for any approaching foe, in which duty Joseph was permitted to share. Slowly and silently the hours passed, but no attack was made — nothing occurred to alarm the camp. It was thought, however, that the Indians, after their inspection of the camp, had only been deterred from some sort of depredation by the vigilance of the "movers." The stars, one by one, faded from the heavens as the rosy dawn lit up the east, and, ere the sun had risen, the journey was resumed. AV^ CHAPTER III. Arrival in Enoxville— Joseph Rescues I,ittle I,aura — Mr. Morris Leaves for the Cumberland Valley— Hard Work— Jos. Adair a Soldier— His Apprenticeship Ends— Visits his Father, Tom Adair— Revisits Knoxville— His Disappointments and Resolutions— Joined by his Brother, William— Visits Mr. Morris— Gets News of the Howards. ABOUT a fortnight after tlie events narrated in the preceding chapter, Mr. Morris and Mr. Howard, with their families, arrived in Knoxville. This, as before stated, was as far as Mr. Howard purposed going ; and he fortunately succeeded in renting a house in which he and his family were soon comfortably domi- ciled. The winter being upon them, and the roads in bad condition, Mr. Morris also concluded to remain there for some months. He succeeded in renting a farm-house near which there was an unoccupied build- ing which could be used as his saddlery shop. The farm and shop were a mile or more from town, but work soon flowed in, and Mr. Morris and his appren- tice, Joseph Adair, had as mtich as they could do. During the winter, Joseph had no leisure to visit the Howards excepting on Sundays. He was always received and treated by them with such kindness that his attachment for the family steadily increased. The 26 A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 2/ beautiful little Laura, who was then about two years old, and could prattle very sweetly, soon showed a sin- gular fondness for her " Dody," as she called Joseph, and was never so pleased as when he led her around bj' the hand or carried her in his arms. When making one of his visits to the Howards, Joseph saw little I,aura alone in the road, which, oppo- site the house, passed through a narrow lane ; and at the same moment he saw a pair of runaway horses, attached to an empty wagon, coming at full speed along the lane. He at once rushed to the child's rescue, and, grasping her in his arms, attempted to spring out of the way, but he was knocked down, without, however, being seriously hurt. The child was unharmed. Mrs. Howard, who was looking for her ' ' baby, ' ' as she called little I/aura, witnessed the accident and ran to the brave boy's assistance. Joseph was afterwards in even greater favor with the family than before, and was often spoken of as the rescuer of their darling little Laura. But Joseph's happy days with the Howards were soon to terminate. The winter having passed, Mr. Morris determined to resume his westward journey. He had heard so much of the magnificent timber and fertile soil of the valley of the Cumberland River that he resolved to remove thither. In the spring of 1806, as soon as the roads were in fair condition, a start was made. Mr. Howard and his wife and children were present to bid their friends and former companions good-by. When the parting word had to be spoken, Mrs. Howard took her little dimpled and rosy-cheeked Laura in her arms, and turning to Joseph said, " Little Laura must have a kiss before you go." 28 CHRONICLES OF "Yes— yes," replied the boy, and the kiss was heartily given. Then taking from his pocket a small but beautiful green pebble he handed it to Mrs. How- ard, and said : " Take this for little I^aura to wear around her neck, so that she won't forget me. I found it in a small branch among the mountains of old North Carolina. ' ' Mrs. Howard, on accepting the pretty pebble, said : " I^aura will, as she grows older, often hear us speak of you, my dear Joseph, and will no doubt greatly prize the little memento from the brave boy who saved her life." The lonely boy turned away with a sad heart, for he felt a peculiar sympathy and tenderness for that child — such as he had never felt for any other. The partings over, the word was given by Mr. Mor- ris ; then came a loud report from Stephen's whip — a kind of parting salute — and the teams were once more moving forward : the same personnel, horses, oxen, and wagons that had left Hillsboro the autumn before. Whither they were bound they knew not, excepting that they purposed settling on or near the Cumberland River, below Nashville, then a village of some four hundred inhabitants. Early in July (1806), Mr. Morris and his family encamped on the northern bank of the Cumberland River, at the spot now occupied by the pretty and thriving town of Clarksville, Tennessee. There was then no house within several miles. A rude hut was soon constructed ; for, making this his base, Mr. Mor- ris determined to examine the country for many miles around before he determined the exact spot at which he would locate. A few weeks later he selected a spot A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 29 near where now stands the town of Springfield, in Robinson County, Tennessee. The country around was finely timbered, interspersed with gentle hills and fertile valleys, and the numerous small streams, gliding or rippling over pebbly bottoms, were as transparent as air. A few other pioneers were attracted to the same section about that time, so that when Mr. Morris had selected a spot for building on, and had cut, hewed, and hauled the logs together, he had enough neigh- bors, within a few hours' ride, to voluntarily come for- ward and assist him at his house raising. By October all was in readiness for the family to move in. Here their laborious and humdrum life went on for about eight years. In the spring and summer it was plowing and sowing, and reaping and mowing ; in the autumn and winter, it was chopping and hewing, and hauling and building outhouses and fences ; and when the day's work was done there was corn to be shucked, and cattle to be fed and attended to. The females were kept equally busy, for, in addition to ordinary household duties, there was spinning and weaving to be done — nearly every article of wearing apparel being made at home. It was still ' ' Work, work, work ! morning, noon, and night ! " As the neighborhood filled up there was a good deal of saddlery work to be done, and much of Joseph Adair's time was required in the shop, which had been erected in one corner of the large yard which surrounded the house. In June, 18 12, the second war with Great Britain was declared. The cry for volunteers reached Tennes- see, and many sprang forward from among the hills and hollows of the remote district where Mr. Morris had made his home. Joseph Adair was then but 30 CHRONICLES OF eighteen years of age, an apprentice, and in delicate health. He may have inherited something of his father's martial spirit, or it may have been the lonely life, the grinding monotony, and the longing for change and excitement, but certain it is he wished to " go to the wars." Mr. Morris, however, opposed his wishes, and Joseph gave him credit for doing so not from selfish considerations, but from an honest convic- tion that he was not strong enough to endure the hard- ships and exposure of a campaign. The war continued, and Joseph worked on until the summer of 1814, when the startling news came that Washington City, the nation's capital, was in danger ; then, that the city, with its superb buildings, was burned, and the National Library destroyed. Joseph Adair, being then in improved health, and near the close of his apprenticeship, could no longer be re- strained from joining an infantry company, which was raised in the surrounding counties and rapidly marched towards the seat of war. After reaching the mountains of Virginia, news came of the desperate engagement at Baltimore (September 12th), the death of General Ross, the British commander, and the termination of the war in the East. (The battle at New Orleans, the closing struggle, was not, however, fought until the following January.) Then came the long, dull march home, spiritless, because all — officers and privates — were dis- appointed at having had no share in the drama which had just closed. After his discharge from military service, Joseph returned to Mr. Morris's, none the worse for his short and bloodless campaign ; in fact, in improved health, and more self-reliant by reason of association and con- tact with comrades in arms. A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 3 1 On attaining the age of twenty-one, and being then a free man, Joseph Adair was the possessor of a good horse and accoutrements, and two hundred dollars in money, — one hundred of which, with a good outfit of clothing, was given him by Mr. Morris. Although he had never felt any special attachment for any member of Mr. Morris's family, excepting for the youngest child — a very beautiful little girl named Ellen, then about three years old, — yet it was not with- out a sad heart that he saw the day approach when he must leave them, — leave the only spot in all the world which he could call home ! What made the parting all the sadder was that both Mr. and Mrs. Morris, undemonstrative as they always had been, showed much more regard and affectionate sympathy for him than he had ever given them credit for. It made him inwardly accuse himself of having judged them too harshly. What especially surprised and touched him was the almost lavish addition Mrs. Morris had made to his stock of wearing apparel, — those many small articles which a man is apt to overlook or regard as non-essential, but which a fond mother would be sure to think her son required. Then, too, Mr. Morris had said to him should his health fail him, or should any accident befall him so that he could not work, ' ' Come to us ! make this your home ! ' ' And Mrs. Morris and all the children had joined in the request with so much earnestness that he could not doubt their entire sincerity. And then there were Matilda, and Stephen, and Ben ! Great blinding tears stood in the eyes of the good old cook. And Stephen had always showed such a thoughtful regard for him, shielding him, as far as he could, from such night work as would make ' ' dat cough o' yourn wus. ' ' And Ben had been 32 CHRONICLES OF his playmate — ^his companion on many a fishing excur- sion on Sundays, and had always insisted ' ' on choppin' de wood fur de shop fire, case yous kaint han'le de axe cientifex, likes dis individ'al." But the parting must take place. Hands were grasped, earnest good-bys were exchanged, little Kllen was kissed, and then — ^Joseph mounted his horse and was soon out of sight. But whither was Joseph Adair travelling alone ? He knew not more than this : that he intended going first to Hopkinsville, Kentucky, for he had been told that he could certainly obtain employment there as a jour- neyman saddler; and, if so, he would remain there for a time, — ^how long would depend upon circumstances, but after a while he would travel on towards Northern Kentucky (Shelby County, where his father was liv- ing) ; the father whom he had not seen for eighteen years, and of whom he had no distinct remembrance. Joseph had written to and received several letters from him in recent years, and from these he knew his father was again a widower, and that his second family of children consisted of four sons and one daughter, none of whom Joseph had ever seen. After working at Hopkinsville a few months, Joseph visited his father, Thomas Adair, and found him a much older-looking and feebler man than he expected, but retaining much of the vivacity and cheerfulness which had characterized him when young. The old man was very poor, and barely maintaining his family by the cultivation of a small farm, in which he was assisted by two of his sons, the others being too young to work. The youngest of the children was a very handsome boy named Daniel, who was about four A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 33 years old, and resembled somewhat his half-brother Joseph in this, that they both had very black hair and eyes and rather dark complexions. Dan was a resolute and self-possessed little fellow, and soon became quite a favorite with his ' ' new brother, ' ' — for so he spoke of Joseph. After remaining a few weeks with his father, and providing as well as he could for the well-being of the family, Joseph again resumed his roaming. Within the year he was again in Knoxville, Tennessee, where, it will be remembered, he had parted from the Howard family. No sooner had he arrived there than he made inquiries for Mr. Howard, and learned, greatly to his disappointment, that he had removed some nine or ten years before to Kentucky, but to what town or county was not known. Joseph was more than disappointed, for of late he had thought much of little blue-eyed I,aura, now nearly twelve years of age, and wondered if, when he met her, she would give him another kiss, and whether she ever wore around her neck the beau- tiful little green pebble he had given her. ' ' Ah, ' ' he said to himself, as if half in jest and half in earnest, ' ' this is nonsense — downright foolishness, ' ' and away he walked, whistling in an undertone, a habit of his when in a brown study; but he then and there resolved to find the Howards if he could. From Knoxville, Joseph wrote to his brothers, Wil- liam and Thomas, who had remained in Hillsboro ; and, after informing them of his visit to their father, urged them to join him in Knoxville, where he would remain until he could hear from them, and then go with him to Kentucky. About three months after- wards, Joseph was, when very busy in a shop where he 34 CHRONICLES OF had obtained employment, aroused by tlie entrance of a stranger, — a young man apparently not more than five- or six-and-twenty— who, after entering, stood erect and looked around but said nothing. One glance at the stranger's almost jet-black hair, black eyes, and straight but rather prominent nose, satisfied Joseph that he— the stranger— was one of his brothers, and approaching and looking him full in the face, he said : " Is this William, or is it Thomas Adair ? " " William," was the answer after a short pause. The meeting between these two young men — these brothers who had been separated since early childhood, can, as the novelists say, be better imagined than described. Oh, how many questions there were to be asked ! how idany answers required ! what minute sketches to be given ! Joseph soon learned