WOOING AND WARRING.








A STORlY OF C.AN:ETU  CEEY.
WOOING AND WARRING
IN THE WILDERNESS.
BY
H3AS. D. KIRK
(SE DE KAY).
4LAND WHERE WE LEARNED TO LISP A MOTHER'S NAME —
THE FIRST BELOVED IN LIFE, THE LAST FORGOT. "
Halleck.
NEW YORK:
DERBY & JACKSON, PUBLISHERS.
LOUISVILLE, KY.: F. A. CRUMP.
1860.




ENTERED, r.cording to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
CHAS. D. KIRK,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the District
of Kentucky.
W. H. TINson, Stereotyper,                     Gao. RUsaLL & Co., Printers.




To
M Y M O T I-I E lR
THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
AT HER SUGGESTION IT WAS WRITTEN; HER SMILES OF ENCOURAGEMENT
CHEERED THE HOURS ALLOTTED TO ITS COMPOSITION, AND HERS WILL
BE THE APPROVING WORD WHEN THE COMPLETED WORK IS
PRESENTED HER-FOR WHEN DID A MOTHER, SUCH
AS MINE, EVER FAIL TO SET THE HOLY
SEAL OF APPROBATION UPON
SEll FAITHFUL ENDEAVOR OF HER BOY1
0. D. K.








TO THE READER.
THIS book does not aspire to the dignity of a Novel.
Its pretence, if pretence it have, is to illustrate the
domestic life of the early settlers of Kentucky, by a
series of sketches of their manners and customs, somewhat rudely drawn, but with filial love and an earnest
attempt at truthfulness. To preserve the unity of the
work, a simple thread of family experience-mainly
veritable-is introduced.
And these words are all the author has of explanation
or apology, for his reader, here at the outset.
LOUISVILLE, February, 1860.








CONTENTS.
I.-A LOOK  OUT TOWARD  CANETUCKEY,.............   11
II.-A  MIDNIGHT INTERRUPTION..........................   17
III.-BIOGRAPHICAL,......................................   20
IV.-THE VANITY  OF ALL THINGS,........................   24
V.-THE DEPARTURE,......................................                80
VI.-ON  BRADDOCK'S ROAD,...............................    85
VII.-THE ALLEGHANIES,....................................   89
VIII.-FACILIS DESCENSUS....................................   45
IX.-LOST,...................................................   48
X.-REDSTONE,.............................................              52
XI.-AN  ARK,................................................ 
XII.-AFLOAT,................................................              60
XIII.-HOW THE RIVER OHIO OBTAINED ITS NAME,..... 64
XIV.-A  DECOY,.............................6................   6T
XV.-THE BATTLE NIGHT,........................   82
XVI. —TIE  LOST FOUND,..................................   88
XVII.-LANDING AT LIMESTONE,.............................   94
XVIII.-THE  BREEZY  HILL-TOP OF SUGAR LOAF,............   99
XIX. —SIMON  KENTON,........................  102
XX.-WE  DISCUSS WOMAN'S WEAKNESS,.................   10
ix




X                          CONTENTS.
PAGE
XXI.-HOUSE RAISIN GG..................................  113
XXII.-HOME,................................................ 120
XXIII.-ENTANGLED  IN THE TOILS OF CUPID,............ 123
XXIV.-A HUNTING EXCURSION,...........................  128
XXV.-HOW  LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM  WAS DISSIPATED,.. 136
XXVI.-SALT-MAKING AT THE BLUE LICKS,.............. 141
XXVII.-THE SUGAR-CAMP,.................................. 144
XXVIII.-THE BENCH OF MAGISTRATES...................... 147
XXIX.-THE DREADFUL BLOW............................. 153
XXX.-THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS................163
XXXI.-A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS..................  174
XXXII.-WE DISCUSS POLITICS.                                   184
XXXIII.-MAPLE HILL ACADEMY,............................ 196
XXXIV.-THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY,.... 201
XXXV.-THE CATECHISM  OF LOVE......................... 210
XXXVI.-PROVING THAT THE HINDOOS WERE THE ORIGINAL INHABITANTS OF KENTUCKY,.............. 218
XXXVII.-EVIL DAYS COME,................................... 228
XXXVIII.-THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE..........................  242
XXXIX.-AN APPARITION....................................  258
XL.-PERPLEXED....................................... 269
XLI.-CLEARING UP,.......................................  280
XLII.-EPITHALAMIUM,...................2..................  83




WOOING AND WARRING.
I.
A LOOK OUT TOWARD CBAETUCKEY.
A MID the drear days of the second month,
there shines, now and then, one whose
warmth is like to that of May-a day when the
sap flows in that most fair of our American forest trees, when the rich mold of the earth grows
loose, when the first birds hymn stray waifs of
song upon the home roof, and the cheek is fanned
with the blest wings of the not far off Spring.
Such had been the day; but as it waned, and
the shade of the elms grew in length, and the
fresh wind made the air chill, in the west banks
of black clouds were piled. A pall was spread
over the scene.  From  the bare bough of a
scarred oak a crow cawed its hoarse note of ill11




12    A LOOK OUT TOWARD CANETUCKEY.
bode. From the depths of the dark wood came
the hoot of the owl. Than these, there were no
other signs of life, with such still pomp did the
Night march up to its th!ne.
See! In the flash'of an eye the gloom is
changed to gold. The sun, loath to leave the
world, looks out once more with his great eye of
fire. Back flee the clouds. The sky is bright
and the earth glows with the kiss of these last
rays. And there, in the far west, shines the
star of eve! Venus! in all climes the Star of
Love and Hope!
Atop the gate, just in front of his snug Virginia home, sat Dobson Hardy. For more than
an hour his eyes had looked out to the west.
He had seen the change from sun to shade, and
felt in his heart that thus had been his life. Once
it was bright with smiles of joy and peace, and
then came the dark hours of grief and tears.
But, thought he, why not from these varying
phases of nature take courage? Yon star of
pure lustre and brilliant beam was born of the
gathering gloom. In the same west may there
not be a propitious planet whose radiant rays and
gentle influences will dispel the fogs and mists
and darkness of life's eventide?




A LOOK OUT TOWARD CANETUCKEY.    13
Thus it happened that his thoughts were
turned toward CaNETucEY — -then a dim land,
lying far in the West, concerning whose canebrakes, swift and deep streams, green plains,
rich soil, blue skies, and groves populous with
red foes and wild beasts and grim death, strange,
wild and weird stories were told beside every
hearth-stone in the Ancient Dominion.
In this mood of mind, Dobson would have
spent hours, had not his dream of a good time to
come been suddenly snapped by a rude twitch of
his coat tail, accompanied by the sound of an
Ethiop's voice:
" Mars Dob, Miss Jane wants you right off."
Good man, faithful husband as he was, down
he got from his perch and walked straight to the
house, quick to do as his wife would have him.
Just as he trod the first step of the porch, a
form emerged from the shadow of a privet bush,
and stood at his side.
" Good night, sir," said Dobson, holding forth
his hand.
The grasp which the man gave him in return
was not one of warmth, and the voice, in reply,
was hollow and husky, as if from the grave.
Kind' in deed, as in word, the host proffered




14    A LOOK OUT TOWARD CANETUCKEY.
his strange guest the bowl carved from the soft
buckeye, and handing him the pail of water,
bade him wash. This, in those old days, was
the first of the rites of hospitality. Both rinsed
their brown hands and tanned faces, and then
into the great room, bright with the flame of a
wood fire, they went. Spread out before them
was the evening meal. A cloth, white as snow,
and food which Apicius would even have thought
worthy his feast! At the head of the table, in
the place reserved long ago by some wise pragmatic sanction, the wife appeared. Her black
hair was streaked here and there with lines of
grey, and her face, once smooth as the rind of a
peach, was seamed with lines of care. But her
eye gleamed with light and life, and her form,
even with its matronly embonpoint, bore witness of the grace that marked the girl.
As her glance meets that of the strange man
she starts, and her whole frame quakes with illconcealed dread. She sees at once who it is that
has thus burst on her sight, and her heart throbs
as if it would break. HIard is it for her to say
one word or even to nod the head in recognition.
There is a storm in her breast, and to calm its
rage all her strength must be used. With an




A LOOK OUT TOWARD CANETUCKEY.    15
ease that shocks her, and a look that wears the
guise of innocence, he takes a seat at her table.
Then Dobson and his queer guest fall to. The
ham, and the cakes of corn, and the rich milk,
and the tea of sassafras, and the maple molasses,
make them feel that it is good with toil and long,
walks to whet their love of the full-heaped
board. Talk there is, but it is small talk.
All this time Mrs. Hardy, strange as it may
seem, holds her tongue!
But her eyes tell tales. Now they glow with
fire and fury, and then her cheek pales and those
fierce eyes are wet with tears.
Of the day that has been so fair, and of the
farm and the prospective crops they talk. By
and by the bairns, one by one, march off to
bed, and there is left but the good man and his
good wife, the guest and a girl, who, for more
than a dozen years, has plucked the first June
roses down by the brook-side.  The beech log
sobs and sighs, the sparks fly, the red coals glow.
All is snug. But there are hearts ill at ease.
The young girl, with the bloom of health upon
each ch.eek, with a quarrelet of pearls in her
mouth, with eyes as modest and meek and
blue as the violets that will blossom after awhile




16    A LOOK OUT TOWARD CANETUCKEY.
in the unfrequented glade, with a high proud
brow and a lithe shape, is, and she knows it not,
as she sits toying with those auburn ringlets, the
cause of this keen ache in the heart of Mrs. Dobson. In the man of black beard and gruff voice
and strong limb, she has roused a sentiment that
has long slept. Not love, but pride,-ay, pride
mixed with hate.
All this while the master of the house sits in
his chair, and smokes his pipe and dreams of a
new home west of the Blue Ridge, where corn
grows to giant height, and the only pests are Indians, catamounts and weeds. He recks not
what stirs the breasts of those seated so near him.
But he shall soon hear, for the moon is up and it
is time for bed. The words "good night," are
said, and Burkitt is shown where he is to lodgea big bed where he might lose his big self in the
world of soft goose-down with which it is stuffed.




II.
A MIDNIGHT INTERRUPTION.
f OD~ you know, Mr. Hardy, the man you
brought here to-night?" asks the wife,
when they had been left to themselves.
"Some poor fellow, foot-sore and way-worn,
I dare say. But why do you ask, Jane 2"
" Wretch that he is, why shouldn't I ask? I
have a mind to go straight off and turn him out
of the house. Vile, mean, contemptible rogue,
spy and murderer, he should be swung from 4he
nearest limb. And you don't know himn  X saw
through him, though his face was all beard. I
should know his eyes of sin"Just then the noise of hurrying hoofs on the.
road, and a rough rap at the door caused Mirs.
Hardy to; cease in her sketch of their guest.
" VWho's there  "
" A friend, Greene."
17




18        A MIDNIGHT INTERRUPTION.
" What's the row 2"
" We want a skulking spy, and you must help
us."
At the words the wife threw open the door,
and before them stood twelve men, armed cap a
pie.
Their spokesman and leader, a bronzed, but
open faced youth.
" The down was scarce upon his chin,"-SCHILLER.
briefly told them of Burkitt's appearance in the
neighborhood that day.
"Burkitt," cried Hardy, with an ejaculation,
which, though frequently used by ministers and
deacons, could hardly be regarded as reverent at
this crisis, and is consequently omitted from this
page.
" Yes, and here he is, right in this house, in
my best bed, the mean wretch!" screamed the
wife.
It did not take long to verify what Mrs. H.
had said. Two or three bounds and the men
were beside the bed where their game lay. Deep
sleep shut him out from all sense of fear, and it
was not until a rude arm was laid on him that
the smile quit his face, and the tiger, wakened
from his lair, flashed upon them blis eyes of fire.




A MIDNIGHT INTERRUPTION.     19
That this was the man of whom they were in
quest, all knew. Cords were brought, and Burkitt, bound hand and foot, was thrown upon a
horse, his head hanging on one side while his
feet were dangling in the air, his body only resting across the animal's back. To hang him there
in the woods next to the house, and put an immediate end to the bad man, was their intention.
But Mrs. Hardy, now that she had done what
she could to rid her house of the spy, in a stern
voice bade the men not hang Burkitt on her
place.
" Take him to jail and give him the judge and
jury."
The mob yielded to the determined will of the
one woman, weak though she was, and strong
though they were. Performing a mobbish deed
makes cowards. A brave spirit, equipped with
the virtues of moderation and justice, can put to
flight half a hundred rioters
With a rush and a roar, as if borne on the
wings of the storm-fiend, they rode back and
placed their prisoner safe in the log jail of Fau.
quier, C. H.
All of this was in the year of our Lord 1785.




III.
BlOGRAPHICAL.
OBSON TIARDY was in the ranks of the
Virginia Continentals-Col. Thomas Marshall's regiment-six years.  He tracked the
snow with his blood at Valley Forge; he was
at Trenton and Princeton; he lay sick with the
small-pox, and nigh unto death, at Morristown,
in the Jerseys; at Yorktown, the Bible, which
he wore next to his heart through the whole
war, proved a shield to ward off death; a bullet
pierced the book more than halfway through,
but was spent in force when it reached the page
whereon that verse is inscribed: "For thou, LorA,
wilt bless the righteous; with favor wilt thou
compass him as with a shield."
You may see the old book yet in the hands of
one of Dobson's heirs who lives in the north of
Kentucky. It is a quaint volume, but quite as
o20




BIOGRAPHICAL.           21
much the Word of God as if bound in sumptuous
leather, with clasps of gold. And far more is it
to be prized for its good, true, brave Saxon
tongue, than are the new words which new men
in these new times would palm off upon us in
our Bibles.
Jane and Susan Merrill were the twin pinks of
the Shenandoah Valley; born in that vale which
still blends rich fields and bright streams and
rude scenes —a piece of Nature's work with
which Art could not hope to vie.
Jane was wooed and won by Dobson Hardy;
Susan, by William lBurkitt.  Both husbands
possessed neat farms in Fauquier. There they
made their homes, blest with small stores and
pleased to live the lives of poor, but just men.
The tea was thrown to the sharks in Boston
harbor. Patrick Henry spoke to the verge of
what the British alleged was crime and treason.
Washington drew his sword beneath the old
elm at Cambridge. The land heaved with the
tumultuous throbbings of the pulse of Liberty.
To be slaves or to be freemen, was the alternative. What could these two plain farmers do
but choose the better part?
But, alas  In the first year of the war Bur



22             BIOGRAPHICAL.
kitt was bought with the gold of the foe, and for
months plyed the task of a spy. When his base
sin began to be whispered about he fled to the
camp of the British, and with their troops fought
thenceforth. Cursed with words of gall by his
former comrades, shunned by his new messmates, as one who had proven traitorous, racked
with the pangs of his own conscience, the poor
wretch led a life which he thought but the foretaste of hell.
To Burkitt's wife the intelligence of his crime
was a blow which caused her reason to reel in
its seat, which planted an'agonizing thorn in her
side, and sunk her heart to the depths of woe.
It appeared as if she could not live. Ier name
was stained. Her hopes were all crushed. But
a wife's love, when it is pure and strong and
deep, as it was in this case, falters not. It finds
food in woe-a source of strength in the bitter
waters of Marah. Susan, though she knew the
name of her husband was scoffed, still clung to
him, and when, in the midst of the war, she
heard he was with Arnold and his men in the
southern counties, she set out one night to find
him in his work of theft and fraud. Thereafter
her days were hours on hours of sharp pains;




BIOGRAPHICAL.           23
her nights, when sleep touched her lids, dreams
of fright and fear.
War had made Burkitt a madman. The fond
kiss with which he was wont to greet his wife
gave way to kicks and cuffs; the words of love
to oaths. Yet she was true to him. Mild, meek
and bland in all her ways-to soothe his rough
path and tame his wild heart, her sole wish and
thought and aim.