that his brother Thomas was greatly inclined to come West. " But," said William, who spoke with a merry twinkle in his eyes, ' ' would you believe it, old boy," — and here he slapped Joseph on the shoulder, — " Tom 's got a wife, and, I can tell you, she is no dumb oracle, and likes to be consulted. And as Tom is now deputy-sheriff, and as she hopes he will soon be high sheriff, and adorn one of the big front pews in the Baptist Church, she gently intimated to Tom, in language not to be mistaken when emanating from an oracle, that he-had-better-stay-where-he-was ! and Tom stayed. ' ' A few days later-^it was in October, 1816 — the two brothers left Knoxville for Hopkinsville, Kentucky ; and, on their way, visited Mr. Morris, remained with him several days, and were most hospitably enter- tained. This was the first visit Joseph had made the A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 35 family since his departure the year before, and the manner of his reception showed that he had a warmer place in the affections of every member of the family than he had supposed. He found that little Ellen was growing prettier every day, and was such a bright, romping little creature, and such a pet with her parents, as to give to the entire household an air of more animation and cheerfulness than had character- ized it in former days. Joseph had, in his travels, purchased a pretty little gold locket, and when he hung this around the neck of his little favorite — Ellen — she went almost wild with delight, for it was not only her first piece of jewelry, but the only piece owned by any member of the family, if we except some brass rings which Matilda, the cook, wore to keep off the ' ' ruma- tiz." Joseph's " nice present " to her little " pet and darling ' ' touched the heart of Mrs. Morris, who, in return, as some ' ' small recompense, ' ' insisted upon replenishing Joseph's wardrobe with a fresh supply of warm woollen socks, mittens, comforters, etc. Matilda, Stephen, and Ben were found to be as hale and hearty as ever, and " mi'ty glad ter see Mister Josef." " I tells yer what it is," said Ben, addressing Mr. Joseph, " I has diskiver'd a hole in de creek down yonder whar yous ken ke'ch whappin' big goggle-eyed pearch 'bout as fas' as yous ken fro in yer hook." This indirect invitation to go a-fishing Joseph was reluctantly obliged to decline, for he was fond of fish- ing, and was an expert in the use of the rod and line. He was, moreover, disposed to afford Ben the pleasure which he knew the poor black would derive from such an excursion, and the renewal of old associations. Ben was, however, recompensed in some measure for his 36 CHRONICLES OF disappointment by a " big shiney " silver dollar, which he declared looked as big in his eyes as a " cart wheel." After the brothers had arrived in Hopkinsville, William, who was a skilful cabinet carpenter, procured a shop, and was soon busily and profitably employed. A year or two later he married a Miss Sally McKee of Macminnville, Tennessee. Joseph Adair, after remaining with his brother Wil- liam for some months, resumed his roving life ; and wherever he went he made enquiries for Mr. Christo- pher Howard. Thus passed about seven years of his life, during which he travelled and read much ; but, obtaining no information, he almost despaired of ever finding the family to which he was so much attached. During these seven years of roaming he several times visited Mr. Morris; and, after his brother William had married, he repeatedly visited him ; for not only was he greatly attached to him, but also to William's young and fair-haired wife. Early in 1825, Joseph was in Hopkinsville, on one of these visits to his brother, and had about made up his mind to cease his roving, abandon his search for Mr. Howard, and make Hop- kinsville his home, when he got acquainted with a journeyman saddler named Knapp, who had travelled much in Western Kentucky, and to whom he put the same old question — ' ' Have you, in your travels, ever come across a man named Christopher Howard ? ' ' Mr. Knapp, after pondering a moment, answered, ' ' Yaws ; there 's a farmer and surveyor called Kit, or Squire Howard, who lives down in I,ivingston County, near Salem. ' ' " Can you tell me anything of the man, — of his per- A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 37 sonal appearance, etc. ? ' ' was the next and eager question. Wall, let me see, ' ' Knapp answered, meditatively. ' ' I done some work for him wunst ; an' , when he come to pay me, he did n't complain of my charges,— said they was mod' rate. That 's what few men ever does. But that aint tellin' you what kind of a lookin' man he is. "Wall, he 's 'bout fifty to fifty-five years old, say five foot nine to ten inches high, brownish ha'r, which he gin' rally w'ars long ; and gray eyes, if I don't disre- member. He lives nigh on to five miles from town an' yet he always walks in unless it 's tar-nation muddy, while most men ride if they 've a mile to go." ' ' That is certainly the man I have so long tried to find!" mused Adair; and then asked: "Do you know any of the members of his family ? ' ' " Yaws ; there 's Thornton, his oldest son ; he 's a young lawyer, so I 've heard, but he don't live in them parts now ; an' there 's some darters married, an' some at hum ; — tar-nation spankin' gals, so I 've been told ; but I never seed none on 'em as I knows on." " And what sort of a place do you think Salem would be for a saddlery shop ? ' ' Adair asked. " Wall, there 's one slip-shod shop there. There 's a right smart o' bisness don' in Salem, an' a good shop would likely do bang-up." Adair thanked Mr. Knapp for the infonnation given him, and at once made up his mind that to Salem he would go, as soon as he could make his arrangements. Whether he would make that his home would depend on circumstances. CHAPTER IV. Joseph Adair's Meeting with Laura Howard— Adair Introduces himself to the Howard Family— A Warm Reception— Laura Howard as an Artist. ONE afternoon, in the summer of 1825, when Mrs. Christopher Howard and two of her daughters were returning home, on horseback, from services at the Union Meeting-house, the elder of the daughters said : ' ' Mother, I was told to-day that old Mrs. I^ CHRONICLES OF whicli, with many, is seemingly intuitive, and cannot be imparted. After fishing for some time, Miss Howard said she intended walking out on the fallen tree, and fishing near the opposite shore where there was a clear space among the drift which had lodged against the fallen tree. It was indeed a " likely spot," and Mr. Adair had had his eyes on it for some time, but was unwilling to leave the ladies who so often required his assistance. " I can easily assist you on to the fallen tree," he said, " and there would be little or no danger in your attempting to walk across ; but I fear, if you attempt to stand on the trunk, you may, in handling your pole or pulling out your fish, lose your balance and fall into the water. ' ' " I will be very careful," she replied, " and if, when I get out on the trunk, I feel that there is any danger, I will immediately return." Then, folding up her line, and using her cane pole as a walking staff, she was soon, without any assistance, on the trunk, and walked very steadily to the desired spot, when she unwound her line and threw in her hook. Mr. Adair, who had been watching Miss Howard very closely, then turned to Ada and said : " I think I had better go out on the log also ; for, even if no acci- dent, should happen, your sister has no bait with her and if she catches any fish she cannot well take them off the hook and throw them to the shore." " Yes, please go," said Ada, who felt some uneasi- ness at her sister's position. " And," she added, jest- ingly, " be careful that you don't fall in ; for, if you do I won't promise to jump in and rescue you." " All right ! " was the smiling rejoinder ; " I '11 be A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 67 careful for your sake ; and will return to your service whenever wanted. ' ' He then sprang upon the fallen tree, and well he did, for at that moment Miss Howard fell into the water. She had scarcely thrown her hook into the clear space among the drift when she hooked a much larger fish than any they had yet caught. The fish, in its frantic efforts to prevent being drawn from its native element, dashed to and fro and soon fouled the line among the drift-wood ; and, not knowing this. Miss Howard gave such a vigorous pull that the line broke. This caused her to lose her balance, but, so active was she, that she would have recovered herself had not some decayed bark, on which she was standing, slipped from its trunk and precipitated her into the water, on the lower side of the fallen tree. Adair sprang forward and extended his fishing-pole, crying to her to ' ' take hold of it " ; but, partially strangled as she was, she either did not hear or could not heed him. He was by no means an expert swim- mer, but at once plunged in to her assistance. When he had caught hold of her, she grasped him, and with her arms around his neck, clung to him with such tenacity that it was with much difficulty he could keep his head above water. In the meanwhile they had floated some fifteen to twenty feet from the fallen tree, to return to which he would have to swim against the current. Glancing hastily around, he saw that, below him, the banks on both sides were so high and steep that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for them to get out in that way. But, by following the course of the current for thirty or forty feet, he felt sure they would come to shallow water^ and be able to walk. 68 CHRONICLES OF Then speaking in a peremptory manner to his almost unconscious burden ' ' to put her hands on his shoul- ders, but not to grasp his arms or neck," — which instructions she tried her best to obey, — he struck out, and, sure enough, his feet soon touched bottom and all danger was over ; for Miss Howard, though badly strangled, was at no time entirely unconscious, and after a few minutes' rest on shore, was able to speak to her sister who was kneeling by her side. Ada, on observing the accident to her sister, rushed around the border of the pool, in doing which she had to pass a point where the hillside was very steep, and happening to step on a loose stone, she fell, and would have rolled over the bank into the stream but for a small tree which stopped her progress, and against which she struck with such violence as to bruise her arm severely. She further sustained, from striking a sharp stone, a slight cut on her left cheek near the chin, which bled quite freely. She, however, suc- ceeded in reaching her sister by the time Mr. Adair had seated her on the soft grassy bank. For a few moments after "Miss Howard was seated she gazed about her in a somewhat dazed manner, until she observed the pale face of her sister, upon which there were traces of blood, when she cried out, ' ' Oh, Ada ! what has happened ? what is the matter ? ' ' "Oh, thank God, you are safe, darling sister ! and I have only fallen and scratched my face. But, are you hurt in any way ? ' ' " No, not hurt, I only feel dizzy ; every thing around me seems to be moving — swimming! " " That sensation," said Mr. Adair, " will soon pass off. But come, Miss Ada, let me look at that scratch A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 69 for it is Still bleeding some." And taking her by the left arm — the bruised one— to assist her in rising, it caused her much pain. " Oh, don't touch it ! " she cried out ; "I hurt it badly when I fell. ' ' ' ' Do examine it, Mr. Adair, ' ' pleaded Miss Howard, who was now thoroughly alarmed. The first glance showed traces of blood which had oozed through the sleeve of Ada's dress of printed calico. Adair, with his penknife, quickly split the sleeve from the shoulder to the wrist, leaving her small but white and beautifully rounded arm quite bare. There was a large purple spot above the elbow, and below it a severe abrasion, but he could discover no evidence of any bones having been broken, of which he hastened to assure the sufferer. Then, seating Ada beside her sister, he tore off a strip of his wet pocket- handkerchief, and tied it around the arm over the abrasion. Then, going to the creek, he soon returned with a handful of soft black mud, which he spread, as a poultice, upon another strip of his handherchief, and bound it carefully over and around the bruised spot, which had the effect in a few moments of affording considerable relief. Ada was outspoken in the expression of her thanks, winding up by saying, ' ' Oh, how fortunate it is you were with us ! Again you have saved my sister's life ; and to poor wounded and bruised me ' ' — she said with a faint, sweet smile — ' ' you have been the good Sam- aritan." " And I," said Miss Howard, in a low tone and in an abstracted manner, — " yes, I ought to thank you, oh how much, but— but " 70 CHRONICLES OF " Come, come," interposed Mr. Adair, pleasantly. ' ' Enough of thanks. It would almost have been worth the ducking if you had secured that fish, which was evidently a large one. Nor must you accuse yourself of recklessness, nor even carelessness, for you would not have fallen but for the slipping of the bark from the trunk of the tree. And as for you. Miss Ada," he added, addressing her, ' ' the scar on your face is but small, has now ceased bleeding, and will never mar your beauty. As for that lame arm, it will only keep you from work for a few days, and will not prevent your talking just as much as you please. But you should not let that arm hang down by your side. Give me your handkerchief, and with that and the remain- ing strip of my own, I will soon fix you a sUng for it. ' ' The sling having been adjusted, and Ada's arm placed in a comfortable position, Adair resumed, " There now, that 's fixed nicely ! Now wait for a moment until I can collect our fish and tackle, and we wiU start for home. ' ' On their way back but little was said. Mr. Adair did what he could to cheer up his companions, but Ada was now in some pain, and Miss Howard more reserved than usual ; and, when spoken to, had to arouse her- self as if from a deep reverie before she could reply, and then, usually, in monosyllables. On arriving at the house, Joseph, in a few words, explained to Mrs. Howard what had happened, omit- ting, however, to dwell upon the datiger to which her daughter had been exposed ; but this, she readily con- jectured, and one look at that daughter brought from her the prompt declaration : " Yes, mother, he has again saved my life." Whereupon the good woman A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. yi grasped Joseph by the hand, and in a faltering voice said : "Joseph, a mother thanks you with — all — her — hearty Then, as if to hide her own weakness, she suddenly turned to her daughter and said, almost sharply : ' ' Go, I,aura, at once to your room, and get on dry clothing. I will send you a glass of cherry cordial which you must drink, and then lie down and take a nap if you can." Then, turning again to Joseph, she said : " My husband and sons have cloth- ing from which you can select what you require. The articles shall be sent to your room at once. ' ' But he assured her he had everything in his saddle-bags which he required, and withdrew. As soon as Mr. Adair had left the room, Ada ex- plained to her mother all that had happened ; about the fall ; what Mr. Adair had done for her, etc. " Well, well ! " exclaimed the mother, after listen- ing attentively to Ada's recital, " I thank the Lord you both had so cool and sensible a man with you ! The mud plaster is as good a thing as you could have on ; but I will look at it, and, if it is getting dry, will moisten it with some tepid water. Your arm, where it is skinned, must be bound up in a soft rag, greased with suet." She had scarcely attended to this duty when her hus- band entered, to whom she hurriedly explained what had happened. " I — wish — I — may — ^be — dashed ! " exclaimed Mr. Howard, " if they were not lucky to get off as well as they did." To Joseph, when he afterwards met him, Mr. How- ard only said, ' ' Sarah has told me all, and, my boy, I thank you ' ' ; and th^n turned away as jf to 72 CHRONICLES OF relieve Joseph from the necessity of making any answer. Mrs. Howard, after her interview with her husband, repaired to the room of her daughter to see how she was, and whether she had taken the cherry cordial, hoping thus to ward off a chill, which she feared would result from her having remained so long in her wet clothing. She found Laura re-dressed, and remained with her for some time in close and earnest conversa- tion. She then sought her husband, and had a few earnest words with him, when supper was an- nounced. Miss Howard appeared at the table, but was still pale and unusually quiet ; Ada, however, had recov- ered her spirits, and told her father of her bet with Mr. Adair, and how it had been decided. " No man," replied the father, " should ever make a bet with a woman. If she wins, she is the most exacting of creditors. If she loses, and can't squirm out of it, she is sure, openly or secretly, to accuse the man who requires payment of ungallantry, to say the least." This apparently bitter speech had only the effect to occasion some merriment. As for Ada, she declared that her father could not decoy her into an argimient ; that, in compromising the bet, she had accepted a proposition made by Mr. Adair, who was old enough to look after his own business. " Oh ! " exclaimed Mr. Adair, " that 's the unkind- est cut of all ! You have called me old.''' " Oh, now," Ada answered, " you know that I don't mean really old ; and, to make amends, I '11 say /think you are exactly the right age." A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 73 ' ' For what ? ' ' queried Adair, who seemed to be in a teasing mood. ' ' To pull out young ladies who fall into fishing pools, and to bind up the bruised arms of girls who roll down hill too fast, ' ' was the prompt reply. " Yes," added Mr. Howard, " I cautioned Joseph before he started that, if he took you wild fillies along, he would have no luck, but I did not think he would be so unfortunate, and I 'm sure it will be many a day before he makes another such venture. ' ' ' ' On the contrary, ' ' replied Joseph, ' ' whenever the ladies feel like going a-fishing again, I hope they will let me know, for I would be delighted to give such apt pupils a few more lessons ; for, really, they were both so very quiet when fishing as to be acquitted of the sweeping charges you made at the dinner- table. " ' ' Well, well, ' ' said Mr. Howard, ' ' things do seem to have turned around ! Laura, here, has lost a por- tion of her tongue, but this pussy," indicating Ada, " has evidently found it, for I never heard her tongue wag so fast as it has since we sat down." " Now, papa," exclaimed Ada, " you just stop try- ing to talk cross, -for you don't frighten anybody. Sister has a headache ; and, as for me, if you don't like to hear me chatter, perhaps somebody else does. Don't you, mamma ? " " Certainly I do," was the smiling reply. " And if you were to talk and laugh more, you would perhaps get heartier and stronger." When supper was over Mr. Howard and Adair took a walk to the grass lot to see how the latter' s horse was getting along, and found him much improved by his rest. It was then Adair told his kind host that he pur- 74 CHRONICLES OF posed leaving the following morning for town, but hoped to see him and his family again soon and quite often, for he now thought it almost certain he would make Salem his home. ' ' I have some business in town, ' ' replied Mr. How- ard, " and will go in with you in the morning, and introduce you to any of my friends or acquaintances I may see. And remember, once for all, I wish you to consider me at your service whenever I can aid or assist you in any way." And, without giving Adair a chance to thank him, he continued : "And there is an- other matter I must mention to you ; \he green pebble, as you called it, which you gave to Laura when a baby. Some years ago a friend of mine, who professed to be something of a lapidary, examined it and pro- nounced it an emerald. I have since had it examined by others, and amongst them a Jew peddler, who offered two hundred dollars for it, and, I think, would have paid more for it, but he at once found it was not for sale. I have been advised to send it to some of the Eastern cities and have it cut ; but Laura has preferred to retain it as it was when presented to her. Now, she has no real use for such a gem, and you, in order to establish yourself in business, may need some money. I am therefore not only authorized to offer you the stone, but urge you to accept it, so that its value— which may be as much as five hundred to one thousand dollars — may be put to some practical use." " I clearly understand," replied Adair, " and fully appreciate the motive, Mr. Howard, that prompts this offer, and I am glad to know the stone is so valuable, but I decline it. True, I have, since the close of my apprenticeship, saved but little money, but I have A KENTUCKV SETTLEMENT. 75 enough for my present purposes ; and, with good health and a good trade, I do not doubt of success ; so let us say no more about it. ' ' And nothing more was said on the subject. Adair, however, often wondered with whom the offer had originated, but considered that it would smack of impertinence for him to ask. The truth was, it had originated with Miss Howard, who, notwithstanding her great reluctance to parting with a gem she prized so highly, around which had been woven many a romantic dream, and over which was now thrown — for she could no longer hide it from herself — a halo of love, yet, being one of the least selfish of her sex, readily braced herself to the performance of what she regarded as a duty, and mentioned the matter to her mother, who approved her course, subject to the de- cision of the husband and father, and he, as we have seen, was the spokesman. CHAPTER VI. Joseph Adair Arrives in Salem— Judge Gilroy— Amos Green — George Duncan — Adair Goes to Work — His Severe Illness — Horace Benton, a Unique Genius — Miss Ritchie — Ben- ton's Ways. THE following morning, Joseph Adair, after bidding his friends good-by and making many promises of another and early visit, and after suitably reward- ing Peter for the attention shown his horse, — now free from lameness, — mounted and rode away. Mr. How- ard preferred to walk by what he said was ' ' a nearer and more shaded way, through the fields and forests, ' ' and promised to join Joseph at the Brick Hotel in Salem, where he recommended him to stop. As he slowly rode along the dusty road, Adair reviewed and pondered over nearly every incident of his visit, especially those that pertained to Miss Howard. He confessed to himself that she was not only attractive but very beautiful, and intelligent and refined in her manners. Moreover, that she was con- siderate and unselfish was manifest from the aflfection shown her by every member of the family, including the servants. And it was she, doubtless, who had sug- gested the return of the pebble, — the emerald — to him ; and yet how much it must have cost her to make the 76 A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. "JJ offer ! for that she greatly prized her ' ' gem ' ' was shown, not so much by her having refused a large sum of money for it, as by the fact that she had worn it about her neck from childhood. Then, her unwilling- ness to have the stone cut, — to exchange her green pebble for a costly emerald, was evidence of her stead- fastness and fidelity to the old and familiar rather than to the new and novel. But was he not dreaming and constructing airy castles ? And this was no time for dreaming, for he was approaching the town where he expected to locate, and should be looking around. The village of Salem — or town as it was usually called — is situated on the western slope of a gentle hill, near the centre of an undulating valley four or five miles in diameter, and surrounded on all sides, except- ing the south, by a chain of high hills, which at several points rise to the height of three to four hundred feet above the level of the valley. This valley was very fertile, and was dotted with farm-houses and fields. Most of the settlers had come from Virginia and the Carolinas, and many of them had brought slaves with them. The town, which then contained a population, white and black, of about two hundred and fifty, was built mainly on a street or road running east and west, and which, near the western limit of the town, was crossed by a road running north and south. At the junction of these cross-roads had been laid off what was intended for a public square, containing about three acres, but this was never inclosed. Near the centre of this square, and in the northwest angle formed by the cross- roads, stood the Court House, a square, two-story brick building with one large room on the lower floor for the 78 CHRONICLES OF court, and two rooms on the upper floor for jurymen, etc. Diagonally across from the Court House stood the office of the Clerk of the Circuit and County Courts, in a one-story brick building containing two rooms. Of the buildings in town, some half a dozen were of brick, the largest of which was the Brick Hotel. The remaining buildings were framed, or built of hewn logs, and most of them only one story high. There was no church in the town, and when it was occasion- ally visited by ministers of the Gospel, services were held in the Court House. Adair, on entering the town, rode at once to the Brick Hotel, which stood on the south side of the main street about one hundred yards east of the Court House. He was there met by the Squire, — for so Mr. Howard, who was a magistrate, was generally called, — who introduced him to Judge Gilroy, the landlord. How Judge Gilroy, who was a landlord, merchant, and farmer, ever attained the title of ' ' Judge ' ' we know not ; but complimentary titles then, as now, were frequently bestowed. The Judge had been a member of the State Senate, and was often spoken of as a prob- able candidate for Congress •; furthermore, he was a large, fine-looking, dignified gentleman — ^looked and talked like a judge — and hence probably received his title. When the Judge learned from the Squire that Mr. Adair thought of making his home in Salem, he seemed much pleased, and proflFered to render him or any friend of the Squire's any assistance he could. Adair soon found that Salem was the centre of a much larger trade than he had supposed ; in fact, it was then one of the most important towns in Western Kentucky, and he at once determined to locate there A KENTUCKY' SETTLEMENT. 79 and try his fortune. He was not a man to idle away his time, and the following day he sought, through Judge Gilroy, an introduction to Amos Green, the only saddler in the town, to see what arrangement, if any, he could effect with him. He had previously learned that Green was an improvident man and a slovenly workman. After his introduction, Adair at once explained to Green the object of his visit ; that he was a saddler ; that he intended locating in Salem and opening a shop ; but, before taking any steps, he had thought it right to come and advise him of his inten- tions and hear what, if anj'thing, he had to say on the subject. Green was a tall, slim, bald-headed man, of about Adair's own age. After thanking Mr. Adair for doing what he said was ' ' the fair thing, ' ' and making some further preliminary remarks, he, in his roundabout way, said : " Well, I don't know. It 's sorter doubtful if there 's trade enough 'round here to keep up two shops. But I '11 tell you what it is ; I aint very well, am kinder out o' sorts ; owin', I think, to workin' too much at the bench. I need more exercise, and have sorter thought of goin' on a farm ; and, if you would like to buy me out, and go it on your own hook, maybe we could make a trade. Then, I 've got a-nuther scheme in my head. I '11 tell you what it is. There 's a right smart of yearlin' cattle 'round here and they 're all fat now, and the farmers don't want to keep 'em through the winter, and will sell 'em cheap — say three to four dollars a head for good-sized ones. Now, if you and me could make a trade for cash, or part cash and part truck, I 'd go inter this thing ; get 8o CHROl^lCLES OP me a good flat boat, and float my yearlin's down tlie Mississip' and would sell 'em out 'long down the coast 'tween Natchez and New Orleans. And, maybe, you 'd like to jine me in the spec, for I know the business, and it '11 pay mighty big as sure as you are born." Adair at once saw that Green was " ripe " for a trade, and proposed to take an inventory of his stock, and then talk with him further on the subject, to which Green at once assented, and introduced him to George Duncan, a journeyman saddler then in his employ, who, he said, would assist him in " listin' the stock." Adair, accordingly set to work at once ; and, as soon as the inventory was completed, made Green