THE VANITY OF ALL THINGS.'(sj AM so glad that you did not hang that
man! "
" What man? "
"Why, when you were all here that night I
woke in such a fright, and, stealing quietly to the
door, I saw the man as you took him from the
house; and he looked at me with eyes so full of
pain!"
"But he will be swung yet, as he ought to have
been long since."
"Now, why need it be so? The war is
at end. We have peace, are free, and why
should more blood be shed? Why not spare
this one, vile and base as he is? Let him live
that he may blot out the sins of the past, by
good acts in the future."
"You talk well, though your doctrine of
24




THEE VAgNT  OF ALL TflGS. 
works is not orthodox; but you talk for
naught."
" Ohl, Basil, it is not in your nature to want
blood, and I feel that you can and will surely
stay the red hand which could strike this man,
though guilt does load him down."
" Your tongue, M[ary, is as sweet as the honey
of Hymettus. It should not plead for those who
have done so foul a wrong to the land of their
birth."
"V Well, scourge and brand him, and send him
out into the world with a worse mark than that
which Cain bore; but spare his life. Let him
not be cut off in his sin."
"I shall think of what you urge with, such
force and eloquence, but"" Oh, Basil, none of your ifs and buts. Mean
and trite words, they ever stand in the way of
good deeds. Now, this is the last time I shall
ask you to please me-for years, and it may be
for all time."
"WilWhy, dear girl, what do you mean by talking in that strain? Don't I live to please you,
and am I not continually striving to learn what
will light up the eye and make glad the heart of
my Maryg?"
2




26       TMHE VANITY OF ALL THINGS.
"Yes, yes, you have ever been very good to
me," said the girl, with a gasp and sob in her
voice. Tears came to her relief, but they were
kissed away before they could leave a trace of
sorrow, and each sigh was stifled by the fond encircling arms of Basil.
Thus, the love of the two did that for them
which-according to Lord Bacon-marriage accomplishes. It halved their griefs and doubled
their joys.
The whole plan was then unfolded to Basilhow the family intended moving to Canetuckey
in the spring, and then came the thought that
she scarce dared give words to-the thought
that they were soon to part, it might be to meet
never more this side of the fearful stream of
Death.
Basil cheered her with his eloquent words of
hope, and the promise that only one year should
elapse until he would join her in the new home.
Ah, how many maidens have fed upon promises
-fed until they became skeletons in body and
paralyzed in heart!
Down the walk these two strayed, arm in
arm. No words now. But looks of love, and
heart-beats, and hand-grasps, and lip-seals. Then,




THE VANITY OF ALL THINGS.     27
one gush from the soul-one clasp of breast to
breast, and the proud youth leaps upon his horse
and spurs down the hill and out of sight.
Basil Greene was two and twenty-a bold,
compactly built, dark eyed, dark haired, highbrowed young man. He had been raised to the
plough; but it had long been his darling ambition
to shine at the bar, and, for a year past, he had
been reading law. Apt to learn, he had made
such progress that in a short time he was to
make his first speech in court. And then,
thought he, the path to fame is broad and
straight before me. Wealth can be grasped —
what love prompts seized, and Heaven on earth
will be mine.
Vain boy! Your aim has been that of scores
and scores of bright, glad youth.  Wealth,
fame, home joys-these are the fruits of the
Hesperides, for which we climb and strive, and
toil, and wear out our hearts, and spin out our
minds and starve our souls.
Who plucks them? Once, in the lapse of an
age, you may chance to see a spare, bent, pale
man, with thin locks and eyes from which joy
has fled and steps from which youth's gait is
gone, and he holds in his hand the apple of gold.




28       THE VANITY OF ALL THINGS.
He has been sharp, and shrewd, and keen, and
close, and mean, and false, and here, at the
grave, while Charon waits his boat and the Styx
rolls its black flood in sight, he hears himself
called the man of wealth.
And there is one, who, step by step, has made
his way up to the dizziest height of fame. His
name is noised through the wide world —his
word is law to the whole land; but his heart has
grown cold as ice; his face is a lie, for it smiles
with grace; his words are cloaks to hide
thoughts of fraud. Thrdugh years he has
marched, and crawled, and fought, and moiled,
with feet in the mire, and hands at foul tricks,
and heart with black spots, on the road to fame,
which once lay before him so bright and broad.
And there- sight to fetch tears from heart hard
as st6ne —sits the stricken old man, who once, as
you do now, my boy, gave loose rein to love and
hope. On his breast are scars as thick as if he
had been in the wars of all the Caesars. He has
had his bouts with Cupid, the blind god being
urged on by maids as false as fair. He has had
his dreams of sweet trysts, of the ring and the
altar, of a seat by the fire, of a face to grow the
brighter at his coming, and children to rise up




TI'E VANITY OF ALL THINGS.       29
and call him blessed. Well-a-day! He has eaten
the long-coveted fruit. It turned to ashes upon
his lips. Yonder he sits by his desolate hearthstone, and shivers with the drear winter of age
as he mumbles over the names of the loved and
lost, whose graves the pure snow is shrouding
this bitter night.




V.
THIE DEPARTURE.
H       EARING  that in Culpepper an Emigrant
Society had been formed, with which he
could unite, and thus make the trip to Canetuckey
in greater safety, Hardy rode over to the adjoining county, and entered into the compact. He
found quite a number who were like himself on
the eve of a great change of home and home
scenes.   Of course the one topic of conversation was the new land in the golden West" A fairy land of flowers and fruit and sunshine,
And crystal lakes and overarching forests,
And mountains around whose towering summits the winds
Of heaven untrammelled flow-which air to breathe
Is happiness now, and will be Freedom hereafter
In days that are to come."
With these new made friends Dobson laughs,
sips his dram, smokes his pipe, says smart things,
80




THIE DEPARTURE.           31
and is the life of the crowd in the bar-room. But
all this gaiety is mock —at heart he grieves, be
cause of the step he has taken. Still he has gone
too far to think of receding. His Fauquier farm
has been sold, and the day is agreed upon for the
start on the long and drear trail through the
woods and wilds to the Canaan of their hopes,
and it is high time that they are gone. The
spring has come, and they will be too late to
plant corn for this year's crop. But there are
fields to be cleared and ploughed, and prepared
for the fall wheat and the turnip patch.
At last the day came for their departure. It
was March. Raw, bleak, chill. Here and there
a patch of snow lay on the hill-sides and in the
shaded hollows. The road was knee deep with
mud. Not a bird was to be seen or heard-the
creek was bank full-grey clouds shut out the
sky from view-the trees had not yet leaved.
They stand in the midst of the desolate scene,
upon the threshold of the old home-to them
home no longer. As the door is closed, and the
echo reverberates through the deserted house,
they feel as if alone in the world. Tears rush to
the eyes of husband and wife. Dobson, in haste,
and half mad, for he thinks that it is not the part




32            THE DEPARTURE.
of a man to weep, brushes away these signs of
emotion. But the wife allows her heart to flow
out in tears; nor seeks to check their gush.
But we have no time to look back-no time
to sigh and mourn. The best foot is put forth.
It is now, march, march; on, on-through the
sleet which now falls-there will be sunshine by
and by;-through the mud and mire-there will
be dry ways soon. Brave hearts keep up! Dry
your tears-smile now-let us have a shout —
clap your hands-one more cheer —there is the
Court-house-crack your whip, Torn-spur the
nags, boys-we must dash through, lest the folks
see we are loath to leave them.
They jog on at a right good pace, but just as
they reach the Court-house (by that name the
Virginians were wont to call the towns at which
their courts were held), they meet a large crowd.
Just in front of the mob, for such it seems to be,
there comes a man in a half run, with eyes down,
back bare, and on his white flesh, still quivering,
you can read two letters —D and S. The cursed
brand has just been burnt in with red-hot steel,
and the mob laugh at the agony of the wretch,
and pelt him with stones and sticks, and worse
yet, they jeer him with cruel words that cut his




TE DEPARTURE.               33
heart so that it bleeds, flint though it has been
for years. No one need tell us that this is Burkitt. Mary's plea with Greene had saved the life
of the spy. So the state was spared the cost of
a rope, and the culprit the pain of a death
choke.
As the fugitive passed the procession of
movers they caught a glimpse of his face. It
was black as night. The furies seemed to have
set their seals upon each lineament.  On Mary
he cast a devilish leer, which caused the girl.,
weak as she was from the sad tasks of the past
few days, to start with such fright that she would
have fallen from her horse, had she not then and
there heard a voice of cheer, and felt the grasp
of a strong arm.
Oh how the words of those we love can bear
up the faint heart —how a tone, if it comes
through lips we have pressed to ours, is balm
to the sore and sick mind.
It was not till near dusk that Basil Greene
could say to Mary: " I must leave you here."
His lips refused to utter a farewell:
"For in that word-that fatal word-howe'er,
We promise-hope-bell'eve-there breathes despair."
2*




34            THE DEPARTURE.
All day they had been side by side. But we
shall not write down what their hearts bade their
tongues tell. We shall not say how they gave
kiss for kiss in pledge of love. Nor shall we
speak of that low wail, as if from a heart that
was quite broken, when M[ary saw the form of
Basil disappear in a turn of the road.
Then the sun went out in her sky I




VI.
ON BRADDOCRSK ROAD.
5W5 INCHESTER was at that day the chief
place of rendezvous for those parties
who took the route across the mountains to the
West. Before the war it had been a brisk town,
from the fact that near it was Greenway Court,
the seat of Lord Fairfax.
Hardy found all his friends assembled, and
saw that soon the plunge into the wilderness
must be made. But the sight of the towering
mountains, now so near, did not frighten him.
He felt that he was gifted with a magic wandSelf-reliance-which he could wave, and level
these obstacles with the plain. His years of
calm ease; his days and hours of "don't care,"
were gone. Iis heart was full of new hope;
his brain full of new thought; his hands itched
to do great things.
36




36         ON BRADDDOCK'8 ROAD.
By sunrise one morning the cavalcade of these
pioneers was seen defiling out of Winchester,
along the steep road that led toward the Alleghanies. It was a novel sight. Its like is not
vouchsafed to us in these days of railways and
steamboats. As an advance corps were a party
of negroes, with axes and spades, prepared to
make the way smooth. Then came the creaking
wagons, well laden with household plunder, and
containing portions of the family. From beneath
the up-lifted linen covers, black eyes and blue
eyes and grey eyes, set in heads red, raven and
flaxen colored, peep forth. A low puling wail,
such as denotes new life-life which knows but
few yesterdays and may not have many to-morrows —is heard issuing from within; while a
negro nurse, in the soothing language of babydom, quiets the young heir to adventure. Near
by comes a gaunt, showily ribbed horse, upon
which a colored woman sits. She rides with a
jaunty air, as the poor animal lifts its weary
feet, staring from her great white eyes upon
every new object on the road-side, and grinning,
with her ivory-filled mouth, at the antics of her
boys-for she is the mother of that numerous progeny which acts as a body-guard to the stock.




ON BRADDOCK'S ROAD.         87
You may observe the leader of the expedition
bringing up the rear, though this seems a contradiction in terms. He bestrides a tall, muscular, but not graceful specimen of the equine race.
He is primitive looking. Uncouth in appearance, but strong in purpose and mighty in deed.
From his black eye there beams the uncontrollable will which has borne him successfully
through many a perilous undertaking. Upon
his sun-embrowned features there reposes a calm
expression of confidence. In those iron sinews
lieth the strength which lays broad the foundations and rears high the superstructure of empires. That rugged hand is alike capacitated to
fell the forest and nurture the rose. It will be
strong to smite the savage, and gentle to smooth
the brow of pain.
To Fort Cumberland the road was wide and
smooth, and each night they found a house where
food and rest could be had. But after leaving
that sentinel outpost, the way was full of perplexities-narrow, rugged and disheartening. It
was the same wilderness path that the army
under Braddock had travelled in the disastrous
campaign of 1754, and there were hourly evidences in the blazed trees and the rotting stumps,




38          ON BRADDOCK'S ROAD.
and the relics of encampments, and theeruins' of
bridges, of this route having been the line of
march for military squadrons.
How different the purpose of these half hundred souls who now struggled through morasses,
up acclivities, across swollen streams, beside
beetling crags, on the verge of dizzy precipices!
Their destiny is one of peace-to conquer nature
with the arms and arts of husbandry-to soften
the wild features of the wide West-to plant
flowers and reap harvests, and create home and
happiness. No bugle blast heralded their approach-no measured tread gave notice of their
march. There were no banners waving-no
swords gleaming-none of the pomp and circumstance of glorious war. It was the tramp,
tramp, steady and slow, but sure, of the advancing hosts of Civilization and Christianity.




VII.
THE ALLEGHANIES.
TO-NIGHT the guide promises the weary
travellers they shall climb the last mountain range, and on the morrow see outstretched
before them the great valley of the West.
Just at twilight the train halts, and in a
sheltered nook where they will be protected
from the rude mountain winds the adventurers
fix their camp-ground.  Near by sparkles a
silver stream, the voice of which, musical and
low, sings a gentle lullaby as it eddies about the
aged roots of the huge monarchs of the forest,
which here rear their crests skyward. Through
the green arches broken gleams of moonlight
fall upon the gathering groups. Green arches
we say, for though it is the latter week in March,
and there is snow upon the exposed cliffs, and a
nipping frostiness in the air, still these larch and
laurel, with their voice of thunder when the gale
89




40           THE ALLEGHANIES.
and the storm sweeps through them. are perennial in their greenness. Here, miles of toil and
travel from the dull, monotonous plain-above
even the clouds-next to heaven itself, they are
clad ever and ever, through summer and winter,
in their glad, green robes.
But hear the echoing horn. It calls the stragglers to supper. What a scene of brightness is
presented! In the centre is the fire, shooting its
tongues of flame high and wide, until all the
woodland aisles start out distinct and warm.
And there is a savory odor abroad on the fresh
air. The wandering Soyers have already served
a feast. Nothing dainty; nothing to cloy the
appetite.  Strong food for the muscles and
sinews. Hot drinks to dispel the cold.
Hunger appeased, they cluster in groups
around the fire. Of the day's adventures, of
the morrow and what it will bring forth, and of
the days yet to pass before they reach the long
sought goal, they converse. Presently the children fall asleep, and soon the ground is covered
with blankets, in which the hardy men and
women wrap themselves to dream out the
night:
Sub Jove frigido.