an offer, cash down, for the stock, tools, etc. Green, after shrugging his shoulders awhile, and characterizing the offer as " a monstrous low-down bid, ' ' accepted it. That afternoon the money was paid over, and Adair, having arranged with Duncan to remain with him, pulled off his coat and went to work with a more buoy- ant heart than he had ever done before, for he now had a spot he could call home, — and might he not hope that he could soon acquire a cottage, and have it adorned and made enchanting by the presence of a lovely woman as his wife ? Orders soon flowed in upon him ; and, to execute them as promptly as required, he and Duncan often worked until a late hour at night. At that time, even to a much greater extent than is usual in country towns at the present day, mechanics rarely received pay for their work entirely in money ; it was, as a general rule, a little money and a good deal of " truck " ; and hence nearly every mechanic became more or less a trader and speculator. In this way Adair soon became the owner of quite a miscellaneous A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. Si collection of property, which he sold as fast as he could, usually taking what were termed ' ' cash notes ' ' ; that is, notes, given in the course of trade, which were past due and bearing interest, and which could be sued upon at any time if payment were refused after being de- manded. These " cash notes," owing to the great scarcity of silver, were in extensive use as a substitute for bank notes, of which there were none in circulation that commanded sufScient confidence to pass at par. A few years before, the Ivell also united in the Colonel's invitation ; and, proud as she was of her little hero-husband, she would, but for a dissenting gesture from him, have told of some of his methods of managing those pariahs. The fact was, that while the Colonel was known among them as a soldier, and one of unquestioned bravery, he was honored as well as feared. Besides, he had, in his quiet and unassuming way, aided the families of some of "the gang," when their natural protectors had abandoned them or been driven from their homes to escape officers of the law. Adair thanked the Colonel and his wife most heartily for their invitation, and said he would certainly accept their hospitaUty whenever he could do so. And thus began a friendship between these two men. Colonel Andrew I^ovell and Joseph Adair, which lasted as long as they lived. Soon after breakfast, Adair approached Miss Howard and said : ' ' Miss I^aura, you have in your garden many beautiful flowers. Will you not give me a few to take with me as a present to my little friend, Carrie Gil- roy ? ' ' " Certainly ! " she answered. " But you must go with me and select such as you would like ; and I will clip and pack them for you in a small basket, which you can carry on your arm." Adair had never visited the garden, but had often observed the flowers when passing through the yard. The yards of farm-houses — then, as now — ^were seldom ornamented with shrubs and flowers, for these would soon have been destroyed by the chickens and other domestic fowls. Such flowers as were cultivated were usually found along the borders of the walks in the A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 131 garden where vegetables were grown. Adair was sur- prised to find so great a variety in the garden. There were roses, pinks, liUes, violets, jonquils, larkspurs, touch-me-nots, sweet- WilUams, prince' s-feathers, mari- golds, morning-glories, and some others the names of which Adair did not know. Among the latter was a small flower somewhat resembling the violet, which attracted his attention. "Those are very beautiful," he said, pointing to the bed where they grew, " I never saw such before. What is their name ? " " Oh," replied Miss I,aura, plucking and handing him a few of the most beautiful ones, ' ' these are pan- sies ; accept these for yourself ' ' At that moment they were joined by Ada, to whom Adair turned and said, ' ' Are these pansies not very beautiful?" " Yes," and with a most bewitching gravity she continued, " but I don't call ih^ro. pa7isies ; I like their common name, heart's-ease, best." " I never saw the flower before," replied Adair, " and it was your sister here who told me its name. But if ' heart's-ease ' be its common name, I will know it in future only by that name ; and I will preserve these and test their efficacy." " Oh," said Ada, " you don't mean to say there is anything the matter with your heart, do you ? You never were in love, were you ? ' ' " Certainly ! " replied Adair, with an effort at jocu- larity. " And the attack was so very severe that I have not entirely recovered from it yet. ' ' "Then," said Ada, with mock compassion, "why did n't you apply to the young lady to doctor you ? She could have cured you. ' ' 132 CHRONICLES OF " Oh;" answered Adair, with rather more serious- ness in his tone than he intended, " she had anotlier patient similarly aiHicted, who applied for her services before I thought it advisable to do so, and he required all her skill and attention." "Then," said Ada, "you should have applied to some other fair charmer for relief. ' ' " Nay — nay ! " responded Adair, " I don't think I could have explained my case to another, or that another could have understood it ; and, therefore, I have preferred to trust to the slow curative processes of nature. And, ' ' he added, ' ' have you never been afiSicted in the same way ? " ' ' Me ! ' ' exclaimed Ada, as if surprised. But with a show of conscientiousness she continued : ' ' Well, sev- eral times I have felt some of what I supposed were the symptoms, but it never proved to be a genuine case. At least I never went into a decline, nor lost sleep, nor even my appetite." " Ah," said Adair, and although he smiled there was the ghost of a sigh in his tones, — "Ah, you '11 have it badly some of these days ; and the best wish I can make you is that you may obtain speedy relief, for a lingering case is terrible. ' ' " Why, Mr. Adair, you really appear to have#made a specialty of this disease," said Miss I,aura, who felt she must say something to hide her increasing embar- rassment ; for she could not divest herself of the im- pression that it was to her he had possibly referred in his remark, " that another had applied for her serv- ices," and " required all her attentions." Adair looked at her earnestly for a moment before he replied. Then in a casual way he said : ' ' Oh, I A KENTUCKY SETTLEMEiXT. 1 33 would not have you think I have confined my attention exclusively to my own case — which I have ne\'er regarded as incurable, — but have often observed its manifestations in others. And especially of late," he added, thinking of Benton, " since a friend of mine told me he had taken the disease, and that it had affected him in a very singular manner." ' ' How was that ? ' ' asked impulsive Ada. " Oh ! " laughingly answered Adair, ' ' he said it had affected him somewhat as the measles sometimes do ; that is, as he expressed it, it had ' struck in, ' and hence was all the more dangerous. ' ' " Oh, poor fellow," exclaimed Ada. " I am so sorry for him ! I did n't know it ever affected anybody in that way. I wonder if new milk every morning would n't do him good ? " And away she bounded to avoid the reproof she expected from her sister's eyes, leaving Adair and Miss I^aura — who had now gathered as many flowers as were required — to return together to the house. On their way he made some remark about the weather, but she was thinking about another remark of his — that he ' ' had never regarded his case as incurable. ' ' An hour later Adair had bid good-by to all, had mounted Ben Simon, and was slowly riding towards Salem. The conversation in the garden recurred to him, but he supposed both of the ladies would regard it entirely in the light of a piece of pleasantry. On the whole, he was disposed to congratulate himself on his firmness, and that he had been able to pass through the entire ordeal so well. Time and again the thought of the sacrifice he was making arose in his mind and made him wince, but never shook his purpose. On 134 CHRONICLES OF his arrival in town, he gave his horse in charge of the hostler of the hotel, and went in search of his little friend, Carrie Gilroy, whom he soon found, and pre- sented her with the flowers, of which he knew her to be passionately fond. In return he received from her a hearty kiss. This grave, sedate man possessed the soul-born faculty of making himself loved by children. He then hastened across to his shop, where he found his partner, Duncan, hard at work, and in fine spirits, having just secured the services of a good journeyman saddler, named Samuel Miller, to assist him through with the press of work he had on hand. After Adair's departure from Squire Howard's, the ladies went about their household and other duties as usual ; but when the sun was nearly down, Ada rose from her sewing and approaching her sister I^aura, — " Come," she said, " come, let us take a walk ; I 'm tired sewing." And putting on their sun-bonnets out the two went to take a short ramble in the wood-pasture and gather some wild flowers. Ada soon observed that her sister's face wore a trou- bled expression ; she guessed. the cause and sought to administer such comfort as she could. ' ' Sister, ' ' she said in soft, earnest tones, " don't be cast down ! I 'm sure all will come out right, for I 'm sure he loves you. ' ' ' ' Who loves me ? ' ' was the quick and slightly petu- lant question. " Don't be vexed with me, sister," Ada pleaded. " I can see you are in trouble about something, and I have only guessed at the cause ; and perhaps I am wrong about it, but I thought you were thinking of Mr. Adair." " I am not vexed with you, Ada, and forgive me if I A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 135 Spoke petulantly. And I was thinking about him ; and I am troubled. You know well that I have loved him — loved him as I never have and never can love another. But I have deceived myself — he has not deceived me. I hoped, — I thought he — loved — me ! But I was mistaken. ' ' " Sister," said Ada, " he one day said to me that little children were the best detectives ; that as a com- pensation for their helplessness they were endowed with perceptive faculties so exquisitely keen and sensitive that they could, almost at a glance, tell the loving heart, however rough its exterior, from the cold and unsympathetic. I never heard nor thought of such a thing before, but I believe it — is — true ! Now, I am little more than a child, and my ' perceptive faculties, ' as he calls them, have not, I hope, been blunted much ; and I have watched him, and I am sure he loves you. ' ' " Then why should he, during this visit, have treated me with much more reserve than fonnerly, as if he feared I might be misled into supposing that he loved me ? No, Ada, you are mistaken, as I have been." " But, sister," interposed the sympathetic Ada, ' ' you know papa says he is a very sensible aiid con- siderate man ; and such men, I suppose, do not rush into love and matrimony like younger and rasher men. Besides, I '11 be bound, if he loves you — as I am still sure he does — that he has some good reason for remain- ing silent, of which you may not have thought." ' ' I have thought, ' ' replied I^aura, ' ' of several pos- sible reasons. You remember you asked him, when in the garden, why he had not ' applied to the young lady for a cure,' His reply was that ' anpther had applied 136 CHRONICLES OF before liim,' and that ' all her attentions were required ' by that other. I thought, at the moment, that pos- sibly he aimed the remark at Warren Davidson and myself." " I do expect he did ! " exclaimed Ada. " Some- body may have told him you and Warren are engaged, for I have no doubt some people think so, and this may explain the whole matter." ' ' But you now know, ' ' I^aura replied, " I am not and never was engaged to Warren. I do not and never did love him, but I have ever had a very warm regard for him, and the unhappiness I have unintentionally caused him has, as he well knows, been a source of much trouble to me, and now brings an added misery in its train." " Oh, sister," replied Ada, " of course you must feel sorry for Warren, but I don't think his nature is so deep and constant as is that of Mr. Adair, who, I really believe, was in earnest when he said he would not seek relief from any other, but would ' trust to the slow pro- cess of nature ' to cure him. He wUl, of course, find out some of these days, that you are not engaged to Warren, and then he will feel free to speak." " Yes," responded lyaura, " if — ^he — desires— to do so ; but I do not, as I said before, beUeve he will have any such desire. And, for this reason, let us say no more about him ; and in future let this subject be avoided. ' ' " Oh, but my dear sister," pleaded Ada, " let me say one thing more ! You know Mr. Adair has recently lost a brother whom he doubtless loved very much ; and that he has to take care of the widow and little children. Perhaps he thinks himself unable to main- A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 137 tain a wife also ; and if so, would it not be wrong for him to marry ? ' ' ' ' Ada, ' ' exclaimed I,aura — and there was pride in her mien and voice — ' ' you have mistaken me ! It is not marriage but love that I crave. I honor Mr. Adair for what he intends doing for his brother's widow and children ; and I would not, if I could, deprive them of the full measure of his care and protection. And he too mistakes me if he supposes that I would not be content to wait, if only assured of his love. For wait I could and would, with a quiet, contented spirit, hop- ing and praying that in the future, however distant, I could claim as my own the one gem that can alone satisfy my heart. But, oh, to be without hope is to blast and wither the fruit of life ! " Ada had never before heard her sister speak in such a manner. There was alternatively pride, compassion, submission, overwhelming love, and hopelessness in her looks and tones. Ada was surprised, astonished, alarmed ; she tried to speak but could not, whilst great tears-drops rolled down her cheeks ; seeing which, her sister caught her in her arms, kissed her, and said : ' ' Forgive me, darling, but — I forgot myself ! Now I am calm ; and, as you have seen how weak and foolish I can be, let us be careful in future to avoid this subject." They walked on and gathered a few wild flowers. From a hill-top they watched