THE ALLEGHANIES.            41'
Now nothing is to be heard but the quiet step
of the sentry, the loud hoarse breathing of some
sleeper, and the snapping, crackling sound of the
fire which throws its ruddy glare upon the
strange and picturesque scene.
The good angel of Krummacher's parable,
Z)er freunbfid)e (ngee be~a cdlumnterw, has mantled
all those people in the folds of forgetfulness.
They are oblivious to present toil and care and
danger. To their closed eyes is vouchsafed a
power of vision more wonderful than clairvoyant ever boasted. They see the whole range of
past years; they enjoy the pleasures of youth;
they roam the fields of childhood; they fish,
they bathe, they are blithe boys again. They
see their mothers smiling fondly on them; they
catch the proud glance of their father, at their
first manifestation of manly strength or manly
tact.
And the power of the seer is granted them.
They obtain glimpses of the future —they see
glory and fortune shining afar off, and hear the
siren voice of the tempter begging them to haste
and seize the golden gifts.
Oh blessed sleep and blessed dreams I
Yonder rests Mary:




42'             THE ALLEGHANIES.
Her dewy eyes are closed,
And on their lids, whose texture fine
Scarce hides the dark blue orbs beneath,
The baby sleep is pillowed:
Her golden tresses shade
The bosom's stainless pride,
Curling like tendrils of the parasite
Around a marble column.
She starts. The fall of a dead leaf has half
waked her, and she stares about, fancying strange
terrors in the forest glooms which the fitful firelight illumes. This is but for a moment. Slumber comes again, and when the noise and bustle
of the camp at grey dawn disturbs her, she is disenchanted from  the fairy-land where for hours
she has been roaming.
Breakfast is dispatched. Horses are geared and
saddled. Again the band moves on, and after a
few minutes they have surmounted the ridge
which, for so many days, has stalked before them
a seemingly impassable barrier. Before them is
now spread a scene calculated at once to captivate, dazzle and awe the mind of the beholder.
Sunrise upon the Alleghanies —a sight once beheld, it is never forgotten-is granted them.
They are in some measure a rude, uncouth and
unlettered party; but the God of Nature has




THE ALLEGHANIES.           43
implanted in them a love of the grand and the
beautiful, which is more true and appreciative
than that cultivated dilettantism which is affected by the modern habitues of perfumed
palaces.
The stars have already faded and vanished before the advancing light. The east is purple.
Now the herald beams of the imperial sun
blaze upward. The far summits are touched
with the glow as if it were Heaven's own fire.
The breezes, that have loitered through the
night in fairy caves, awake, and lift the mists
that hang over the deep valleys. From a hundred altars, on mountain slopes and in the wild,
dark tarns, there arise wreaths of blue vapor, the
incense of nature's votaries. How the world
now stands revealed! What a succession of hill
and vale and plain! Woods on all sides, save
yonder, where in a narrow gorge you can see
the sinuous course of the far river-see its
meandering way only. Not the flashing stream
— not the limpid water-not the clear, swift
current-not the gentle flow-none of these,
but where these all are. And over all this
scene there reigns a silence as profound as that
of original chaos. It is only when they re



44           THE ALLEGHANIJFS.
lease their eyes from the soul-subduing vision,
that they perceive down, far down in the
gloomy recesses of the deep valley, the flash of
a waterfall, and hear its tinkling melody. And
from this they are recalled by the loud flap of
wings above them, and see an eagle in its circling
flight hover one moment far aloft, and then
balance his sharp talons and unsteady wing upon
a bare crag, screaming with his fierce voice until
the blue empyrean echoes his notes of war and
conquest.




VIII.
FACIIS DESCENSUS.
T was all down-hill now. Even the fagged
L  horses and the weary cattle comprehended
the change, and cantered along at a merry pace.
Leaving the higher regions of ice and snow, the
climate changed, and warm puffs of air came up
the valleys-pleasant welcomings to the west of
the Alleghanies.
Mary, wearied with almost incessant riding,
and anxious to relieve her mind from its painful
thoughts, gathered half a dozen of the merriest
and maddest of the children for a romp along
the road, which was now a soft, green sward.
And there were flowers, too-the children of the
forest-just awaking from their long sleep, and
peeping forth from their leafy beds with the mild
and beautiful eyes of gentle innocence, loveliness and truth. The fair girl did not long parti



46           FACILIS DESCENSUS.
cipate in the jollities of her young friends,
although she herself had proposed them. She
soon discovered a harmony between the aspects
of nature and her own feelings. She felt as if
the clouds and gloom that, since leaving Fauquier, had wrapped her soul in impenetrable
melancholy, were about being dissolved. She
could feel new and fresh blood coursing through
her veins. She could feel a suffusion of pleasure
upon her cheek.  She knew. from her elastic
step and her leapirig pulses and the proud arch
of her neck, and the glad, hot tears that would
come to her eyes, that she was a new being,
with new hopes and new duties. Not that she
forgot the gallant and handsome young lover
over the mountains; not that she joyed in the
prospect of freeing herself from the bondage of
love; not that she imagined to herself new conquests she might make, other hearts she might
entrap, other proud youth she might lead a wildering dance through the mazes of courtship. Oh
no! The fetters which bound her heart were silken, of the softest texture, and yet of the strongest woof. Her heart bounded and made music
in itself, because it was relieved of a weighty
load of apprehension. The fear that she could




FACILIS DESCENSUS.         47
not triumph over her own grief-the fear that
she might give way to despair —that her heart
might become an aching void, loving not-that
her cheeks might fade and her eye dim and her
form droop, and that thus, at the appointed time,
she could present her betrothed with but the
shadow of herself-all this fear and apprehension
was gone; dissipated by the breath of the first
spring morning in the West.
She loitered by the way. She plucked s:lowdrops and violets, and arranging them with that
native taste for the beautiful which most women
possess, she placed the artless bunch of flowers in
her bosom, and sang a wild joyous carol, which
went floating through the tangled passages of the
lone woods, and woke the long disused pipes of a
listening mocking-bird, who answered the young
girl's strain with a multitudinous melody, like a
rain of glossy music under echoing trees.
In an instant her voice is choked-she is
blinded. She sinks in unutterable despair. Lost,
lost. It may be forever from home and friends,
but not from Heaven and God.




IX.
LOST.
"IT'S a' weel. But she was a bonnie lassie.
Providence works in a mysterious way.
I've thought all along she would have suited me
precisely, when we reached the settlements. But
I've no right to complain. Ken I not how the
fairest, comeliest of Greenock lassies was sunk in
the treacherous quicksands; and wadna' she gi'
me a buss whene'er I listed. Ah, laddies, shall
I tell you the sad story?"
"Not now, Campbell. The old folks might
hear you, and it would be painful to them."
There was a general movement to escape from
the vicinage of the wordy and windy Scotchman,
whose stories were invariably long drawn out,
but rarely composed of linked sweetness.
The children had soon wearied of their sports,
and hastened forward to overtake the train,
48




LOST.                49
which was more than a mile in advance. They
reported Miss Mary as coming on, but as she did
not overtake them in a few minutes they halted,
so that she might the more speedily come up.
But they delayed in vain. At last a party went
back in quest of the young lady, for Mrs. Hardy
was naturally becoming apprehensive of her welfare. They proceeded on the route recently traversed, eagerly straining their eyes to catch some
glimpses of the winsome form of the braw lassie;
but they were unable to pierce the gloom which
enveloped her fate. They shouted her name,
but received in response only the sad echo of
that sweetest of woman's titles. From glen and
mountain-top-from crag and cliff-from rock
and stream-" Mary" floated back to them on
the wandering winds-a maddening, mocking
echo.
Suddenly one of the men peers over a steep,
shelving bank, and there, far below, beyond the
power of human arm to reach or human foot to
venture, he descries some articles of female apparel. Dobson at once recognizes the blue hood
and the light grey mantle which Mary had worn.
Then the terrible truth flashes on them all.
She has incautiously stepped on an insecure
3




50                 LOST.
stone, and been hurled to swift destruction in
the dismal and unfathomable abyss. And there,
to confirm all of their horrid surmises, was the evidence of the earth having given way. What anguish then filled that bold man's heart. How his
knees knocked together. How his face blanched.
How he trembled and quivered as if smitten
with sudden ague. He uttered no word of grief.
His heart only beat with the violence of emotions
that needed no voice. It clamored with beatings and throbbings and knockings, as if it would
burst from its fleshly thrall, and leap out from
its prison walls.
To. break the intelligence td his wife taxed
Dobson's strength. He could only utter those
bitter words: "Lost, lost," and then gasp for
breath, and burst out in great sobs. It was after
a long continued effort that he succeeded in telling the whole story to the good woman-who listened to the melancholy tidings with downcast
eyes, from which the tears ran in floods-all the
while nervously twitching her dress, and constantly ejaculating an humble petition for mercy.
When all had been told her, she cleared her
voice, dashed her hand across her eyes, and
said:




LOST.                51
"God has kindly taken her home, where her
mother is. It is right. She, too, might have
been a sufferer from man's cruelty. God doeth
all things well."
This revelation of the fact, that Mary was not
the child of the Hardys, struck all those gathered about the camp-fire with great surprise.
Her name, her' tenderness and affectionate obedience-their unvarying kindness-a hundred
little things had made all believe that the relationship between these persons was of the dearest
and nearest and fondest character. Indeed, the
bright girl sixteen years old, as she was, knew
no better. She had always been accustomed to
calling those good people father and mother.
They were to her all that holy tie imports, and
she had been living in blessed ignorance of her
own parentage, so had all the world —these two
people and the real parents alone excepted-until this sudden shock rent the veil which had
hitherto enveloped her birth and ancestry.




X.
REDSTONE.
T  HIS terrible calamity cast a gloom over
the entire company of emigrants, which the
nearness of the end of their land journey, and
the increasing beauty of the weather, could not
remove. From their inner circle the bright
particular star had been torn, and there were
none but felt the loss as of a personal character.
To all, Mary had endeared herself, by the remarkable amiability and sweetness of her disposition. She had a kind word and a bright smile
for every one-the old and the young-master
and slave. Did a baby cry, she would gladly
relieve its care-worn mother. Did a little urchin
fall or stub his toe, she would bind up the
bruises and kiss away the tears. At night and
on the Sabbath, she would read aloud from the
Book of books to the admiring and wondering




REDSTONE.              53
negroes, who would pronounce her readings as
good as any "sermont;" and, indeed, it was a
genuine pleasure to listen to the clear, delicious,
and critically correct voice of the " young
missus."  Good reason, then, for mourning.
They all knew that amid the trials of their new
home, they would miss her cunning genius and
her helping hand.
But our business is not that of eulogist, admirable as is the character under contemplation.
Late in the evening of the twelfth day after
leaving Fort Cumberland, the guide, who was
jogging along in advance, turned in his saddleseat and cried: "The River!"  In an instant
the party was thrown into the utmost tumult.
Never was cry heard and repeated with more
enthusiasm, —not even when the van of the Ten
Thousand Greeks, under Xenophon, first caughtl
a glimpse of the blue ~gean, and shoated,,acl 0aaua, Oa,,aaaa," nor when IBalboa lohked
out upon the Pacific's world of waters and
claimed them for his sovereign.
All were eager to see the stream of which they
had heard so much, and upon whose smooth current they were to float hundreds of miles.
With questioning eyes they followed the direc



54               REDSTONE.
tion the guide pointed, and through the thick
trees saw a flash of water. Yes, there ran the
Monongahela —narrow, deep, and swollen by
the spring rains and the snow melting in the
mountains. It was not very attractive in appearance just then, but they hailed it with every
manifestation of delight. The road from the
hill-top to the river bottom was winding and
dangerous, so that they had to pick their
way with care, and it was quite dark when they
entered the aspiring village of Redstone-then
the chief point of embarkation for western
travellers.
And there, snugly ensconced about their last
camp-fire, eating grilled venison and drinking
mulled cider,-talking, and laughing, and singing, and whistling, using tongues, and arms, and
teeth, and legs, —the half-sad, half-joyous company fought their battles over again, recounting
their various haps and mishaps; but omitting
any mention of the day when the terrible catastrophe occurred which so smote all hearts, and
the ineffaceable remembrance of which causes
yonder man and wife to sit apart, communing
with their own voiceless woe.




XI.
AN  ARK.
IHEJEW, hew! It's nuzzing but hew all ze
LI-  day long. Rip, you minds me of ze
Latin play-ze Thyestes of Ovid, vare all ze sad
exclamations commence' heu, heu!'"
"May I presume to correct your authority,
sir? It was not Ovid who wrote that masterly
tragedy, which, in the opinion of the great critic
Quintilian, might bear comparison with the most
perfect performance of the Greeks. Sir, it was
Varius, a contemporary and friend of Virgil and
Horace, who was an heir of the former, and appointed by Augustus to the task of revising the
nEeid.  But they do not read his pure Latin
in these degenerate days. Hence, sir, doubtless
your ignorance of his name."
This somewhat pompously pedantic speech
55




56                AN ARKx.
fell from the lips of Campbell, he having accidentally heard the remark which a volatile little
Frenchman had addressed to a stalwart fellow
who was hewing with his broad-axe, might and
main, at a sweep-pole.' Thank you, sare. May I have ze deep zatisfaction to know what scholar from ze University
Imeets here in ze wild wood? It is one long
time since I hear a voice speak of ze Greek
and ze Latin.  Bon ami, give us your fist, as
zey say out here."
"Oh, fiddle-sticks!" roars out the tall, rawboned Rip, laying aside his bright keen axe.
" Pooh, pooh! Little Frenchy, bear a hand here
and stop your chaffing. We've got to stir our
stumps; for if we don't, there'll be a fuss kicked
up. Now, put your shoulder to the wheel and
tug away at this oar. Let's make hay while the
sun shines, and don't suffer the grass to grow
under our feet. We're the boys to be up and
stirring,-busy as bees, or a hen with one
chicken."
While this sententious exhortation was being
rolled out, the two were heaving away at the
broad sweep, which was designed as part of the
tadkle of an ark lying in the river near them.




An AR.                   57
An Ark   First of marine craft. The safe
bearer of Noah upon the wide world of waters.
Hallowed by sacred recollections, and endeared
by its agency in promoting the growth of the
West. As from Adam all men came, so from
the Ark has descended the long list of shipping
from all ages and all countries-the fleets,
navies, flotillas squadrons, and armadas-the
line-of-battle-ship, the frigate, the sloop-of-war,
the fire-ship, the transport, the bomb-vessel, the
store-ship, and the tender. Yea, all the brigs,
barks, brigantines, schooners, cutters, corvettes,
clippers, skiffs, yawls, smacks, luggers, barges,
lighters, steamers, steamboats, and steam-tugs.
The whalers, coasters, slavers, colliers, long-boats,
yachts, pinnaces, launches, shallops, jolly-boats,
wherries, cock-boats, fishing-boats, life-boats,
gondolas, feluccas, canoes, floats, rafts, galleys,
galleons, galliots, and Chinese junks!
Truly, a very considerable array of descendants.
The morning after the arrival of our emigrants, they immediately commenced making
arrangements for the river voyage. At least half
a dozen arks would be required for the comfortaable transportation of the familes, "plunder,"
3*




58                AN ARE.
and stock, and this number was speedily secured,
for the tide of spring emigration had not yet
set in, and the boat-builders had still on hand
the fruits of their winter labors. It was also
necessary to secure competent pilots; and hearing that the Indians were troublesome along the
banks, the pioneers determined not to separate,
but to combine their strength, so that the
savages would be overawed by their formidable numbers.
Dobson Hardy was in search of a man to navi
gate his boat, when he luckily fell in with Rip,
who has already been introduced. Rip had
been engaged for several years in piloting boats
from Redstone to timestone, and even, on one
trip, had gone as far as the mouth of the Bear
Grass. He was the very man for the place, if
his own statements were received as true.
According to his account, he was "a regular
rip snorter, a perfect fire-ball, battery, and
siege-train; more frightensome to the Injuns
than a Congreve rocket "-adding, by way of precaution, that he knew how to steer clear and
fight shy of the bloody-minded rapscallions, and
as for his prudence, you couldn't catch that
weasel asleep-he always kept a sharp look-out,




AN ARK.               59
and had his eyes about him while he picked his
own steps.
There was a heartiness of tone and manner
about the bluff fellow which pleased Hardy,
and he secured his services, employing as an assistant the little Frenchman, between whom and
Rip there ad grown up the past winter a friendship as strong as it was unaccountable. Indeed,
the boatman averred that his new-made friend
was as giddy as a goose and mad as a March
hare, talking like one possessed, and acting as if
there were rats in his upper story.




XII.
AFLOAT.
IT was now Spring in reality. Well apparelled
April had a week before made her appearance with fresh garb and elastic step and genial
smile. Tripping over the lea, she had left flowers
by banks and braes; had spread an emerald
sheen over the brown, bare earth; had invoked
the songs of birds; had aroused the lethargic
frog to his croaking life; had tinged the sky with
a deeper blue; had perfumed the air, crowned
the woods, and made nature wear again her gala
attire.
The river bore upon its cool, glassy, translucent wave, the flotilla of arks. Foremost of
all was the boat of Hardy, with the redoubtable Rip at the helm. Following in close proximity were the other five; the decks of all lumnbered with movables, while from  the narrow
60




AFLOT.               61
windows at the sides there peered the visage of
some astonished cow or startled horse.  On
board there was but a narrow division line between the possessions of quadrupeds and bipeds.
The former occupied the bow, and the latter the
stern, where a small cabin was arranged. Here,
whites and blacks, children and man and wife
were all huddled at night. Here they slept and
cooked and ate. After sunset the occupants of
the various boats would exchange visits, and
seated upon the deck would listen to wild stories
of western life —in narrating which the pilots were
adepts-or join in a merry Virginia reel, keeping
time to the music of the fiddle and banjo.
Thus the days and nights glided by; their
flight scarcely heeded by the voyagers, who had
resigned themselves to the gentle current, and
were content that it should bear them along on
its own placid bosom, according to its own sweet
will.
At Fort Pitt the Alleghany and Monongahela
rivers unite, forming the Ohio. The day that
the arks floated into the widened stream the
wind freshened up from the south, and the
water was agitated in miniature waves. The
boats were tossed about by the restless water,




62                AFLOAT.
and not a few were alarmed by what they considered a new danger of the pioneer journey. Rip
speedily quieted those over whom he watched.
In his own forcible style he assured Dobson that
there was no use growin' pale or feelin' streaked
-that this was a way, in the spring-time, the
Ohio had of foaming and bubbling and frothing
and effervescing; " sometimes the swells upsets
an Injun's dug-out, but even that's rare."
Satisfied with this luminous explanation, Mir.
Hardy seated  himself upon the deck, and
watched the yeasty waves as they dashed
against the sides of the ark. In whatever direction he turned his eye, he noticed the whole expanse of the river covered with white caps.
Wave succeeded wave, each lashed to lather,
and flinging the spray about in life-like frolicsomeness. It was a beautiful, as well as novel
sight.
While Dobson was thus engaged in watching
the stream, the little Frenchman approached
him, and attracted his notice by remarks concerning the name of the river, its derivation,
meaning, and the relevancy of its present aspect
to the title of Ohio.
The listener became interested in the facts or




AFLOAT.                63
speculations of the Frenchman, and suggested to
him that it would be well to relate his theory
some evening when there were several assembled.
It would be a pleasant relief to the horrid stories
of Indian butchery.
With the set of the sun the wind lulled, and
the river resumed its placid and peaceful flow.
At the usual social gathering Dobson called for
the statement of the Frenchman, which we give,
in the next chapter, divested of its broken English and native patois.
It may be as well to remark here that long
afterward others, and chief among them Peter
S. Duponcean and John HIeckewelder, maintained the views of our antiquarian.




XIII.
HOW THE RIVER OHIO OBTAINED ITS NAME.
THE idea prevailed for some time that the
word Ohio was derived from the Iroquois
language, the Indians of that tribe calling it the
fine and beautiful, and, sometimes, the bloody
river. But in the vocabularies of that language
there are no words corresponding with these
terms. The better hypothesis is, that Ohio is derived from the Delawares, and signifies white,
or the white foaming river. Ohio, however, is
not the whole Indian name. It has evidently
been considerably abbreviated by the French
and English, who, as is their custom, always
drop a portion of every aboriginal word, in order
to render the pronunciation easy.
Among the words which have gone to form
the name of the river are the following, from the
Delaware:
64




HOW'THE RIVER OHIO OBTAINED ITS NAME. 65
O'hu-i-oohi, very.
O'peu, white.
Opelec/heu, bright, shining.
Opeek, white with froth.
Ohio-pecheu, it is of a white color.
Ohio-peek, very white, caused by froth or white
caps.
Ohio-phaune, very white stream.
Ohio-peek-iaclune, very deep and white stream,
by its being covered over with white caps.
Ohio-peh-hele, white frothy water.
As you have observed, this river being in
many places wide and deep, and so gentle that
there is scarcely any perceptible current, the
least wind blowing up-stream covers the surface
with white caps, rendering the navigation in
canoes difficult and dangerous. HIence the Indians, when the river was covered with these
white foaming swells, would say: "Juh Ohiopecheu," and when it was very deep: " Kitchi
Ohio-peek-haune " —verily, this is a deep, white
river.
IHow the word Ohio came to be so universally
used in designating the river is easily inferred.
The early emigrants very naturally took the first
syllable of the Indian name " Ohio-peek-haune,"




66  HOW THE RIVER OHIO OBTAINED ITS NAME.
since it could be pronounced without difficulty,
and readily retained in the memory.
From this theory, which may be received or
rejected at the option of the reader, the Frenchman elaborated an hour's discourse full of learning, which would be more appropriate in the transactions of the American Antiquarian Society,
than here among pages designed to relieve the
tedium of idle hours.




XIV.
A DECOY.
N this apparently careless manner the arks
floated down the stream, but as they approached the mouth of the Kanawha the vigilance of the pilot, which had not been even for
a moment relaxed, was doubled. They were
now entering into a dangerous region.  The
river scenery had increased in beauty. The hills
were greener —the level bottoms clad in ranker
and riper vegetation-the beach on either shore
was pebbly and smooth, and the white and particolored sand glistened in* the sunlight. It did
not seem possible that scenes so fair as these
through which they passed could be marred by
demoniac passions of men. There was that in the
calm, quiet and unbroken repose of nature
which seemed to forbid aught but the exercise of
the gentler attributes of humanity. Yet the life6r




68               A DECOY.
blood of hundreds had crimsoned this crystal
stream. These forests had echoed the savage
yell of fury, and the listening oaks had shuddered at the cry of helpless agony from the
lips of tortured pale-faces. The sky, now so
bright, had been darkened with the clouds from
the burning stake where prisoners were offered
up as holocausts to the fiend spirit, and the very
air had been heavy with sighs and sobs and
execrations.
Fortunately the river was high and no danger
was to be apprehended from shoals, sand-bars or
sawyers. These obstructions to navigation were
hidden from sight, and there was no difficulty in
ascertaining the proper channel, for it embraced
the whole stream.
The night scenes on board had been materially
changed. Now the utmost silence was enjoined.
Not one word was to be whispered, except from
necessity, and then with bated breath. They
knew not at what point a band of Indians might
be lurking, and their aim was to steal quietly by
under the protecting shade of darkness, without
attracting notice and attack. Each evening the
sweeps were unshipped, and the muffled steeringpole was alone used. This was done to increase




A DECOY.               69
the stillness. Besides, these rude boatmen understood a law of physics which rendered them the
more willing to rest on their oars after sunset.
This law is, that a boat will float faster at night
than in the day-in fact will float alone and
unaided at night as fast as by the aid of both
oars and current in the day-time. The same
principle enables a miller to grind more in
an equal period between sunset and sunrise
than sunrise and sunset, and a saw-mill to cut a
greater amount of lumber by night than by day
-water-mills, of course.
The whys and wherefores of these facts we do
not care to explain, philosophy not being our
forte. However, they can be accounted for very
reasonably on the ground of the increased specific gravity of water at night; as well as ascribed
to the vapors which being held in suspension in
the upper regions of the air by day, descend at
night and by their weight and density increase
the momentum of the water.
They had proceeded thus cautiously for some
time without discovering any Indian signs, and
Rip, though no coward and rather fond of a
scrimmage, was congratulating himself on havescaped an attack.  But just then his com



To               A DECOY.
placency of manner was considerably disturbed.
The sharp crack of a rifle awoke the echoes, and
repeating itself through the neighboring hills,
there seemed to have been a volley fired. His boat
still maintained the lead. Turning to observe the
cause of this unusual occurrence, he saw instantly,
as he remarked," a storm was brewing, and the
devil was to pay." Just at the bend in the rear
was the last boat floating leisurely along, no man
at the helm and none at the sweeps. The people were crowded at one side, eagerly gazing
toward the shore, and thither the hawk-eyed Rip
directed his observation. A skiff was just striking the bank, from which two men leaped. The
first was our Scottish friend Campbell, with his
long rifle, and the other the pilot of the laggard
boat. Their feet had scarcely made an impression on the yielding sand before bang, bang
went other rifles-wreaths of light-blue smoke
discovering the ambuscade of a party of Indians.
Palsied by the attack from unseen foes, the two
men stood immovable, their rifles raised to their
shoulders and pointed at the thin and unsubstantial air.  While standing thus statue-like
they were grasped from behind, and their arms
would have been pinioned had not Campbell




A DECOY.               71
turned upon his heel with such swiftness and
force that the outstretched barrel of his gun felled
one of the Indians. It was but the work of a
second to discharge its contents at the other,
who fell prostrate, his skull pierced by a bullet.
The red-skin who lay senseless on the sand from
the effects of the blow, was then dispatched. So
much that was unexpected being thus accomplished in so short a time, the two men wisely thought
that discretion would be the better part of valor,
pushed their skiff from the beach and were soon
skimming the water.
This conflict had been observed with emotions
of alarm and apprehension from all the boats,
and they were now moored close together, in
order to act more securely and compactly on the
defensive, should there be a further attack, which
seemed altogether probable.
The raw-boned Scot, who had just tasted his
first blood, and was yet tremulous with the
effects of the sharp contest, was lifted on board
Rip's boat. That worthy, who by common consent was acknowledged admiral of the fleet, received him very heartily, if somewhat brusquely.'" Well done, you long-armed, awkward gaited
loon! them's the licks to put in when you'd save




72               A DECOY.
your own scalp-knot. But whar's the Injuns'
scalps? Bless me if the fellers warn't in too
-big a hurry to take the head-dress of the
screamin' red savages. Why that battle warn't
half won."
"Yea, sir," answered Campbell, who had
somewhat regained his composure, and whose
face, so flushed and heated and passionate from
the emotions of the conflict, was rapidly resuming its wonted aspect of grave stolidity. " Yea,
but I needs be in a hurry. How did I know but
that the woods might be full of savages? Moreover, it was only necessity that made me slay the
two Indians. I had no desire to mangle them
afterward."
"Too tender and chicken-hearted was you.
Well, I never seed the time when I wouldn't
have butchered and mommicked and slaughtered
the cantainkerouis devils. Why, man, with them
two scalps dangling at your belt you might have
made your fortin among the gals when you go a
galivantin' about the station whar you intend
squattin'. Nothin' like glory for the feminines.
They hitch right off to a feller who has smelt
powder. But what on airth did you go ashore
fur?  Now you've raised the whole country,




A DECOY.              73
and sich a caterwaulin' as we'll have'fore midnight!"
" WVell, sir, since you demand what we went
ashore for, let me say that we were prompted by
the highest and loftiest dictates of benevolence.
We went, sir, to render assistance to a poor
woman of our own Caucasian complexion, who
was piteously beckoning for assistance, and who
was about being attacked by a huge and rampant
wild beast."
This statement of the Caledonian Campbell
was received by Rip with a loud laugh.
"Fooled, by hoky!-And you," turning to the
pilot who had been a partner in the excursion,
"had you no more gumption. Oh, you beetleheaded, beef-witted spoonies! you blunderheaded, clod-pated, dull-brained, dim-sighted
jabber-nowls! You are regular ninny-hammers!
I reckon you won't go on sich a wild goose chase
soon again."
Campbell listened patiently to these objurgations of Rip, uncertain how to regard his extravaganzas of diction; while Jake, the pilot,
slunk away in the crowd, heartily ashamed of
having been caught napping.
"What become of your woman and the bar 
4




74               A DECOY.
Hain't you got sense enough to see it was a
reg'lar trick?  The cunnin' devils jest set her
thar to make pretence, and then one of the rascals throwed a bar skin over him to make believe he was after the woman. But they can't
ketch this here Rip Snorter with any sich contrivances. I'm up to snuff, wide awake and full
of fleas. But you're a sojer, Scotch friend, and
kin shoot. We're likely to' have warm work
afore long, and you must be ready to draw a
bead on'em to some'vantage. Now let's all to
our own crafts. Put the wimmen and children
and nigs belows decks; let one man tend the
steerin' oar; pile up the plunder, so there'll be a
kind of barricade, and then lay low and keep
dark. But see, yonder's that witch which liked
to prove the death of Jake and Campbell. Shall
I give her a taste of my dare-all? It's a long
while since the old dog has barked at anything
human."
Some one interposed an objection, and the
boatman replied;
"Well. I reckon it wouldn't do to shoot a
woman, even if she does lay traps and snares.
That's her nature. They are always trying te
fool us'chaps, somehow."