the setting sun, and the clouds of purple and gold that lay motionless in the western sky. Cawing crows flew overhead, slowly flapping their wings as if returning to their nests wearied by a hard day's work. There was the twice repeated call of ' ' Bob White — Bob White ' ' that came 138 A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. from the fence beside the wheat field, followed by the rapid whirr of wings as another partridge responded to the call. From over by the barn-yard were heard the mournful notes of the turtle dove. Blue jays were impatiently flying from tree to tree, looking for some oak with a thick, bushy top, in which to find a secure roost for the on-coming night. Nimble squirrels were seen here and there, now bounding, now creeping along towards their home in some hollow tree. A timid rab- bit bounded past and disappeared beneath a pile of brush. Out on the road were the lowing cows, return- ing from the creek bottoms where the tender cane and richest grass were to be found, to the lot to see their little ones, and to give up their store of rich, creamy milk. The woods, the fields, the earth, the sky, were full of pleasing sights and sounds, but none of these received more than a passing glance or momentary thought from the two sisters. It seemed as if a thick mist had crept around them and shut out all save the echoing and re-echoing of the words that had been spoken, and glimmering visions of what ' ' might have been." CHAPTER X. Adair and his Sister-in-Law — Viney, the Cook, and her Story — Benton Gives in " His Experience " — He Makes "An Offer- ing" of Himself— The "Case" Adjourned — Brantley Tells his Story to Adair — Henry Rudolph Suspected— Adair as Brantley's Friend — Brantley Leaves Salem. A FEW weeks after the events narrated in the last chapter, Adair's sister-in-law and her children were comfortably domiciled in a two-story brick resi- dence which stood on the north side of the street, and near the centre of Salem. The kitchen, also of brick, was a detached one-story building in the rear of the dwelling, and was presided over by Viney, a negro woman whom Adair had hired as a cook. Mrs. Adair — her Christian name was Sarah, but she had always been called Sally — was now about twenty- six years old, but she looked somewhat older. Her hair had at one time been of a light chestnut color, but now had a faded appearance, and in certain lights looked to be almost gray, though really not so. She was rather above medium height and very slim, her nose slightly aquiline, and her lips thin and almost colorless. She had, in early womanhood, been consid- ered attractive rather than beautiful, but was now 139 i46 CHRONICLES OF somewhat faded from prolonged ill-health and depres- sion occasioned by her recent bereavement. She was quiet and unassuming in her manners, and her voice, which was usually low and soft, would have been rather musical but that it approached too nearly to the plaintive and complaining. She was really attached to her " brother Joseph," as she called Joseph Adair, and was solicitous that she and her children should be as Ught a burden on him as possible ; but her children required, as she thought, so much of her time and atten- tion that much was left, in the management of house- hold affairs, to Viney, the cook. The eldest daughter, Sada, aged eight, and the second, Jenny, aged six, were slim, delicate, fretful children ; but the youngest, Anna, aged three, was a rosy, round-faced, chubby chit, and was from the start her uncle's favorite. Adair still retained his sleeping-room over the shop of Adair & Duncan, but instead of dining at the hotel, he now took his meals with his sister ; and so pleased was he with Viney 's cooking that he soon came to consider her as an invaluable servant. The truth is, she did her best to please her " Mahs Jo," for, as she expressed it, she was "tired of bein' knock'd 'round frum pillar to post," and wanted him to buy her. That she had been so knocked about was due to the fact that she had belonged to minors, whose guardian — as was the almost invariable rule in such cases — ^hired out at public auction, on the first Monday in January of each year, the slaves belonging to the estate. It thus hap- pened that Viney had been hired out annually for ten years. But it was now understood that she was to be sold, the following January, in order to wind up the estate, and hence she was looking around to find some A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 14I kind master, and try to get him to buy her. She had mentioned the matter to her " Mahs Jo," who had said he would think about it. She was now about thirty years old, and was what a trader would have called a ' ' likely woman, ' ' but she was very near-sighted — an unusual thing among negroes — and always wore spec- tacles, which gave her an older and graver appearance than most of her race at her age. When asked about her husband, she hesitated for some moments, and appeared to be adjusting her spectacles, but was in reality wiping her eyes and collecting her thoughts. As soon as she could rid herself of a choking sensation, she told her little story somewhat disjointedly. Its substance was that, about twelve years before, Mingo and she had ' ' took up togeder ' ' as husband and wife ; that Mingo had belonged to Mr. Penn Wilson, the son of Mr. Jim Wilson ; that Mr. Penn had, some time before, been accused of killing a man over in Illinois near the Cave, in consequence of which he left home and went down South, where he was taken sick and died ; that Mr. Jim Wilson was at times a cruel master to his slaves, and his son Penn, knowing this, had, before he went away, let his sister. Miss Catherine, have Mingo as a kind of body servant ; that Mr. Penn was a young man of violent temper, which often got him into trouble, but was much attached to Mingo, who had at one time rescued him from drowning, and consequently he always treated Mingo well ; and that Miss Catherine was a kind young lady, and that it was a pleasure to Mingo to do everything he could for her. " An', Mahs Jo," said Viney, in conclusion, " I 've had two chiluns, but de good Lord took 'em bofe. An', Mahs Jo, Mingo 's a mi'ty handy man, an' I 's 142 CHRONICLES OF mi'ty fear'd me an' him '11 never get a'gether ag'in ; fur I reckon he '11 hev ter be sol', an I 's drefful 'feard will be tuck away down Souf. ' ' " I will do what I can, Viney, for you and Mingo," said Mr. Adair. ' ' Thankee, Mahs Jo, thankee ! I knows yer will do all yer can even fur poor culler' d folks," said Viney as she curtsied and withdrew. Adair had, as soon as possible after his return from Hopkinsville, entered upon the discharge of his duties as Deputy Sheriff. Horace Benton had also by this time obtained his license to practise law, and had attended a session of the Court in an adjoining county. He was now at home, and Adair wanted to have a talk with him and learn what success he had met with ; so, on returning to town one evening after a long ride in the country, he rode by the Clerk's office, where Ben- ton had his office and assisted his brother Robartus when not professionally engaged. Adair found his friend and invited him to go home with him and take supper. Benton readily accepted the invitation, for he had heard of Viney' s fame as a cook, and he desired an introduction to his friend's sister-in-law. The supper was a good but not an unusual one. There were good coffee and rich, cold milk, cold boiled ham and broiled chicken, various vegetables, excellent egg-bread and hot waffles with indentations made by the irons just large enough to hold a sufficient quantity of fresh, sweet butter, and an abundant supply of pure maple molasses. Conversation was not carried on very briskly at the table, for both men were hungry and ate heartily. Benton found Mrs. Adair affable and polite, while she could but be interested in the oddity and A KENtuCxV SETTLEMENT. I43 quaintness of her guest's conversation, whicli would peep out on nearly all occasions. After supper, and while Mrs. Adair was engaged in putting her children to bed, the two gentlemen seated themselves on the front steps. The first question by Adair was as to Benton's success at the law. The lat- ter soon ' ' gave in his experience, " as he termed it. " And I am satisfied," he concluded, " that the question of success or failure rests mainly with myself. If I don't succeed it will be because I don't work hard enough to deserve it. You know my constitutional laziness : that, I am striving — but I fear in only a feeble way — to overcome. But, ' ' he continued, after a short pause, " that other matter is causing me much uneasiness. To be plain about it, I am now convinced that Miss Ella Ritchie, before she was aware of my love for her, did entertain a warmer aifection for Walter Gowan than I supposed. But, it is certain, she is now really alarmed — is, in fact, afraid of the man ; and so, I half suspect, are her father and mother. It appears Gowan very recently formally demanded Miss Ella's hand in marriage, and, being kindly but firmly refused, flew into a violent rage, and swore that, certain prom- ises having been made him, the matter would now admit of no ' backing out ' ; that he did not intend to be thwarted ; that have her he should and would, and that all hell could not prevent him. The presumption is," Benton added, '" that the man was under the mad- dening influence of liquor, or he would never have acted and spoken thus; for he is, as you have doubtless heard, a well educated man, of an old and distinguished family, and a nephew of one of the most prominent statesmen of the United States. I cannot think that 144 CHRONICLES OP any man in his posiiton would, when sober, attempt such a thing as the forcible abduction of a young lady, for it would be a dangerous game, — one of which Judge I^ynch might take cognizance. But, that Gowan is a reckless and headstrong man, there is no doubt, and there is no telling what such a man, when inflamed by liquor, may not attempt. Now, what think you ? ' ' " Well, upon my word," answered Adair, " this does surprise me ! There appears to be but three courses open : first, Miss Ritchie and her friends should be on their guard — prepared for any emergency, — and the young lady should herself be armed with a dagger to defend herself in the last resort ; or she might leave home for a time — visit, say, some of her friends ; but, should Gowan find out where she had gone, he is, I fear, devil enough to follow her. The last, and to my mind, decidedly the best plan, is for you, Horace, to marry her as soon as possible, and thus place her under your protection and beyond his reach." "As to the last course," replied Benton, " I am, as you know, in no condition to maintain a wife, other- wise, I should not only be willing but delighted to accept the charge at once. I have been thinking of explaining my fears to Miss Ella and her parents, and of suggesting, yea, even urging that, under the cir- cvunstances, my early union with the daughter would not only be warranted but advisable." " I would certainly do so ! " said Adair. " They can but excuse if they do not approve an offer made under such circumstances. And you will, at least, have the satisfaction of feeling that you have done your duty. That Mr. Ritchie can and will assist you, until such time as your profession will maintain you and your A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. I45 wife, I have no doubt. But even if you knew he would not do so, you should not let it deter you, for you have friends who can and will assist you if necessary." " My dear Adair," responded Benton, " I am glad to know that you approve of my making an ' offering ' of myself, and for your words of encouragement. But, are you aware of the fact that, in advising me to rush into matrimony and trust to others to help me if neces- sary, you are going coimter to a law you lately laid down for your own guidance, but which I hope you have found good reason to repeal ? ' ' " My law," replied Adair, " is certainly not like those of the Medes and Persians, irrepealable, but so far I have seen no reason to change it, and have not done so. Your case and mine are certainly not analo- gous. If I thought that Miss Howard's safety or hap- piness depended upon me, I would to-morrow go to her and offer her my hand and heart. Moreover, a fresh reason has presented itself to make me adhere to my resolution. I have told you of my father ; that he is old and feeble and poor ; and that he has a famil3r of children, by his second wife, growing up around him. The news of my brother William's death was a sad blow to him. I now have in my pocket a letter from him in which he speaks of his great anxiety to see me and the widow and children of his lost son. I fear if he does not come, before another winter sets in, he may never be able to come ; and so I have written him to come at once, and to bring with him his youngest son, Daniel, a boy now some fourteen years old, whom I wish to have remain with me, and for whose education I will provide. Daniel is a handsome and sprightly boy, and it will be a pleasure to me to have him with i46 Chronicles OP me. So, you see, Benton, I will be a man of family anyhow, and have plenty to engage my time, attention, and affections. ' ' Benton well knew that his friend's closing remark, which was made in a slightly jocular tone, was really an effort to cover up and hide a heavy heart, and he determined to cheer him up a little if he could. " Well, well," he said musingly, " you do ' bang Bobtail ' [a celebrated race-horse]. You have ' gone and did and done it again ! ' But I reckon it '11 all come right in the long run. All I can say is, if you don't, some of these days, make a fortune and get the wife you want, it won't be because you don't deserve both. But," he added, " I must now be going, and will go in and bid your sister good-evening. I have some writing to do to-night. And to-morrow, if my courage does n't ooze out, as did that of Bob Acres, I will make that proposition to ' the powers that be, ' for this tintinnabulation on the diaphragm of my heart is rapidly getting my nervous system out of order." A few days later the two friends met again, when Benton hastened to inform Adair of the news. " Well, I did it ! " he exclaimed. " That is, I went to do it, but she had flown. However, " No rude hand hath won The young bird from her nest away. I was, under the seal of secrecy, informed of her where- abouts, and can only say I am satisfied she wUl be secure from any molestation. I