A DECOY.               75
Sure enough, there, more than a mile from the
scene of the recent encounter, stood a lone female figure. She waved her hands and arms
with frantic gesticulations, but no words escaped
her lips. Occasionally she would glance about
her as if fearful of discovery, and then renew her
silent appeals for succor. The voyagers were
too wary now to be decoyed by this semblance
of destitution and desertion, and heedless of the
exciting pantomime on the bank, proceeded on
the noiseless tenor of their way.
Presently a splash in the water strikes their
sharp ears, and looking shoreward they see Me
woman struggling in the stream. She strifes
out boldly toward the boats, her black, dishevelled hair floating behind her, and her gaunt,
woe-begone face, just above the surface of the
water, looks as if misery and despair had been
stamped on every feature. While she is thus energetically battling with the tide; a party of
Indians appear on the bank, and levelling their
guns, ball after ball strikes the water near where
the poor woman is buffeting the waves. One
bullet cuts a tress of her hair, and soon after
a jet of dark blood spurts up on the green
water.




76               A DECOY.
This was too much for Campbell to witness
unmoved. Forgetting the danger he had so recently escaped, and caring now for no one to
share his adventures, he again leaps into the little skiff, and rows to the assistance of the distressed woman. His aid was timely, for exhausted
by her struggles, she was about sinking, when
the daring Scot snatched her from a yawning
grave. He did not perform this rescue without
jeopardy. The savages, safe behind the trees,
no sooner saw his efforts than they blazed away
at him. It fairly rained bullets, but none struck
them; although the leaden messengers sung and
whistled about their ears fiercely and furiously.
The skiff was not so fortunate. Its sides were
soon perfectly riddled, and in a few mnoments
Campbell found it rapidly filling with water.
Thus he was again placed in an awkward predicament; but unused as he was to such emergencies, he did not give up. There was a fertility
of expediency about him which is common to
people of sluggish impulses, and which rarely, if
ever, fails of proving effective in the hour of the
utmost need.  Placing his rifle between his
teeth, and clasping the fainting woman with his
left arm, he struck out with the right, and had




A DECOY.               77
reached his boat before his astonished comrades
could go to his assistance.
Safe on board, although most'thoroughly
drenched, and nearly fagged out by his exertions,
Campbell would not leave his prot6gde whom he
had so valiantly rescued. He even denied the
females the privilege of assisting in the work of
restoring her to consciousness. With a tenderness of manner that seemed misplaced in one so
rude and outre in general deportment, the Scot
chafed her limbs and smoothed her shining hair,
and applied a drop of pure brandy to her tongue,
and pressed his face close beside hers, but not to
kiss those pallid lips. Only to see if the slight-'
est breath of life escaped. His exertions were at
last crowned with success.  The eyes opened
wildly-the breast heaved as if it would throw
off the accumulation of years of sorrow, and then
subsided into a calm and regular swell, as if
peace was once more enthroned there. She was
yet too much enfeebled to speak. Pointing to
her bare shoulder, she gave Campbell a look of
ineffable gratitude-a thank offering from the
heart for his attention —and then relapsed into a
state of semi-consciousness.
By this time Rip, whose curiosity had been




78              A DECOY.
highly excited by the incident just narrated, and
who had awaited patiently on his boat to have a
report presented, as he presumed would be done,
in deference to his seniority, jumped into his
skiff and paddled over to investigate what he regarded " a very queer proceedin'."
He found Campbell kneeling beside the
woman, busily engaged in bandaging the wound,
over which he had spread a poultice of " sweet
yarbs," speedily prepared by one of the female
voyagers. Having finished his work, he turned
to see who had stepped so heavily; and was
greeted by Rip, who shook his hand cordially,
and praised him as a bold fellow, though he
would run needless risks.
"But, as for my part," continued Rip, " I'm in
favor of a headlong, dare-devil man like you, who
goes post-haste, head foremost on a forlorn hope.
It's a kind of temptin' Providence that I think
Providence don't much object to."
Campbell, who was as modest as he had just
discovered himself to be intrepid, begged his
friend to withhold any applause. "I only desired the commendation of my own conscience,
and that I have," said he, with an eloquent gesture toward his heart.




A DECOY.              79
"Well, Scotchy," replied Rip, "I'll hold up;
but I knowed praise wouldn't spile you, nor
make you give yourself airs. You ain't of the
sort that are so easily perked up."
The two then engaged in conversation, Campbell all the while watching with tender solicitude the deep, untroubled breathing of the fragile waif cast into his arms by the river. With
a smile that shed a halo about her dark face, she
slowly opened her eyes, and seeing that she was
safe among friends, only ejaculated, "Thank
God!" It was several minutes before she spoke
again, and then, not until she had cast a penetrating, searching glance toward the thickly
wooded shore.
"They intend attacking you to-night. There
are two hundred warriors painted and dressed for
the war-dance, and they want scalps. Not far
below this, upon a point of land that projects far
out into the river, and where the trees from
either side almost lap and form an arch, they
have made their camp. There the women are
cooking the feast, and they only wait your coming to revel in your blood, and whet their appetites with murder and violence before they sit
down to the banquet.  Men, you must save




80               A DECOY.
yourselves, as you can, if you are all heroes like
this good man who snatched me from death.
But you must be cool and calm, and keep well
together."
" That, good woman, is what I've been tryin'
to cram into'em, and I think we'll make a purty
good fight, be they two hundred or two thousand
of the whoopin', screechin', murderin', rapin red
devils."
Night had now fully descended.  The river
gleamed with the reflection of myriads of stars.
Only the low, sullen plash of the water against
the gunwales of the boats, was to be heard. A
degree of silence that could almost be felt, hol ered about the little company.  From  the
shores came no sound; not even the cheerful
chirp of a cricket; not the hoarse croak of a
frog; not the voice of the katy-did; not even
the musical murmur of the leafy trees.
Through the awful gloom and solemn hush of
the night-with almost certain death before
them, and no refuge behind, toward which they
could turn-between forests peopled with deadly
foes, and over the glassy bosom of the river
whose treacherous embrace would stifle all hope
and life, the voyagers floated on. But the cold




A DECOY.               81
iron of despair had not yet entered their souls,
The diamond stars and the cloudless sky, so clear
and purely beautiful, assured them " That God
alone was to be seen in Heaven."




Xv.
THE BATTLE NIGHT.
A S they had been forewarned by the strange
woman, the monotony of this hushed and
death-Elke silence was soon broken. Turning a
curve of the river, light after light flashed upon
them through the trees and undergrowth. For
a quarter of a mile along the northern bank
there were blazing log fires, about which, in
the wild delirium of savage joy, the Indians
danced.  Pandemonium itself seemed to have
been turned loose. The savages accompanied
their weird and frenzied exercises with every
conceivable description of noise.  Confusion
was indeed worse confounded in this scene.
They gave voice to their own instincts, and imitated every beast of the field and fowl of the
air. They roared, shouted, bawled, whooped,
yelled, hooted, howled, screamed, screeched,
82




THE B TTLE NIGHT.          83
shrieked, squeaked  squalled, whined, piped,
moaned, groaned, snorted, barked, yelped,
growled, heighed, brayed, croaked, snarled,
mewed, bleated, cawed, cackled, gobbled, and
quacked.
To use the expressive, though somewhat profane phrase of Rip, "it was a perfect hellaballoo."
The watch-fires threw ouk broad sheets of
baleful light quite across the river, so that the
boats in vain hugged the left bank, hoping thereby to escape detection. That, indeed, would
have been an impossibility, for they soon discovered that the wary savages, determined not
to allow them to escape, had stretched across the
stream a cordon of boats filled with wild and
fantastically dressed warriors.  The six arks,
lashed together, swept on with the force of the
current, and were almost immediately upon the
warrior-laden skiffs.  Such was the impetus,
that they crushed down several of these frail
barks, and a score of Indians were soon struggling in the water. Volley after volley was discharged, but not a white could be seen. The
fleet was silent as the grave, and seemed guided
by an invisible hand. Nor was the fire of the




84           THE BATTLE NIGHT.
savages returned. Still, they continued to pour
out their death-dealing missiles, until, mystified
and alarmed by the ominous silence; they prepared to board. The first Indian who leaped on
the ark was instantly felled by an axe, wielded
by some unseen power. Others followed, but
shared the same fate, and fell into the bright
water, which closed over them with a gurgle,
half melancholy and half joyful.
This was on Hardy's boat, which had been
placed foremost as a bulwark, being the strongest. Defending it, were Hardy, Rip, the little
Frenchman, with Tom and Cash, the two negro
men. That they made a stout resistance the
death of more than a score of the enemy was
testimony sufficient. But, valiant and active as
they were, they could not resist the overwhelming odds. After a fierce hand to hand conflict-in
which the little Frenchman, who was dealing
his blows right and left with a gory axe, was
cut down-they were forced back upon one of
the other boats. At this juncture, the Hardy
boat was cut loose, and drifted away with its
deck crowded by the rioting savages.
So desperate and general had the contest become, that no one noticed the drifting boat, save




THE BATTLE NIGHT.          85
the' strange woman.. She knew that the wife
and children were aboard, as well as the stock
and valuables of the family. Determined that
these should not be irretrievably lost without one
effort being made for their salvation, she cut
loose a skiff, and, gliding noiselessly away from
the battle boats, moored alongside the Hardy
ark. She quietly opened the rear window, and,
with a "hist " to prevent alarm, bade Mrs. Hardy
prepare for an escape. This was not an easy undertaking, but she succeeded in pulling the mother
and children through the small aperture. It was
more difficult to release Aunt Milly, the old
negro, but she was finally drawn through-her
immense rotundity of flesh and all. In this
labor, the heroic rescuer was not disturbed by the
Indians on deck, for they had found a keg of
liquor, and were swilling it, oblivious of all things
else. Just as the heavily laden skiff was pushing off, they heard a low groan from the interior
of the boat, and  Mrs. Hardy then remembered
that the little Frenchman, after being wounded,
had fallen down the hatch and was lying on the
floor. It was impossible at that time to afford
him any succor. So the woman rowed away
to one of the rearmost boats, where she safely




86           THE BATTLE -NIGHT.
deposited her cargo.  She then pursued the
floating ark, solicitous of recovering the wounded
man. Tying her boat on the side where the
deep shadows lay, she reentered, and groping
her way in the dark she soon stumbled over a
prostrate body. The poor fellow was too weak
from loss of blood to offer any resistance, and
was dragged out by the noble woman, to whom
courage and danger had seemingly imparted
herculean strength.  Anxious, not only to rescue these unfortunate people, but to wreak her
vengeance upon the dastardly red ruffians, she had
prepared a bundle of light wood, and before
taking a final leave of the boat, placed it in a
central position near the stores, and where, she
hoped, the magazine of powder was kept. Lighting the wood, she hurriedly left and took her place
in the skiff. She had not progressed a dozen
yards when there was a loud report-the air was
filled with blazing fragments, and timbers, and
the mutilated bodies of Indians. In the darkness of the night the meteoric splendor of the
explosion revealed the skiff tossing upon the
agitated waters, the dark face of the lone woman
gloating with joy over the ruin she had accomplished, while the poor Frenchman, just able to




THE BATTLE NIGHT.            ST
cling to his seat, gazed with a ghastly smile
upon the wreck, unconscious of where he was,
or how surrounded.
Meanwhile, the battle had been raging. It
was an unequal contest in regard to numbers;
but to the whites, who were contending for life,
God gave the victory. The terrific explosion of
the floating ark struck terror into the hearts of
the savages, who had already been daunted by
the stubborn resistance of the pale-faces. Then
another occurrence added to their consternation.
Suddenly the sky was overcast:
"Ipse pater, media nimborum in nocte, corusca
Fulmina molitur dextra."
Confused, stunned, and alarmed at these elementary disturbances, the Indians gave way. Instantly the whites were animated with fresh
courage, and with clubbed guns and sharp axes
they drove the foe overboard.  But it was some
time before they could realize the actuality of
their safety, and the morning was glimmering in
the east when they gathered together to return
thanks for their wonderful deliverance.




XVI.
THE LOST FOUND.
N ATURE delights in contrasts, and employs
her skillful magic in rendering them as
effective and startling as possible. The morning
after the battle and storm, was as beautiful and
placid as a cherub's slumber. Every tree and
leaf and shrub glistened with renewed beauty
and freshness. The river had resumed its gentleness, and lay about them like a vast mirror, in
which the fleecy cloudlets were reflected, and
the overhanging sycamores were imaged with
perfect trace and lineament. The air was odorous with the freightage of the sweet South, which
had been loitering and dallying amid the glorious luxuriance of the Canetuckey forests. From
either shore came the liquid minstrelsy of rival
choristers. There was a gladness and a rapture
in the sounds of earth and sky that almost effaced
the memories of the terrific night encounter.
88




rHE LOST FOUND.           89
Apart from the others sat Mrs. Hardy and the
woman whose mysterious appearance and whose
unexampled heroism we have already detailed.
Gratitude prompted Mrs. H. to seek out her deliverer, and thank her, as she had thanked the
God of both, for the fortunate and daring rescue.
But she refused to listen to words of praise, and
mute, she would neither talk nor desire to be
talked to. Our Fauquier dame, however, was
of a persevering character, and she plied her
questions so incessantly, and yet with such delicacy, that the stranger felt the ice of restraint
gradually melting about her heart, and she was
soon in a full flood of confidential disclosure.
No one disturbed them as they communed
through the bright morning hours. The decks,
slippery with blood, were to be cleansed. The
three cold, clammy corpses were to be prepared
for burial. The wounded were to be ministered
to-there was employment for all.
But why are tears standing in the eyes of Mrs.
Hardy? Why does sob after sob burst from her
lips? Why does her breast heave tumultuously?
Why does she throw her arms about this strange
woman and clasp her home to her own bosom?
Strange woman no longer.  Those hours of




90            THE LOST FOUND.
quiet, earnest, subdued conversation have resulted in a revelation as startling as it is joyful.
Through the tangled meshes of the dialogues we
need not drag the reader. The result arrived at
is, that Mrs. Hardy has discovered her twin sister-the wife of the perfidious Burkitt-a sister
long supposed to be dead, now found, and rescued from a living grave I
The story is a long one, but we can condense
it after the fashion of the newspaper paragraphists.  As those classical, erudite and accomplished wielders of pen, paste and scissors say,
we shall give mnultum in  arvo. Or, to borrow
the language of Rip Snorter, Esq., here is the
truth in a nut-shell.
Through all the campaigns of the war of Independence, Mrs. Burkitt had followed the fortunes
of her husband. Her lot had been a grievous
one-full of wretchedness and want and degradation, crowned by cruelty and neglect from her
sworn defender, to whom she had adhered with
wifely tenacity, excusing his outrages on law and
order, forgiving his brutalities to her, and living
day by day with a trembling hope that God
would smite the heart of the wicked man with a
sense of his evil doing. But her hopes were de



THE LOST FOUND.           91
ferred, and her heart grew  sick.  Burkitt
plunged into a deeper vortex of sin and crime,
and seemed ambitious of finding a still lower deep
in the deepest depths of which he could revel a
devil-possessed miscreant.  Occasionally some
gleams of his better nature would shine forth.
These, falling upon the bruised heart of the poor
wife, warmed into new life affections and trustfulness that might else have faded away forever.
At the close of the Revolutionary struggle, knowing that it would be impossible to remain in the
colonies, they had fled through the wilderness to
the line of British posts. Subsequently, Burkitt
had joined the Indians, becoming that most hated
and detested of all characters-a renegade white.
He had been for a year past foremost in all marauding expeditions against the whites, and was
only satisfied when engaged in some scheme of
pillage and murder. About New Year's he left
the Indian village on Paint River, and since then
had not been heard from. Supposing, from his
protracted absence, that the avenging Nemesis
had at last overtaken him in his career of crime,
she determined to make an effort for her restoration to civilized life. Fortunately the Indians
favored her plan, although unintentionally on




92            THE LOST FOUND.
their part. The day before, having ascertained
that a number of arks were descending the river,
they compelled her to go up with a small party
of warriors, and act as a decoy-pretending to
be in distress, and seeking relief. She had thus
been thrown into the arms of her sister.
This is the story in brief. We did not dare attempt giving it in the language-simple, forcible,
and at times picturesquely eloquent-of the reciter. We might as well have aimed at portraying, in our feeble words, the varying shadows of
her face, the bursts of passionate grief, the starts
and alarms which the recall of passages in her
experience excited.
Wisely Mrs. Hardy withheld from her sister
any account of her own knowledge of Burkitt's
recent career. She knew that the shame and
ignominy to which he had been subjected, and
of which she was an involuntary witness, would
only add to the bitterness of her grief.
But of her child —that brown-haired girl who
had been intrusted to her guardianship when in
its puling infancy —she did not see it here —
what of it?  Had her fortune been' love and
honorable marriage, or shame and miserable
death? Tell her. She could bear anything.




THE LOST FOUND.           93
Accordingly, Mrs. Hardy, in her calm, cold
voice, now and then choked with emotion, told
her bereaved sister of the glad, bright girl just
blossoming into womanhood, who had been so
mysteriously, so causelessly (as it appeared to
human eyes) removed.
"God doeth all things well," was the mother's
reply —the very same words that Mrs. Hardy
had used when first informed of the loss of
Mary.
Comforting text! Balm to grieved spirits, assuaging the wounds and healing the bruises of
crushed and lacerated hearts! How rich is the
divine word in such blessed assurances of the
divine care and love!




XVII.
LANDING AT LIMESTONE.
H ERE'S the Three Islands, and it's thirteen miles to Limestone. The sun is
yet more than an hour high, and if we will pull
altogether we can reach a harbor of safety before
nightfall."
This promise of Rip's endowed the wearied
and overworked boatmen with new energy.
They shuddered at the prospect of spending
another night upon the river. Already their
fancies were peopling the woods with enemies,
and the air seemed voiceful with the savage cries
and noises that had saluted them the night before. Their vexed and tried brains were in fit
condition for freaks of the imagination.
With a lively yo-ho, they manned the sweeps
and sped along at an astonishing rate. At every
bend in the river they looked forward anxiously
to see if there was yet any sign of the long hoped
94




LANDING AT LIMESTONE.        95
for Limestone. Down behind the leaf-crowned
hills, his broad disc clear and brilliant, attended
by an argosy of golden, rose, pink, purple and
saffron cloud-ships, the sun had gone, and the
twilight of a spring evening was mantling the
face and form of nature.
At last, through the thickening shadows, they
descry the long sought haven.
The noise of their busily plied oars and the
rowing chorus, in which they all unite with glad
heartiness, arouse the dwellers in the cabins on
the shore, and as they move into the sheltered
harbor, formed by the creek which debouches
into the river, a crowd of men, women and children gather on the bank to welcome these newcomers-aye, to welcome them to the toils and
tribulations and rewards of pioneer life.
In that group, standing with arms akimbo,
and rifle leisurely resting against his shoulder,
six feet two in his moccasined feet, erect as a pine
and handsome as Apollo, is one figure to be
remarked at any time and in any place as not of
the common mold and build.
In those old times-gone now these five and
seventy years-Limestone was a village of three
log huts. Ned Waller was the genius loci, and
for the ultimate grandeur of this, his chosen




96         LANDING AT LIMESTONE.
abode, he eloquently prophesied between drunken
hiccoughs. Three quarters of a century work many
changes ill men and things, towns and people.
Is it not true, as King Lothario I. said, according
to that German-Latinist poet, Matthias Borbonius:
"Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis."
The magnificence and glory and renown of
which this Bacchanal prophet spoke, in his
wavering accents, may have been vouchsafed
Limestone. Of it we know nothing. We do
know this, however, that time and the barbaric
taste of man has despoiled that little bit of landscape of half the beauties wherewith nature had
originally so lavishly endowed it.
The secluded cove in which the arks of our
emigrants moored has given way to a rough
stone wharf-the pleasant little stream flowing
from the hills and through the valleys, and humming a quiet tune as it ebbed among the green
alders and the tall flags and kissed the drooping
willows and eddied around the huge sycamores
-that glassy stream is only a memory now. A
railway in ruins, rotten trestle-work, foul and
fcetid slaughter-houses-these have destroyed
the romance and marred the beauty of as sweet a




LANDLNG AT LIMESTONE.       97
piece of uncultivated nature as was ever dropped
from the All-shaping Htand.
And that seven acre tract of woodland-then
a miniature park, with its lofty trees and its velvet sward and its glimpses of water-has been
ruthlessly destroyed to make room for what sober
people seriously style a city! Vanitcas vacnitatum!
"As I live, if here arn't' Simon Kenton," exclaimed Hardy, when the athletic, iron-framed
and classically featured pioneer, clad in his hunting shirt, buckskin leggins and bearskin hat,
appeared on the ark to greet the emigrants.
Astonished to hear his name so familiarly pronounced in that far region, where it had been
until then unsyllabled, the stalwart hunter drew
up his lofty form, and with a questioning glance
took in, at one sweep of his eagle eye, the entire
proportions of Hardy.
" And when did you get into these latitudes!
You were given up for lost long ago, and your
father and mother have had your name written
down in the Bible as dead. They wore mourning for you a year or more."
These latter allusions started a tear to the eye
of Kenton, which, stoic of the woods as he was,
he could not repress.
5




98         LANDING AT LIMESTONE.
The other people of Limestone were not a little
astonished by this interview. But why, we shall
tell you by and by.
Kenton found in Hardy an old family friend,
and was rejoiced that fate had thrown in his path
one from whom he could ascertain definite intelligence concerning his long deserted home. Understanding that Hardy had lost boat, plunder,
stock and all, save life and hope, by the Indian
attack, with characteristic kindness he insisted
upon his accompanying him home and making
that his headquarters until he could enter a tract
of land and build a cabin.
Hardy at any other time would have been
reluctant to accept an offer of this nature, for
dependence, even momentarily, was something
his proud nature scorned. But this tender was
made in the spirit of ancient friendship, and
could not have been rejected without wounding
the sensitiveness of a lofty heart. That the newly
found sister and the wounded little Frenchman,
who, we might as well now introduce as Pierre
Savary, should likewise share the hospitalities of
Kenton's station, was also agreed upon.
Thither we will accompany the party.




XVIII.
TIHE BREEZY HILL-TOP OF SUGAR LOAF.
STAND here awhile. Uncover, and allow
the breath of Mlay to kiss your forehead, to
daily with your locks, to brighten your cheeks.
It is fresh from the bosky dells, where the
naiads and dryads hold their revels-where the
anemone blossoms and the meek-eyed violet
looks heavenward. Does it not bear the scent
of rich earth? It has journeyed over those
blossoming fields and through those darkgreen woods; it has skimmed the surface of
yonder shining river; it has wafted those white
clouds to the far horizon.  Freighted with
health-joy-giving —a reveller in shady coverts
and in the blue, untracked abysses of the upper
deep-breeze of heaven's own inspiration, musical as it pipes through the quivering foliage, de99




100  THE BREEZY HILL-TOP OF SUGAR-LOAF.
licious as a draught of nectar-how it loves to
loiter upon this hill-top.
It is a weary way up, and the path is stony
and rough. There are briers to prick the struggler, and slippery places where the feet must be
securely planted. But the brave heart and the
stout limb never tire. It is the way of life —
ever up-hill to the heights of bliss.
Look out nowl Are you not recompensed
for your toils by the green and glorious panorama spread,at your feet? Note the lovely
scene encircled by the amphitheatre of wooded
hills. How long-for ages, during more years
than there are stars on the breast-plate of
heaven-they have lifted their tall heads up
toward the everlasting hills where our God and
fathers tread the via sacra. In winter, mantled
with snow-in spring, wreathed with green-in
summer, wearing the full crown of' matured
nature-in autumn, blazing with robes more
brilliant than oriental sovereigns ever wore.
Miles far away, there gushes through a
woody barrier-bright, broad, and beautiful in
its strength-the Ohio. You can see it as it
laves the sloping banks, glistening in the sun
and darkening in the shadow. Like a belt of




THE BREEZY HILL-TOP OF SUGAR-LOAF. 101
molten silver it lays athwart the landscapeeternal as the skies that arch over it and the
hills which throw their shades upon its bosom.
Enchanted valleys, and gentle declivities, and
tall precipices, and flashing waterfalls, and wild
gorges, and wooded plains-with the brisk little
city nestling among them all-these are the
master-strokes of nature in the scenery, which
you cannot fail admiring as you stand on the
breezy hill-top of Sugar Loaf, overlooking Limestone!




XIX.
IM ON    ENTON.
T  lIIRTEEN years before the period of which
we are now writing, Simon Kenton, then at
the age of sixteen years, fell in love, and consequently, in trouble.
Ah! sixteen is a dangerous era in the life of
youth who possess that imaginary function-a
heart. No matter the sex-sweet sixteen, or
rowdy sixteen-over all there steals the sentiment that fond fools call love and wise bachelors
know is bosh! It affects Augustus Pipestemlegs in the city, and Simon Sturdyshanks in the
woods. It gives a palpitation of the "buzzum"
to Sophronisba Hoopdedoodledo in the Fifth
Avenue, and Betsey Jane Skirtless in Iowa.
Love, when the patient is a sixteen-year-old,
is like the spring fever, very contagious; but
it never affects the appetite, and convalescence
10f




SIMON KENTON.             103
soon follows. With old George Withers, a poet
of the year of:grace 1588, the lover, slighted by
a girl in her first season of coquetry, whistles 
"Shall I, wasting in despair,
Dye because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care'Cause another's rosie are?
If she be not so to me
What care I how fair she be?"
Kenton had a rival-one Veach-who was
more successful than he. This rivalry led to
blows and a certain encounter, in which Ken
ton tied the long hair of his opponent to a
young sapling, and then pummelled him until he
supposed that he was dead. Revenge is sweet,
especially when you can wreak it upon one who
has stolen your sweetheart; but'when Kenton
saw the pale face and felt the pulseless arm, and
could detect no sign of respiration, he would
have given up all the girls in Fauquier and
Culpepper could he but have felt one throb of
his enemy's heart, and known that he still
lived. Alarmed at his murderous deed, he fled,
and for years lived the life of a refugee, under
the name of Simon Butler, in the wild woods.




104           SIMON KENTON.
In the midst of his wanderings he heard of the
unexampled fertility of this region, abounding
in cane and turkey. Kenton always held that
the title of the State was a corruption from the
combined names of the two great staples-cane
and wild turkeys. Caneturkey! What thinkest
thou, 0 etymologist?"
Here he had planted the first corn ever raised
north of the Kentucky River; here he had established his post in the very van of the pioneer
army-within a rifle-shot of the Indian settlements. lie had not seated himself in the far
interior, two days' journey from the frontiers
and the foe, but at the very threshold had thrown
down the glove of defiance.
It was with utmost satisfaction that he
heard hIardy relate the recovery of the nearlymurdered Feach. There existed no longer any
reason for wearing an assumed name, and he
resumed the appellation of his father with feelings of no little pride. Thenceforth he wore his
own name, and wore it honorably through a
half century of years, every one of which was
crowded with trials sufficient to have crushed
the spirit of an ordinary man.
But all these hardships of mature life were




SIMON KENTON.           105
only repetitions of his youthful grievances. His
mind had received no cultivation whatever. Not
the slightest knowledge of letters was imparted
to him. In total ignorance of the most common
rudiments of education, he grew up to manhood
without a single gleam of learning illuminating
and giving peace and pleasure to the hours of
relaxation from toil.
Thus ignobly passed his childhood, with its
guileless heart hardened by wrong-its sunny
temper clouded by austerity-its buoyant spirits
dejected by oppression —its winsome ways
clogged by boorish associations.
Youth, with its hot blood and high aspirations,
opened before him. Buit the future common to
us all-to the hopeful vision, a fairy land of
bright skies, flashing waters, laurel crowns, and
golden happiness, was veiled from his sight by
the clouds of poverty and neglect.
But despite all these obstacles, Kenton battled
heroically, like the true hero that he was. With
his blood he purchased the virgin. forests and
fields of northern Kentucky from  savage possession. Generous, confiding, and unsuspecting
by nature, these very excellences of his heart
rendered him liable to fraud and imposition.
5*




106             SIMON KENTON.
He located large tracts of land, and should have
seen his old age blessed with affluence; but
designing men, whom his liberality had enriched, impoverished him, and, like the old
Romans, he and his sons were forced to leave
the fields their valor had won.
" Nos patrima fines, et dulcia linquimus arva;
Nos patriam fugimus."
Cast in jail, and deprived of his liberty for
two years-not for crime, but poverty-at the
instigation of the persons whose fortunes he had
made, and who thus sadly requited his generosity, by cheating him out of his hard-earned
property, the old hero found relief in flight
to the wilds of northwestern Ohio, where he
died peacefully in his cabin.
If to-day you ride along that magnificent
thoroughfare, leading from the Ohio at Maysville toward Lexington, you will pass beside
smiling fields and green pastures, palatial farmhouses, and handsome villages. There is no
fairer land in our State-none where plenty,
with her bright train, scatters gifts with such
lavish hands. There orchards bloom, and the
sweet clover is odorous through the spring-time.