told the old folks of the fears I had entertained, and of my plan for their daughter's security and happiness. They thanked me A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 147 for my ' thoughtful consideration, ' but added that, in the absence of their daughter, the decision of the case must be indefinitely postponed. And, furthermore, as the present visit of their daughter would afford her an excellent opportunity — such, in fact, as she had long desired — to pursue certain branches of her education, hitherto somewhat neglected, they would regret exceed- ingly to have the current of her thoughts — already perturbed by recent unhappy events — further disturbed by the proposition I had laid before them. They would not, however, object, with this restriction, to my corresponding with their daughter ; they, further- more, promising, on her return, to inform her of my ' honorable and flattering proposal ' ; and that, after ' due deliberation ' on her part — which they doubted not she would exercise in future, — they would cheer- fully abide by any decision she, their daughter, might arrive at. I, of course, may not have quoted their exact words, but have sought, in my feeble manner, to indicate the solemn impressions made on my mind by their judicial and, possibly, judicious decision. So, you see, my friend," he went on without any apparent distress at the turn affairs had taken, " I had— but, of course, with much reluctance — to ' knock under,' and adjourn the case until some session of the Court when all the parties in interest can be present, and the result of my courtship be finally decided." " I do not doubt, ' ' Adair humorously replied, ' ' of your success at the bar of that Court, or of any Court in which you take so deep an interest in the decision to be rendered." " Why, man alive ! " exclaimed Benton, " I hope never to have another case — however varied my prac- 148 CHRONICLES OF tice or my practices may be — in which I take so deep an interest as in this ; for a few such would be the death of me. But," he continued, " have you seen Brantley to-day ? I met him this morning and he said he wanted to see you." " No," Adair answered, " I have not seen him. I left town early this morning and have just returned. I will look him up." Jefferson Brantley was genial and cordial in his man- ners, liberal in the use of his money, and constant in his efforts to promote all kinds of sports and pastimes ; hence had obtained some notoriety and a large circle of acquaintances ; and many, both old and young, would have been sorry to see him leave. He was ready to bet — to gamble if you wUl — on any and every- thing in order, as he expressed it, " to have a httle excitement and fun ' ' ; and horse-racing, foot-racing, jumping, wrestUng, cock-fighting, pitching quoits, crack-lieu, and a variety of games with cards were then in vogue. Brantley was not above resorting to certain little tricks in order to win, or have " the joke on the other fellow, ' ' but these were no worse than those his opponents resorted to. There were some who still considered him as a mere gambler, and either avoided him or watched him suspiciously. This he knew, but, instead of being offended by it, admitted that, consider- ing his introduction into the town, and the manner of his life, he had no right to complain. But, while so genial and good-natured, it was soon found out that he could be aroused — and terribly aroused ; and had any man called him a " black-leg," there would have been, as Benton once expressed it, "a desperate fight, or a desperate foot-race. ' ' A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. I49 Adair did occasionally play at cards, and was, on the whole, considered a successful player. He had thus met Brantley at what was considered a social game. He, Adair, was, moreover, very fond of the game of chess, and was really a good player ; and as but few persons in the town understood the game, and none of those a match for him, he soon found in Brantley " a foeman worthy of his steel. ' ' In this way the two men became somewhat intimate, the more so as Adair gradually came to entertain a much more favorable opinion of the showman than he had in the beginning. After his supper, as Adair was walking down to his shop, he met Brantley, who at once told him he had been looking for him, and asked if he had leisure to grant him half an hour's conversation, to which Adair replied in the affirmative ; and, taking chairs from the shop, they seated themselves on the pavement where they could readily obseive any one approaching and prevent being overheard. Brantley was the first to speak and said : " I desire to leave here soon ; and, before going away, there are some personal matters I wish to speak to you about. One to you in your official capacity, and others as to a gentleman with whom I am willing to intrust some of my secrets. Have I your permission to speak freely — you yourself to be the judge of how much of what I have to say shall be regarded as confidential ? ' ' " Certainly," answered Adair. "I will make my story," Brantley resumed, "as short as I well can to make it plain. My parents died when I was quite young, and I went to live with an uncle, who was a widower with several small children of his own. He was not an unkind man to me, but 1 50 CHRONICLES OP was careless and indifferent— let me run about and do pretty much as I pleased ; and, as he lived in a town, I, of course, picked up a bad sort of an education. Afterwards I was sent away to school and stuck it out for nearly two years, when I got so tired and sick of it that I ran away. Perhaps I should n't have run away but I was ambitious, like many boys, to be a showman ; and, an opportunity offering, I joined a circus com- pany. That was when I was about sixteen years old. Since then I have had many nps and downs, have travelled much, seen much, and, if not the worst side of life, certainly many hollow shams, false faces, and showy spangles. But I was never guilty of any crime, was never charged with a crime, and was never in jail. I am now twenty-six years old ; a showman and sports- man such as you know me ; no better, no worse ! " The first exhibition," he continued, " that I gave in this town, I saw in the audience a young lady whose face and form pleased me as none other ever did before. I sought and obtained an introduction to her ; have since visited her at her home, and my admiration for her has ripened into love. You doubtless know it is Miss Emily Wilmot to whom I refer. I have told her who and what I am — just what I have now told you, only more in detail. I have told her of my love and have proposed marriage. She has not rejected me — has in fact given me some encouragement ; but, like a sensible woman, says she must know more about me before she can give me a definite answer. To this I have not objected, nor do I object. The question is, how can I go about proving that I am not, and never was, a married man, and am no worse than I have admitted myself to be ? for that is, I suppose, about A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 151 the extent of the infonnation desired. It appears that Miss Wilmot has a warm friend in Miss Howard, to whom you are well and favorably known; and, talking the matter over with Miss Wilmot, she suggested to me that, as her father was old and infirm, and her brothers, who are farmers, but little accustomed to writing, you, a disinterested party, would perhaps, give us your assistance in the matter. I will add that she could not have suggested any one more acceptable to myself. Are you wilUng to oblige Miss Wilmot and myself in this matter ? ' ' "I am," Adair promptly answered. "But what means of obtaining information do you propose to furnish me ? ' ' ' ' I have here, ' ' Brantley answered, taking from his pocket a paper, ' ' giving you the name and address of my uncle, of whom I have spoken, and of the principal of the school from which I ran away ; also the names of three other gentlemen, well known in their respec- tive towns, who have known me since I was grown. I would suggest that to my uncle and the schoolmaster you should write direct. To the others you can write direct or to any official in their town — the postmaster, sheriff or clerk of the county court — and request them to see the gentlemen, whose names I have given you, and obtain replies to such questions regarding me as you may choose to ask. I would, however, request," he added, in a jocular manner, " you to explain to the parties that you desire the information because of my having proposed marriage, etc. , so that they may not sus- pect me of having gotten into some kind of devilment." "All right!" responded Adair. "And, do you wish to see a draft of the letters I am to write ? " 152 CHRONICLES OF "No, I don't care to see it," Brantley answered. ' ' But it would, perhaps, be well for you to send a copy of it to Miss Wilmot ; or, better still, for you to call and talk the matter over with her." " I will do so," replied Adair. " Then," Brantley resumed, " I come to the next matter. You know that recently I have sported a little with your townsmen. Well, on the whole, I was yes- terday a little ahead ; that is, after paying my expenses I had rather more money than when I arrived here. Nearly all I have won has come out of the pockets of a few young gentlemen who form a kind of clique, one or two of whom are as cross as a sore-headed bear, and have vowed to get even with me in some way. They have heard that I thought of leaving here, and, no doubt, supposing I would never return, one of them — and I am almost certain I know which one— robbed me last night of nearly every dollar I had. I am, as I have said, almost certain I know by whom I was robbed ; how I was robbed is quite clear. As it was quite warm last night, I opened my window when going to bed. A certain man was passing at the time and heard me open the window, for I observed him, dark as it was, stop and turn as if attracted by the noise. My bedroom is, as you know, on the ground floor, and the window on the west side — ^the one I opened — is not more than five feet from the ground on the outside. The thoughtful thief, without attempting to enter the window, used a long pole or rod, to which was no doubt attached a line and hook, and, in this way, fished my pantaloons, which contained my money, out of the window ; and, after rifling my pockets, left my pantaloons on the window sill. I have tljis morn- A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 153 ing met the man who heard me open my window, and he was so unusually cordial and polite that, if I had had any doubts before of his guilt, I should at once have ceased to doubt. I did not, however, give him the slightest indication that I suspected him ; nor, until now, have I mentioned my loss to any one. Unless you think it advisable for you to know the sus- pected man, I would not mention his name for several reasons. My evidence against him is not positive, and I must find out more. He occupies, too, a high social position — his relatives being among the richest and most respectable in this county — and to accuse him without positive proof would be to bring a nest of hor- nets about my head, which, as you can understand, I am just now anxious to avoid. I want to leave here as soon as possible, to be ab,sent untU you have had ample time to get replies to the letters you will write, when I will return and, if all goes well, will then get mar- ried. I have mentioned the robbery to you because it is your duty to trace up criminals. I will only point out one way in which my man may be found. Here is a paper" (handing the document to Adair) "which contains a description, as nearly as I can remember, of the bank notes and coin lost. You will observe there are three rare gold coins — one a Spanish, one a Peru- vian, and the other a Bolivian, and each of them has a small hole near the rim. They were sometimes used by me in my sleight-of-hand exhibitions, and I happen to have a memorandum of their dates and some private marks upon them. I would like for you to keep a sharp look-out, during my absence, for these special coins. You are almost sure to come across or hear of some one of them, for but few persons know their 154 CHRONICLES OF value, and will be likely to exhibit them and learn their value before receiving or paying them out ; and they are 'much more likely to be spent, or put in circu- lation by the thief, if I am absent than if I remained here, and particularly if he thinks I will never return, of which I have not spoken to any one excepting Miss Wilmot and yourself." " I am sorry to hear of your loss," replied Adair, " and will do all I can to find out the thief. It might, however, materially aid me to know whom you sus- pect." ' ' Henry Rudolph is the man, ' ' responded Brantley. ' ' Henry Rudolph ! ' ' exclaimed Adair. ' ' You sur- prise me ! He is considered by many as a model young man." ' ' Just so ! " said Brantley. ' ' But I know him well. He is as sly as a fox, and if he was n't such a coward, would be a very bad and a very dangerous man. ' ' " But," said Adair, " as you have been robbed, you will require some money to travel on. Have you obtained what you require ? ' ' " I have not," Brantley answered. " I must sell my horse if necessary, but I would regret to do so, for I cannot travel so cheaply or pleasantly by stage coach as on horseback. I have here a fine gold watch, worth more than double the amount I require, but that I will not part with. It was presented to me by a friend, now dead and gone, whose life I once saved, as you will see from the inscription on the inside of the case " (which he opened and exhibited). "And, by the way," he continued, " here is evidence that my name is Jefferson Brantley. I had a short time ago, ' ' he went on, "a very valuable ruby ring, which you may have noticed, A ICENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 155 but that I have parted with— Miss Wilmot has it. She declined to receive it as a present from me, but at my earnest request consented to retain it until my return." " What amount," asked Adair, " will you require ? " About fifty dollars, ' ' was the answer. " Give me your note," responded Adair, " for that amount payable, say, in three months, with six per cent, interest from date, and I will let you have the amount. I ask no security. ' ' " This," said Brantley, with much earnestness, " is more than I intended to ask of you ; but I accept your offer with many thanks. And let me say this : Show- man, sportsman, stranger, whoever