SIMON RENTON.           107
There the golden grain waves in seas of yellow
through the summer. There the green hemp
flings its perfumes upon the air. The corn
rustles, sleek cattle feed, and the coaches of
rural Dives roll by and dash the dust in your
face if you are but a common footpad.
And all these smiling woods and green fields
were once Kenton's. But his ample possessions
were torn from On by land pirates. The
children of the men who swindled the veteran,
who imposed upon his credulity, and took
advantage of his child-like simplicity, now dwell
in state upon the very lands his toils, and privations, and prowess won from pagan and barbaric
possession.




xx.
WE DISCUSS WOMAN'S WEAKNESS.';-a]mfADAME I see not how I can leave
you; my heart it goes pit-a-pat to
you. I could take you a bras ouverts. Oh! I
will go down to you a genoux. But say you
bear me one affection and I could die; but say
you be mine and I shall live your'humble
valet. Do not think I am a vaurien-one good
for nothing fellow."
Such was the interjectional love-making of
Pierre to his kind nurse, Mrs. Burkitt. The
little fellow, who had been most attentively
cared for, and whose gun-shot wound had healed
very rapidly, considering that there was no surgical assistance rendered-the more rapidly and
surely perhaps from the lack of a surgeon-in
the fullness of his gratitude, knew no other way
of giving vent to his feelings than by this protes108




WE DISCUSS WOMAN'S WEAKNESS.   109
tation of love. It is a characteristic French
method-a demonstrative way that excitable and
impetuous people have; not that they mean half
they utter in these impetuous bursts. Thus it
was with Pierre. His life had been saved by the
daring intrepidity of Mrs. Burkitt. In his hours
of pain she had watched beside his couch; she
had smoothed his pillow and cooled his parched
tongue, and bathed his fevered temples; she
had been his ministering angel, " and now,"
thinks Pierre, " what can I do but marry her?"
Mrs. Burkitt was ten years the senior of the
little Pierre, and her matronly care-worn aspect,
her face traced with the corroding touches of
time, to say nothing of the existence of a Mr.
Burkitt, did not seem to place her in the line of
matrimonial promotion. But what woman ever
yet thought herself too old to marry? or, for
that matter, too young?
Do not frown my ancient dame, clad in sables;
you buried dear John these twenty years ago,
and you have grandchildren blooming beside
your hearthstone. But do not say, as you hate
a falsehood and value the truth, that you are not
in the market. You can be bought by a smiling
face, or a heavy purse, or a smooth tongue, just




110    WE DISCUSS WOMAN'S WEAKNESS.
as easily now as when you sold out your maiden
heart to that rich gawk —your'dear, lamented
John. If this be not so, why those false teeth;
why that shining black braid to obscure the
locks of grey; why that padded bosom; why
those delicately fashioned lace sleeves; why that
immense circumference of skirts; why are you
careful to fill up the crow's-feet on your face, and
give just a tinge of rouge to those faded cheeks;
why that spry walk and that universal simper?
Believe it, venerable madam, you are not too
old to wear the orange-blossoms. It is not in the
power of widowed ladies, or maiden ones either,
to arrive at a period of senility when they are
unfit for the altar, and the bridal wreath and the
honey-moon.
And you, dear little chick-fourteen or thereabouts-just freed from the thralldom of panties
and bib and tucker aprons —whose skirts have
just been lengthened" The future mother swelling in your breast,"
you are not too young to marry; never to young
do so good a thing, and isn't it a good thing to
secure a home of your own and a protector, even
if you do make a foolish man miserable for years




WE DISCUSS WOMAN'S WEAKNESS.    111
by your childish frivolities and inexperiences.
No, no! it is best that you should go it while
you are young on the high-road to matrimony.
Now Mrs. Burkitt had a woman's heart in her
bosom, and that heart was characterized by the
usual feminine susceptibilities. Pierre was a
handsome little fellow, and would, from his
generous impulses, make a good husband. Having suffered so much from a cruel man, why not
enjoy some days of happiness with one who
promises so fair? This was the woman's argument. It may have been specious, but it was allsufficient, and though she reserved her emotions,
as is the female custom, she felt very tender
toward the young Frenchman who had so gallantly and so fondly offered her his heart and
hand.
Then followed a gush of tears.
Oh, Pierre! you are done for now. Volatile
child of sunny France, you cannot withstand"In woman's eye, the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness, which can wield
To save-subdue-at once her spear and shield!"
There were no further words; but after that
day the attentions of Mrs. Burkitt were redoubled.




112    WE DISCUSS WOMAN'S WEAKNESS.
She had gained the citadel of Pierre's affections,
and there she was determined to keep her flag
flying. All her cunning arts-her kindnessesher sighs-her tears-her smiles-all these were
brought into play in order to keep the heart of
Pierre in subjection.
She knew that it was a man's heart. It might
play truant and prove traitorous.




XXI.
HOUSE-RAISING.
PRIOR to leaving Virginia, Dobson Hardy
had sent to Richmond, and purchased
warrants for one thousand acres of unlocated
land. This was in deference to the act of 1781,
organizing a land-office, where the depreciated
Continental currency was received into the State
Treasury in payment for lands in Canetuckey.
With the assistance of Kenton, he now set about
making a location of his warrant, and finally secured a beautiful tract, combining wood and
water, with openings here and there, covered by
luxuriant cane.
To build him a cabin, and set up his household
gods- his Lares and Penates, was now Dobson's
first object.
He accordingly went to work and cleared a
sufficient space for a house and garden plat. The
118




114            fHOUSE-RAISING.
situation was chosen in a valley, near the fountain head of a limpid stream, that ran dancing
away through the dark woods. Our ancestors
were accustomed to select such sites for two reasons: 1st, That they might be near a spring of
water. 2d, That they might be in a vale or hollow, as it was easier to take things down to a
house than up a hill to it.
The day was appointed for the house-raising,
and by dawn, the male inhabitants from far and
wide had flocked together to assist in the labors,
and participate in the festivities, for such an occasion in those good old times always terminated
in a frolic. The mechanical appliances requisite
for the construction of a pioneer cabin were few
and simple. The logs had already been cut the
proper length, and notched at each end where
they were to ride each other transversely. A
square was laid off, and then the work began.
Log after log was raised, and at an altitude of
twelve feet there was a pen, in the shape of a
parallelogram. The gable-ends were now carried up, with ridge-poles extending lengthwise,
for the support of the clap-board roof. These
clap-boards-split from oak and poplar timberwere the precursors of shingles, and were laid in




HOUSE-RAISING.          115
regular courses, over each of which a weightpole was fastened. These poles were retained in
their places by short blocks of wood intervening
at right angles. The roof completed, a door was
cut out, framed, fastened together with wooden
pins, and then swung on leathern hinges. Next
came the windows. They were small and glassless, for the glaziers had not yet made their appearance. In lieu, paper, well greased, was used,
which admitted a soft and subdued light. Meanwhile two or three of the party have been engaged on the chimney. They have built it broad
at the bottom, so that the fire-place may be spacious enough for the family to shelter in. From
the foundation it tapers up, a wooden stack of
small twigs, so chinked and daubed with mud,
that the heat will not affect it. Now they bring
flat stones and lay the hearth, and arrange the
jambs. Then the slabs split from the oak logs
are laid upon the earth, and the puncheon floor
is formed..
The cabin is now complete. A dozen industrious, tireless men have labored since sunrise,
and their active hands have prepared a home for
the new corner. After a while other rooms will
be added, as the increasing wants of the family




116            HOUSE-RAISING.
demand them. All that is needed now is, a shelter for the head, and a home hearth-stone about
which the family can cluster-a focal place, toward which now, and in all after-time, the
hearts of father, mother and children will be
drawn as the sweetest place on earth-the dulce
domum of this life.
And now comes the frolic. Already there is
a blue smoke curling from the newly-made chimney, and you will soon discern the odors of
savory food.  These men have all learned the
culinary art by the camp-fires, and are adepts in
providing an extempore meal. Dinner at the
fashionable hour of sunset is served; a dinner of
jole and greens, of corn-cake and buttermilk!
The repast finished, the house is illuminated with
pine knots, and then fully and finally consecrated
to that most unique of all performances-a stag
dance!
Didst thou ever participate in one of these exercitations? They are peculiarly and exclusively
masculine.  Everything wearing the shape or
guise of a female is rigidly excluded, and consequently just in proportion as the grace and loveliness of woman is wanting are the innate and
natural roughnesses of man apparent. They are




HOUSE-RAISIN.            117
not, however, necessarily vulgar, but mere exuberances of genial feelings-the welling over of
jolly hearts. Not near so vulgar as that horrid
waltz, which even Lord Byron-and he was neitlher prude or Puritan-reprobated, in stirring
verses.
A stag dance is simply a double-shuffle, oldfashioned hoe-down, where you swing your arms
and kick with your feet, and shout and laugh
and are particularly jovial —with interludes,
every few minutes, when the black bottle is
handed around, but never passed. It occasionally concludes with a display of pugilism, and
exhibitions of maudlin courage, the parties to the
dance being generally fuddled, fuzzled, groggy,
corned, screwed, raddled, sewed up, lushy,
slewed, nappy, muddled, muzzy, and emphatically tight.
But upon this occasion, we are happy to state,
there was no such Thracian termination of the
festivities.
"Natis in usum letitive scyphis
Pugnare Thracum est."
Under the soft light of the stars —in the cooi
shades of the night-listening to the plaintive




118           IOUSE-RAISING.
cry of the whippoorwill, the happy pioneers ride
home, animated by the ecstatic and exulting throb
which virtue's votary feels when he sums up the
thoughts and actions of a well spent day.




XXII.
HOM E.
HE next day Mrs. Hardy went over to take
possession of the new home and to assume
her duties as mistress of the household. She had
already obtained a glimpse of the privations and
necessities incident to life in the woods, and was,
therefore, not dismayed when she entered the
rude cabin. Naturally her mind reverted to the
old Virginia home-the spacious rooms, the neat
furniture, the broad piazzas, and all the comforts
of civilization. She could not refrain from contrasting the two scenes; but the gathering gloom
upon her brow, and the sadness in her heart, was
dispelled when she saw the smile of Dobson and
heard his cheerful voice, and caught the ringing
echoes of his axe.
Contracted and rude as was this cabin in the
wild wood, and scant as was the furniture, it soon
-119




120                HOME.
assumed a home aspect. Oh, that gift which
women possess of transmuting the merest hovel
into an abode of love! How their inspired hands
can touch the roughest scenes and shapes, and
fashion them into beauty. How their presence,
all radiant with purity, can give glory and attraction to the barest log walls.
It will be remembered that all the household
effects of the Hardy family were consumed in
the destruction of their ark on the battle-night.
A new commencement of course had to be made
in house-keeping, and as cabinet-makers and furniture dealers did not abound in those days, their
wants had to be supplied by the kindness of
friends and the ingenuity of an unskilled forest
artisan. But here is an inventory of the household and kitchen furniture of a large landholder
of Canetuckey in the year 1785, viz.: One bedstead; formed of poplar logs, forked at the top
where the cross-pieces were laid; bedding with
buffalo robes, deer-skins, and a solitary counterpane; three chairs, whose bottoms were formed
of split hickory withes; a table with unhewn
legs; a shelf at the door, where the waterpail
sat. There was no bureau or sideboard or wardrobe. The dresses and clothing of the family were




HOME.               121
hung upon wooden pins around the walls, while
the cooking and eating utensils were displayed
on a mantel over the fire-place. There shone in
undiminished splendor the array of pewter plates
and dishes, and beside them the irons, spoons
and knives and forks, with a full assortment of
trenchers, noggins, gourds, etc.
Life in the cabin presented few features of
novelty. Day after day it was the same unvarying round; with nights beside the lamp, filled
with bear's grease, or at the door watching the
stars and engaged in low converse. Thus the time
sped on. Mrs. Hardy prepared a neat garden
spot, and there she spent pleasant hours, breathing the healthsome odor of the freshly turned
soil, and sowing the pea, bean and other vegetables. Nor did she neglect to arrange about
each bed of vegetables a bright embroidery of
flowers; beside the door she planted a honeysuckle, and it was soon clambering about the
window and filling the little room with its rich
and grateful perfume. To this odorous ElDorado the wild bees came humming, and the
bumble-bee booming, and the yellow jacket,
with his small self full of spite. In the shadowing trees near by the birds built their nests, and
a




122                rOMME.
the blue-bird, the robin and the wren, during the long summer hours, flitted among the
flowers.
And the air was full of life and song as it was
full of fragrance.
And the cabin home grew brighter day by
day, for it was full of peace and love and content.




XXIII.
ENTANGLED IN THE TOILS OF CUPID.
PIERRE  SAVARY was now fully recovered. But still, we much fear that he did
not possess that which Cicero deemed so essential: "idens sana in corpore sano "-a  sound
mind in a sound body. He was whole and perfect in wind and limb; but his heart was sick
and sore, and his mental faculties peculiarly
perplexed. Mrs. Burkitt had not directly said
yea to his violent and enthusiastic protestation
of love and offer of hod and heart; but that she
was inclined to yield assent, and only delayed
according to the custom of her sex, was evident
from her continued acts of devotion and tenderness. This uncertain posture of affairs troubled
Pierre. Ile would willingly have been sacrificed then and there as an atonement for his
ill-considered haste; but this fluttering in the
123




124   ENTANGLED IN THE TOILS OF CUPID.
toils of the net made him restive and uneasy.
He felt as if his liberty was restrained, and
by degrees he began to beat against the bars of
his prison and long for the light, and sunshine,
and the freedom without. Marry Mrs. Burkitt he
would, though he had discovered, since the films
of convalescing gratitude had been removed from
his eyes, that she was old enough for his parent.
It was a point of honor that he should fulfill his
pledge; but, like all Frenchmen, he thought that
the ring having been exchanged and the vows
recorded, he was disenthralled, and, with the
world before him, had the privilege of sucking
the sweets from every flower le could find.
Queer, but immutable belief of all French
husbands.
His affianced, in the meanwhile, had removed
to her sister's, and was there leading a humdrum
life, its sameness only rlieved when the gallant Pierre stalked through the clearing and
presented himself at the cabin threshold, as was
his custom on Sabbath mornings. The public
ministration of the word of God had, at that
time, been introduced to a very limited extent,
although in nearly every family the Bible was
treasured and the domestic altar -reared. On




ENTANGLED IN THE TOILS OF CUPID.  125
these bright days of rest, while Dobson mused
before the door, and the good wife taught her
children the Lord's Prayer, and the negroes lay
asleep in the sun, the two lovers-shall we call
them such?-Pierre and Susanne-for to that
French name he bade her answer —strolled
through the forests, where, it is to be supposed,
they enjoyed halcyon hours of tender communion. Pierre must have been an actor in his
Parisian life, for he certainly possessed a tragic
air, and these interviews were never concluded
without a denouement, the stage effect of which
would have been marvellous.
And thus their weeks were crowned with
blissful Sundays, until on one occasion, early in
the autumn, when, to the unrevealing trees,
there was added another spectator of these
dramatic scenes.
Mrs. Hardy had completed the usual scrip
tural lesson, and while awaiting the preparation
of the evening meal, walked out into the forest.
She soon heard the sound of voices-then the
rustle of the falling leaves and the crackling of
a dry twig. Half frighted she turned to flee,
when what should the amazed woman see I No




126   ENTANGLED IN THE TOILS OF CUPID.
panther with glaring eyes, nor stealthily treading Indian. The curtain had risen upon the
last act of the afternoon melodrama.  Pierre
had just thrown himself in a kneeling posture
before Mrs. Burkitt, and with uplifted hands,
and appealing face, and frenzied eyes, and flowing locks, presented as pretty a piece of pantomimic despair as one could wish to see on or off
the stage.
Startled, dumbfounded, astonished and overwhelmed, Mrs. Hardy returned to the cabin,
having escaped observation. She was a woman
of policy, and knew that it would not be proper
to make any sudden revelation of her discovery,
nor indulge in any outburst of surprise and indignation. The twain, little imagining that their
secret had been revealed, returned in the softened twilight, and were greeted as usual. Indeed, if there were any change perceptible in
the deportment of the housewife, it was in an
increase of her geniality.
Schooled to betray no emotions when she desired they should be hidden, she talked through
the evening in a light vein of pleasantry, while
her heart was trembling with the shock it had




ENTANGLED IN THE TOILS OF CUPID.  127
sustained from the unexpected forest disclosure.
Her heart, did we say —better have said her
sense of propriety, for by the fitness of things
most women regulate their feelings.