or whatever I may be, if we live you will find out that I, Jefferson Brant- ley, pay my debts as soon as I can, and never forget a friend. ' ' The next morning, Brantley after bidding good-by to a few friends, among them Adair, to whom he spoke a few earnest words in an undertone, mounted his horse and rode away. After bidding Brantley good-by, Adair went to his room and drafted the letter he proposed to write to the parties whose names Brantley had given him. This finished, he mounted his horse and started to the resi- dence of Mr. Wilmot. As he rode along, his mind naturally reverted to his selection by Miss Wilmot for the confidential work he had been asked to do. He had known her but slightly, but as, it appeared, she had been in conference with Miss Howard, the pre- smnption was that the latter had suggested him as a fit person to be trusted ; and this looked the more plausi- ble from Brantley's remark that he — Adair — "was well and favorably known to Miss Howard." But 156 A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. then there was a wide difference between being ' ' well and favorably known ' ' and being loved ! And "War- ren Davidson ! what of him ? He had, so it was reported, gone South again. This looked as if Miss Howard had rejected his suit ! But no, it was uncer- tain. Why should she reject Davidson ? It would, doubtless, be a good match. Business had perhaps taken Davidson away from home ; and he might not desire to get married yet and settle down, for he was still young. Miss Wilmot, no doubt, knew all about it, for she and Miss Howard were evidently confi- dantes, and he might be able to get the facts from her. But, no, that would not do ! What Miss Wilmot knew about the matter, she had doubtless learned under the seal of secrecy ; and it would be unfair for him to take advantage of the confidential position he now held to obtain from her Miss Howard's secrets. If he wanted to know, the straightforward and honor- able course was for him to learn them from Miss How- ard herself. But, situated as he was, it would be worse than folly for him to think about marr5dng, then why bother his brain about it ? Such was about the train of Adair's thoughts as he rode slowly along, whistling in a low key. But, so intently was his mind occupied, had any one stopped him and asked if he had been whistling a hymn or a love ditty, he would doubtless have replied that, until stopped, he was not aware that he had been whistling. CHAPTER XI. Adair Visits Miss Wilmot— His Message to Miss Ho-ward— Miss WUmot's and Miss Howard's Confidential Talk— Laura, Returning Home, Meets Ada — Warren Davidson and Miss Laura — An Angry Suitor. MISS WII/MOT, on seeing Mr. Adair ride up to the front gate and dismount, at once correctly surmised the object of his visit, and was consequently, when exchanging greetings with him, somewhat em- barrassed ; nevertheless she welcomed him most cor- dially ; and, after introducing him to her mother, who was the only other member of the family present, the two seated themselves on chairs in the yard, where they were shaded by a large black maple tree which stood but a few steps from the front door of the house. Miss Wilmot never looked more comely than on this bright summer morning. She was, as already stated, tall and graceful. Her complexion was so very clear as to make apparent, by contrast, a few freckles on her face and neck, but this by no means detracted from her beauty. After being seated, Mr. Adair explained his inter- view with Mr. Brantley, and asked if he had been cor- rectly informed as to her wishes ; and, having replied in the affirmative, she, with some apparent embarrass- 157 158 CHRONICLES OF ment, added : " I hope, Mr. Adair, I have not taken too great a liberty in suggesting your name to Mr. Brantley ; and, knowing you so slightly, I should not have done so, but, from more than one of my friends, I have learned of your prudence and obliging disposition. ' ' "You have not taken too great a liberty," he replied, ' ' and you may rely upon my best services and discretion. I should tell you," he continued, " that Mr. Brantley gave me a sketch of his life ; told me, so he said, about what he had already told you, and in addition gave me the names and addresses of five per- sons to whom I could write for information. I have drafted such a letter as I suppose should be written, and I wish you to read it, and say whether you ap- prove it." Miss Wilmot received the letter, and after reading it said, as she returned it : " Oh, yes, that will do. But, Mr. Adair, I am sorry if you have taken the trouble to ride out here to submit the letter to me." " It has been no trouble," he replied, " for I have business farther on, and my visit here has afforded me a pleasant rest." " But," she added, " don't you think it rather cold and formal — I may say seemingly suspicious — for me to require such information about Mr. Brantley ? I am sure he has not deceived me." " I have admired your prudence," Adair answered, " in requiring the information before giving him a positive answer." " But you do not think that he is an unworthy man, and may have deceived me, do you ? ' ' she asked. " Miss Wilmot," he earnestly responded, " do you wish me to tell you what I think of Mr. Brantley ? " A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 1 59 "Yes, please do," site answered. Then, after a momentary pause, she added : "I know you must have seen and heard much about him since he came to Salem." "When I first heard of Mr. Brantley," said Adair, " I was told that he was a showman ; and, by some, supposed to be more of a gambler than a showman. When, therefore, I heard he was visiting you, I thought you were exposing yourself to some risk in permitting such a visitor. But I have since seen much of him, have heard much said about him, and have never seen or heard of any dishonorable act of his. I now believe him to be a man of much kindliness of heart and many admirable traits of character ; I am further convinced that he has not attempted to deceive you, or me, for had I suspected this, I certainly would not have consented to undertake the matter that brought me here. But, having said this much, I must add that I fear Mr. Brantley has entered upon what I regard as a most unfortunate and hazardous career — that of a sportsman or gambler. If he continues that career, however kind, attentive, and considerate he may desire and aim to be, the woman who, as his wife, follows his fortunes must expect to be a wanderer, to have no settled home, to be shunned by the best society, subject to violent fluctuations of fortune — ^perhaps rich to-day and poor to-morrow, and, worse than all, be in almost constant apprehension as to her husband's safety ; for, it may be said of most gamblers, that they carry their lives in their hands. It may sound to you harsh or unfeeling for me to speak thus ; but if you were my sister, I would ask you to ponder over and weigh well all these matters before you take a step l6o CHRONICLES OF fraught with such life-time, if not eternal consequences as are involved in the marriage tie." Mr. Adair spoke slowly at first, and, as he progressed, with increasing impressiveness, for he was deeply in earnest. When he spoke favorably of Mr. Brantley, and of his confidence that he had not attempted to deceive her. Miss "Wilmot's face lit up as if some rem- nant of doubt or fear had been removed from her mind. "When he said : " The woman who, as his wife, follows his fortunes must expect to be a wanderer," the courage and confidence of an heroic and trusting soul animated her, and it looked as if it were on her lips to say, " I will follow him to the ends of the earth. ' ' When he spoke of society shunning the gam- bler' s wife, defiance of society was apparent in her flashing eye. But the appeal to her, as to " a sister," to ponder well the mighty consequences of the marriage tie, caused a deep solemnity to settle on her face, and it was some moments before she attempted any reply. " Mr. Adair," she at last said, and her voice showed evidence of emotion, " I know not how it may be with others. It may be that a flame once kindled in a woman's heart may be extinguished, then relit by another, and made to burn as brightly and with as pure a glow as it had done before. But in my heart and brain, I feel, with a certainty that exceeds any conviction which emanates from cold reason or experi- ence, that, if this flame is extinguished in my heart, there will be — nothing — ^left — but ashes ! It may be that I am romantic or sentimental — many I know wotdd tell me so, — but this much I do know, he came to me a stranger and showman — a mountebank, as some have called him — and I have tried to reason A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. l6l calmly, to ponder seriously — have, as it were, fought against myself, and yet my heart has gone from me, and — he — has it ! But!" she exclaimed, "why should I thus speak to you ? I know not, except it be that you have spoken words which I feel to be words of ' truth and soberness ' ; words which I am sure have come from an honest man. You have spoken, as no one ever did before to me, of the awful solemnity of the marriage tie, and this has made me speak, and speak freely, when womanly reserve might have bid me keep silent." Adair was surprised by the power and passion of this woman, this farmer's daughter, this almost country girl ! There might not be much twining tenderness in her nature, little of the timid devotee who worships afar off, nothing of the humility and submission of the blind votary ; but, in their stead, there was a proud though sensitive nature ; a companion whom even a strong man might at times lean upon for support ; a courage and devotion that would sustain her when most others had fainted and fallen by the wayside ; an ocean of passion, but a world of love ; and, withal, a woman, and just such a woman as Brantley would need for a wife. In turn it was some moments before Adair spoke ; at last he said : " I see plainly that you are greatly in earnest in this matter ; and, while I would not recall one word I have said, I would have you distinctly understand that I would be far, very far from advising you or any lady to do violence to the dictates of her heart in the matter of marriage ; for I am sure it is, as a rule, by far the safest guide. But now, as regards these letters, I may tell you that Mr. Brantley himself 1 62 CHRONICLES OP approved the prudence that caused you to withliold your decision until you could obtain such information regarding him as you desire. Furthermore, when bid- ding me good-by this morning " " What ! has he gone ? " she interposed. " I knew that he intended going soon, but did not suppose he would do so for several days." " Yes, he left, as I said, this morning ; and told me he would be absent long enough for me to get replies to the letters I am to write. He, however, when leav- ing, requested me to say to you that he did not wish his intention to return to be publicly known ; that, in fact, he wished it thought he would not return." " And did he give you no reason for this, to me, seemingly strange desire ? ' ' ' ' He did ; and such an explanation as would, I am sure, be perfectly satisfactory to you." "Then," she replied musingly, "it must have grown out of something that has occurred since I saw him, for he mentioned no such desire to me. I hope nothing alarming has occurred, the knowledge of which you have thought it best to withhold from me?" ' ' Nothing ; in fact, he gave me permission to ex- plain the matter to you if necessary, and I have only hesitated because of my dislike to convey unpleasant news. ' ' Mr. Adair then explained about Mr. Brantley hav- ing been robbed ; that the thief was much more likely to put the stolen money in circulation if it was thought that Mr. Brantley would not return ; and that, because of the rare gold coins among the money stolen, it was A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 1 63 hoped they would be able to trace the thief. He, however, withheld from her the name of the man suspected. " But," she anxiously asked, " as Mr. Brantley was robbed of all his money, how did he get money to go away on ? " " That was loaned him by a friend." " Excuse me, Mr. Adair," she responded, " if I ask a question I should not, but I greatly desire to know — who — that — friend — was ! ' ' And observing him to smile, as she thought, at her seeming curiosity, she quickly added : ' ' Did you loan it to him ? ' ' " I did ; but the amount he required was small." " I am delighted, and thank you sincerely ! " she said with much warmth of manner. " Delighted, for it shows me that a prudent and sensible man had confi- dence enough in the man I love to loan him money. Away with the letters ! " " Nay, nay ! " replied Mr. Adair. " Neither your heart, nor my judgment, nor both combined, are infal- lible. No harm can be done by sending the letters. If the replies are such as you and I expect, it will only make assurance doubly sure, and be proof to your friends of your prudence and discretion. But," he smilingly added, " I can understand that you should wish Mr. Brantley to have this proof of your confidence in him ; and, with your permission, I will, on his return, inform him that at this interview you were dis- posed to require no proof, but that the letters were sent at my instigation." ' ' I did not give you credit, ' ' she laughingly replied, ' ' for so clear an insight into the workings of a woman's heart." 164 CHRONICLES OF " In tins instance," lie jocularly responded, " I have perhaps displayed no particular penetration. ' ' " If upon all occasions you could display as much, it would be fortunate, ' ' she replied. " How so ? " he asked. " I may not fully under- stand you." Miss Wilmot had gone a little further than she intended. She was thinking of I^aura Howard, and had said to herself, ' ' I am no longer surprised that she loves this man. And how is it that he has not read her heart ? ' ' " Mr. Adair," she at last said, " you have done Mr. Brantley and myself so great a favor, and in such a kindly and considerate manner, that I feel like com- mending you to all lovers in distress. And I happen to know of several — such — cases ! This, however, would be taxing you too much. You will, however, doubtless discover and relieve many such sufferers. ' ' This reply was evasive, and Mr. Adair so considered it, but it was not for him to ask one more explicit. " I am sure," he replied, " that I possess no skill in making such discoveries. But I hope you will not hesitate to let me know if at any time I can aid you ; or," he added after a short pause, " any oi your friends who will repose such confidence in me as you have shown. But now, as I have a long ride ahead of me before my day's work is done, I must take leave of you. The letters, I will write to-night and mail them to-morrow ; and as soon as replies are received, I will call and show them to you." " Mr. Adair," she said as she rose from her seat, " how I do wish I could make you some fitting return for your kindness. In this won't you assist me ? " A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 165 " As I have not worked for wages," lie answered, " I do not expect payment." " But," she responded, " there are some debts more sacred than wages for work done, and their discharge should afford the keenest delight ! And would you not like to assist me to discharge such a debt — and to yourself? " ' ' You certainly put your request in a very forcible way ; and I must, of course, assist you should I see an opportunity of doing so. And now, good-by." ' ' One moment ! ' ' she said, detaining him. ' ' Will you pass by Squire Howard's this morning ? " ' ' I am on my way, ' ' he answered, ' ' to the Sulphur Springs, and will pass by his house." "Would you then," she asked, "mind stopping there for a moment, and, if Miss Laura is at home, say- ing to her that I would like much if she would ride over this evening, as I wish specially to see her ; and that I would myself ride over and see her, but all of father's horses are at work to-day." ' ' I will deliver your message, ' ' Mr. Adair replied ; and, after the usual good-by and handshaking, he mounted his horse and rode away. As he rode along, he could but associate in his mind Miss Wilmot's seem- ing anxiety to pay him her so-called debt, and her immediate desire to see Miss Howard ; but he could not satisfactorily make out the bearings or relations of the two points. On his arrival at Squire Howard's, it so happened that Miss Laura was alone on the front porch. She asked him to get down and come in, but he excused himself on the plea that he had far to ride ; and, after delivering Miss Wilmot's message, and asking after the 1 66 CHRONICLES OF health of the family, continued on his way. If he could only have looked back and seen the eyes that followed him, his old resolution would certainly have been severely shaken, if not overthrown. That afternoon Miss Wilmot and Miss Howard were alone together for an hour or more. " I^aura," began Miss Wilmot, after a few common- place questions and answers, " I could not resist the temptation to send you the message by Mr. Adair. I just felt as if I must have a talk with you and at once." " Talk on then, and I will be an attentive listener." " Then, to begin with, I must tell you about my interview with Mr. Adair." And tell her she did, — gave her a detailed account of all that pertained to Mr. Brantley and herself, and dwelt with much emphasis on the part Mr. Adair had played. " And, I^aura," she added, " as you well know, Mr. Adair was a comparative stranger to me. I had met him several times, but never before conversed with him, excepting in the presence of others. To tell you the truth, I had thought him a rather cold and calcu- lating, but prudent and reliable man ; and it was for these latter qualities, and my knowledge of the respect entertained for him by Mr. Brantley, and yourself particularly, that induced me to suggest him as a suit- able person to make the inquiries. But, ' ' she smUingly continued, ' ' my opinion of him has changed. I no longer think him cold and calculating. He is frank, unassuming, kind-hearted, earnest, and sincere, and a wise counsellor and friend. When he spoke to me as if to ' a sister,' of the ' life-time, if not eternal conse- quences of the marriage tie,' I was never more sol- A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 167 emnly impressed. I already feel as if I had known him intimately for years. Never have I met a man to whom I could speak so unreservedly about myself. He has won my confidence because I am sure he deserves it. And oh ! how I would like to repay the debt of gratitude I owe him for his kindness to Mr. Brantley in loaning him money after he had been robbed. But, I^aura, you must say nothing about the robbery — not to a soul ! for, if it is kept a secret, Mr. Adair hopes to discover the thief and possibly recover the money. And now, lyaura," she went on, " I have been trying to think what I could and ought to do for Mr. Adair to repay him. I am sure you love him, although you have never positively told me so. That you should love him, rather than our old friend and schoolmate, Warren Davidson, has been to me a mat- ter of much surprise, but I am no longer surprised. Now that I know Mr. Adair, I want you to love each other. The question is. Can I do anything to bring that about ? for Mr. Adair will no doubt have occasion to visit me several times about those letters. ' ' " Emily, I am delighted," I^aura answered, " to know you have been so much pleased with Mr. Adair ; I was sure you would be when you came to know him well. You have often jokingly asked me if I did not love him, and, whilst I may never have positively con- fessed that I did, I have certainly never denied it. You know of his having saved my life when a child ; that it was he who presented me with my beautiful emerald ; that it was his image I tried to conjure up and paint in my picture. When I first saw him, as a man, I thought I could see much in him of great worth ; it may have been that my heart instructed my l68 CHRONICLES OF brain — certain it is, I — loved him ! You know that last summer he rescued me from drowning. After that, I, for a time, felt — ^what might perhaps be called a superstitious conviction — that as he had been so he was to be the guardian of my life, and with my life also of my love. In this conviction I gave loose rein to my love, and was carried whirling along in a seventh heaven of delight, never dreaming of any check. For how could there be any check ? Had not Providence brought him to me, and had not the same Power twice notably preserved me for him. ? But my superstitious conviction was a delusion or a snare. I now see it, and feel it. Mr. Adair has not deceived me. I beUeve him incapable of deceiving any one. I have been led on by a kind of will-o'-the-wisp, and have no one to blame but myself Emily, ' ' she concluded in a some- what husky voice, ' ' he does not love me, and must not know that I love him. ' ' "Stop, stop ! " cried Emily ; " I have come across a love that is worthy of the name, — a veritable romance and not a sickly tale; another gem, like that you wear around your neck, and not a showy pebble ; a living life, and not an animated corpse ! And such a love must not be permitted to sacrifice itself, nor to wander, like some poor little ewe lamb, away from its fold. See here, Laura ! there are manf persons who think you are engaged to Warren Davidson ! I would be sorry to do Warren any injustice, but, from the way he has often spoken to me of you — as if you were almost certain to be his wife some day, — I am half inclined to think he has himself given rise to these reports, in order to keep other suitors awa%' from you. Now, Mr. Adair may, and doubtless has heard these reports, and A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 1 69 should be undeceived. I can do this without com- promising you in the slightest." " No — no ! " was the emphatic reply. " Not one word of this to Mr. Adair. You know, Kmily, that I thank you with all my heart for the interest you feel in my happiness. But listen to me ! If he loved me, and wished to know whether another stood in his way, he could easily find out. I believe him manly and straightforward enough to come direct to me and learn the truth. No, the truth — and the whole truth — is that he has only a very high regard — I may even say an attachment — for my father, mother, for us all, dating from his boyhood. It may even be that he feels an especial attachment for me, since he has told me that in my childhood I was his little pet, and he doubtless feels that he has special claims upon my regard. But such an attachment is as far from love as night is from day. In fact, I do not believe he loves any one ; if he does he will probably never let it be known, for he has doubtless made up his mind never to get married. You know he has brought his sister-in-law — the widow of a brother who recently died — with her three small children, to Salem, where they are now keeping house, and with whom he makes his home. He is just the man to sacrifice himself, if necessary, for the perform- ance of such a duty. So, you see, Emily, I must bear, with what patience and fortitude I may, my sore disap- pointment ; which, I frankly admit, has nearly crushed me ; but time, we are told, soothes all such afflictions. If it were not so, the burden of life would soon grow intolerable to all of us. ' ' " What you have said, I^aura," replied Miss Kmily, " sounds plausible and probable, but I don't like your 170 CHRONICLES OF conclusions, and suspect they may be wrong. I am, perhaps, naturally impatient. If matters are in doubt, I like to discover the truth, however unpleasant, at once. And I believe I could clear up this whole matter in short order and make you happy, and Mr. Adair happy. That he, if not unhappy, has an unsatisfied spirit, — a longing for some thing he misses, is apparent to me in the lines of his face. But if you say I must do nothing, say nothing, to help you, so be it ! I can only hope that all may yet come out right." That afternoon, as Miss Howard was returning home, she was somewhat surprised to meet her sister Ada in the lane a short distance from the house, and to observe that her face wore a perplexed and serious expression. ' ' Ada, what is the matter ? ' ' her sister hurriedly asked. " What has brought you out to meet me ? for I 'm sure that is why you are here." " Yes, so it is," Ada answered. " So jump down, please ; we '11 lead the horse, and as we walk along I '11 tell you all about it." Laura at once dismounted, and throwing the bridle rein over her arm and walking beside her sister, — " Now, Ada, what is it ? " she quickly asked. " Well, sister, I know you '11 be surprised," began Ada. " Warren Davidson is at the house ; came about an hour ago ; says he returned home only yesterday. And I don't like the way he looks and talks. I think he must be drinking a little. He has been asking me many questions about Mr. Adair — how long he stayed with us after his sickness — ^when he was last here, and so on. I told him that Mr. Adair had passed by here this morning, and had delivered you some message A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. I71 from Miss Emily, and that you had gone over to see her. He seemed much annoyed, and, I think, mut- tered some kind of a curse. Knowing it was time for you to return, I made an excuse and slipped out the back way and came to meet and tell you, so that you might be prepared to meet him. ' ' " I am glad you did so," replied I^aura. " I did hope and think that Warren would never come again as a suitor, but I fear he has. I have told him as plainly as I could that it was useless ; and if, as you say, he is drinking, I am all the more displeased that he should have come. But we had better not be seen by him approaching the house together ; do you go back the way you came, and I will remount and ride up to the gate as usual." Then, leading her horse beside a stump which was near, I^aura stepped upon it, sprang into her saddle, and rode slowly home. Warren Davidson saw Miss I^aura as she rode up to the gate, and went forward to assist her, but she had dismounted and hitched her horse before he reached her. She met him cordially, and, after the usual greeting, said : " How have you been, and when did you return home ? ' ' " Well in body," was his rather surly answer, " but mentally under the weather. I arrived at home yes- terday ; came this morning to Salem to see Henry Rudolph, and arrived here an hour ago. I was sorry to find you from home, for I came specially to see you ; and I must have a talk with you at once." Miss Howard, warned by what her sister had told her, looked attentively at her ^dsitor, and saw at once that he was under the influence of liquor. His remark 172 CHRONICLES OF that he " must have a talk with her at once" was made in such a tone and manner as to really displease her ; but, as they had now arrived at the house, she made no reply, asked him to be seated, and to excuse her for a few minutes. She then sought her mother. " Mother," she said, " you see Warren is here again, much to my surprise and regret ; and, unless I am greatly mistaken, he has been drinking and is not entirely sober now. He says he has come to see me, and ' must have a talk with me at once.' What ought I to do?" " Go at once and have the talk over as soon as pos- sible. He has been drinking, I am certain. Don't anger him if you can avoid it, but be firm. I am very sorry, ' ' continued Mrs. Howard, ' ' to see him in this fix ; but it shows that your rejection of him was fortunate." " Well, Warren," said Miss Howard, when she had returned and taken a seat near him, ' ' what is it that you ' must ' talk to me about ? " " You know very well," he answered. '"I am not satisfied with the answers you have heretofore given me. A woman, I 'm told, often plays with a gentle- man, as you have with me, when she thinks she has him securely hooked ; but I can't and won't stand this any longer. ' ' " I will not stay and listen to such unfair and unjust charges," said Miss Howard, as she rose from her seat. ' ' Oh, don't be so touchy ! I beg your pardon, I did not mean to hurt your feelings. Please sit down again," he said almost imploringly. Miss Howard hesitated for a moment, but remem- A KENTUCKY SETTLEMENT. 1 73 bering her motlier's injunction, not to make him angry if she could avoid it, she resumed her seat. ' ' Warren, ' ' she calmly and distinctly said, ' ' if you have come here again to renew your suit, I tell you my reply will be unchanged ; and this conversation is not only useless, but painful to me. I have ever esteemed you as a friend, — that you know ! You know, too, that to have been the cause, however innocent, of any unhappiness to you has been the source of much sor- row to me. If, however, you still persist, against my entreaty, I shall no longer regard you as my friend, nor welcome you to this house. ' ' " Oh, I