XXIV.
A HIUNTING EXCURSION.
THE autumn was well advanced. Hardy had
successfully used the bright summer weather
in preparing his farm for the next year's crops;
he had already quite a number of acres under
fence, and the trees upon a large area were girdled, so that in the spring he could commence
farming on a somewhat extensive scale. Additions and comforts had also been made to his
house, and it was now both commodious and attractive. His wife had not only become reconciled to the forest life, but such had been the
cloudless splendor of the summer and fall, so
propitious every occurrence and so prosperous
their circumstances, that she was thankful her
lot had been cast where fortune seemed destined
to shower upon them its golden blessings.
In the various cabin homes and stations of
128




A  UNTING EXCURSION.        129
that section, preparations were being made for
the usual annual hunt. Of course Dobson joined
in the expedition. He was the more ready to
leave home; from the security that had prevailed
the past year: no Indian signs having been seen
in that time, and he well knew that his negroes,
Tom and Cash, would guard well and hold out
bravely against any attack, should one be
made.
The day came around for the hunters to depart on their excursion-there were thirteen of
them, all on foot, with their rifles, shot-pouches
and knapsacks slung over their shoulders-fleet
of foot, every one of them a
7463ag wociv''AXitsev5'
-they did not require the assistance of horses to
keep pace with the flying deer.  Nevertheless they took several of those faithful animals
to bear home the game they might capture; and
although their acute and trained instincts in
tracing the objects of their sport, almost rendered
the employment of dogs unnecessary, still, every
man was attended with two or three caninesmost of them curs of low degree. A day's tramp
through the pathless woods, and they arrive at
n*




130            nHUNTING EXCURSION.
the hunting-ground. There they prepare their
half-faced cabin, as a place of general rendezvous.
This was formed with a large log for its backeight or ten feet in front a couple of stakes were
driven, from these the roof sloped toward the
back, and was covered with slabs, skins and bark.
The front was left entirely open, and there the
fire was built, while the hunters sheltered themselves within, their feet resting in the hot ashes
as they slept-a sure precaution against rheumatism.
Each morning the hunters were accustomed
to sally out in pairs, returning at night to headquarters, where they feasted on a sumptuous supper of bear and venison, accompanied by buffalo
steaks, and that most nutritious and delicious
bread —the johnny-cake, baked upon a board in
the ashes. Then, gathering by the watch-fire,
they recounted the adventures of the day, and
the signs of the woods.
To be a successful hunter required very uncommon attributes of body and mind." Besides
personal powers and ability to undergo great
hardships, the understanding must be comprehensive, the apprehension ready and the judgment decided. There was no time for hesitancy




A HIUNTING EXCURSION.       131
in an encounter with a ferocious bear, or in the
pursuit of the antlered monarch of the forest.
Steadiness of aim, a practised eye, a nerved arm,
and the finger never too quick upon the trigger,
were essential qualifications.  There was also a
certain species of woodcraft in which the hunter
must be versed. He must be able to read the
weather, and tell from the sky where. the game
was to be found. He must know from experience that in stormy weather the deer always seek
the sheltered places, and the leeward sides of the
hills —that in rainy weather, when there is not
much wind, they keep in the open woods and on
the highest ground. It was essential that the
hunter should not only be a barometer and thermometer, but possess the ability of ascertaining
the direction of the wind, so as to be enabled to
regulate his movements. For this purpose he
was accustomed to place his finger in his mouth
until it was warmed, and then raising it above
his head, the side of his finger which first became
cold would tell him the course of the wind, and
the direction of the chase would be in accordance with this singularly obtained information.
The points of the compass, too, were as necessary
in the waste of woods, as on that of water. The




132        A HUNTING EXCURSION.
appearance of the bark and mnoss on the trunks
of trees very accurately determined for them the
navigation of the forest. The bark of an aged
tree is always much thicker on the north side.
Kenton and Hardy, who were partners in the
first day's hunt, had been each successful in putting a ball through the shoulders of a deer, besides killing lesser game, and toward dusk were
preparing for a return to the camp, when the
former descried bear tracks in the light snow
which had fallen the previous night. Following
up the trail, although it was now almost night,
they came to the creek where the thin skin of
ice had been but recently broken. In a ledge of
rocks on the opposite shore, was the mouth of a
cave, where the animal had evidently taken refuge. Hardy was indisposed to pursue the game
any further, being wearied with the day's work;
but Kenton, who seemed never to be satisfied
while there was a wild beast or a wild Indian
within reach, insisted on adding this trophy to
the spoils of the hunt. They accordingly crossed
the stream; after reconnoitering a few moments,
Simon observed that " the bar was. right thar in
the cave, shore." "How do you know that?"
asked Hardy.




A HUNTrNG EXCURSION.       133
c" Why," responded the sagacious and experienced hunter: "don't you see the last
tracks made are with the toe-marks toward the
cave? And thar's only one of'em,'case the
tracks are regl'ar, and of the same size, and he's
a monstrous big'un, judgin' by the length of the
step, and the size of the paws, and he's a duced
fat feller, fur don't you see his hind feet don't
step on the tracks made by the fore ones, as
would be the case if he war a lean bar. Now,
man, you've never slayed one these fellers, s'pose
you try your hand on."
If Dobson had spoken out like an honest and
candid man he would have confessed his reluctance to an encounter with the bear; but unwilling
to be regarded in any other light than a hazardous, adventurous person, he expressed to Kenton
his intense desire to enter the cave and demolish
the huge animal.
Kenton was too excellent a judge of human
nature not to discover that this was affected enthusiasm on the part of his companion; but he
thought it as fitting opportunity as any to teach
him a lesson, and he accordingly praised the
courage and spirit of Dobson, until the latter
really felt as if he was a very spirited sort of in



134        A HNTInNG EXOURSION.
dividual. Instructing him how to proceed, Kenton lighted a candle made of beeswax, and placing it in Dobson's hand, pushed him into the
cave, with an injunction to be steady and fire at
the eyes. Entering into the midnight darkness,
which the flickering light of the candle only
rendered the more visible, Dobson crawled along
carefully, and finally placed the light in the seam
of a rock, and waited the movements of the bear.
He soon saw a huge, black mass moving at the
remote end of the cave. It was the animal
which had been disturbed by the glare of the
candle-light. Slowly he walked forward to
ascertain the occasion of this disturbance in his
Erebian realm. The hunter lay fiat on the bottom of the cave watching the progress of the
bear. When within a few yards of the candle
he fired, straight at the eyes, but the aim was
not correct, and the ball only flattened against
the adamantine shoulder-blade of the animal.
He had no time to re-load before the bear would
be up to him, and how could he possibly contend
in a hand to hand encounter with such a terrible
opponent? He would retreat and become a butt
for the jeers of his companions, but he could not
do that before the bear would be on him. It




A HUNTING EXCURSION.       135
was a desperate crisis. In a moment Bruin,
foaming with rage, was confronting the trembling Dobson, and with one blow of his huge
paw had dashed the uplifted knife from the
hands of the hunter, and was about encircling
him in a deadly embrace, when bang went a
rifle, and the huge brute fell to the ground an
inanimate heap. The bullet had actually cut
the fox-tail with which Dobson's cap was ornamented, and then entering the eye of the bear,
bad penetrated the brain, causing instant death.
Kenton, who was anxious to test the grit of
Dobson, had followed him into the cave, and just
at the important moment his steady nerve and
never-failing aim had released him from what
appeared to be certain death.
Placing the immense carcass where it could be
secured on the morrow, and cutting off the paws,
as evidences of their prowess, the hunters emerged
from the cave, and although the night was pitch
dark, it was bright in contrast with the subterranean gloom from which they had just
emerged.




XXV.
HOW LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM WAS DISSIPATED.
ONE Saturday evening, while Mr. Hardy
was absent on his hunting excursion, the
two sisters were sitting silently before the fire,
engaged with their own thoughts, and apparently
unobservant of the dancing, flickering, everchanging lights and shadows upon the wallsthe glittering showers of sparks and the red
tongues of flame which lapped up the dry wood
as if they were thirsting for fuel.
Suddenly Mrs. Hardy turned her eyes from
the white ashes, where they may have been conjuring the phantoms of dead joys and sorrows,
and fixing her gaze upon Mrs. Burkitt, said in
her usual clear, cold tones:
"Sister Susan, I must tell you one thing I
have wrongly neglected informing you of heretofore, as I thought that amidst your multiplied
188




ftOW LOVE' YOUNG DREAM WAS DISSIPATED. 137
sorrows it would not be proper to thrust another
care upon your already overburdened heart. But
doubtless it would have been best had I unfolded
the whole dreadful truth to you at the start, for
by this time you might have entirely recovered
your peace of mind."
Mrs. Burkitt started when she heard her sister's voice, and the threatened revelation of some
new calamity caused her to gasp as if she were
struggling for breath. She could but articulate,
indistinctly and brokenly: "What now? Has
God reserved other judgments for me?"
"No   No other judgment. I have only to
tell you that your husband-God be merciful to
him-lives, or did, just as we were leaving Virginia!"
She then detailed all the incidents narrated at
the opening of our sketch, with painful minuteness.
The poor woman, more than a widowed sufferer, listened with interest, but manifested no
outward sign of excitement. It was enough for
her to know that he lived —that he had been suffering-that Providence was not yet weary chastising him. In a moment all her old affection
rushed back and she clasped the old idol to her




138 HOW LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM WAS DISSIPATED.
breast. Her heart, that had been warmed by a
new passion, relapsed into its former condition
of patient sufferance.
The next day was the Sabbath, and with it
came Pierre-for, poor fellow, he was fairly fascinated, and unable to remain for more than a
week at a time without the magic circle, although
he had repeatedly resolved to try the effects of
absence on his consuming passion.
The air was raw; the sky drear; the woods
bare. No time now for quiet walks and secret
conferences and extempore acting. But Mrs.
Hardy knew what would be the result of to-day's
meeting, and she left the couple alone for an
hour, that what she had planned might be executed.
When all alone, Mrs. Burkitt, who was now
quite resigned, said calmly to Pierre:
" This confidential intercourse of ours must not
continue any longer. It isvery pleasant, and you
are a kind and amiable man. But I have a husband living whom I thought dead. It was not
known to me until last night. So we must part,
but always, I hope, continue friends I"
Really, we believe, the little Frenchman would
have exceeded himself in tragic deportment had




HOW LOVE S YOUNG DREAM WAS DISSIPATED. 139
he not been detained in his place by the cold
and glittering eye of Mirs. Burkitt. Hle only
snatched her hand and pressed it passionately to
his lips, and without uttering a word, either of
grief or expostulation, sank back into his chair,
hissing between his teeth a sacr-r-r-r-e!
And thus ended Pierre's love-making with the
woman old enough to be his mother.
In a few moments the table was spread, the
steaming bowl of mush and milk was introduced,
the fragrant herb tea bubbled in an iron kettle,
the remnants of a cold possum looked appetizing,
and the pone of corn bread smelt as sweet as a
harvest field. They all supped, talking quietly
and then gathered about the fire.
Pierre rose to leave; but Mrs. Hardy, going to
the door, looked out and said the clouds were
full of snow, that the wind was soughing through
the trees as if it were a lost spirit, and that it
would not do for him to ride home that night
He was prevailed upon to remain.
We hale remarked before that Mrs. H.ardy was
a politic woman. She had overheard-accidentally, of course-the brief conversation between
her sister and Pierre. If they were to separate
now, with the memory of the parting sadly fresh




140 HOW LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM WAS DISSIPATED.
in their hearts, evil might result. It would be
best to disenchant them now and forever. Thus
she reasoned and acted. Reasoned and acted
well.




XXVI.
SALT-MAKING AT THE BLUE LICKS.
pIERRE went back to his salt-making and
soon forgot the love dream in which he had
tossed through months of incertitude and conflicting sentiments.
A man of some scientific attainments and considerable ingenuity, he had suggested various
improvements in the manufacture of salt at
the Blue Licks, where that article was then
principally prepared, and his advice had proven
so profitable that he was installed as superintendent.  With the aid of three negroes he
managed to produce a supply adequate for
the wants of the various settlements. But the
means of production were so limited, and the
saline principles in the water so few, that it took
a first-rate man to be worth his salt in those days;
the article in the rough selling at eight dollars
per hundred.
141




142   SALT-MAKING AT THE BLUE LICKS.
The process used in evaporation was quite
simple. A pit some four feet deep and about
forty feet in length was dug, where huge fires
were kindled. Over these about twenty brazen
pots, of the capacity of ten gallons each, were
arranged and filled with water from the numerous springs, as the occasion required. The chief
labor was in supplying wood to feed the furnaces,
an enormous amount of fuel being daily and
nightly consumed.
For how many centuries we know not, these
licks had been the resort of buffalo, elk, deer,
and other animals, who came from all sections to
taste the waters and lick the earth which was so
thoroughly. impregnated with salt. Traces leading to the place, worn smooth and hard as the old
Appian Way, by the constant tread of myriads
of beasts, converged from every point of the compass, and the land, for a wide area in the immediate vicinity of the springs, was as bare and
destitute of vegetation as the thunder stricken
summit of an Alpine peak.
These salt works were long ago deserted; but
the Blue Licks were destined to be the gathering
place of others beside these quadrupedal hordes.
We wonder if our little Pierre, when seated be



SALT-MAKING AT' THE BLUE LICKS.   143
fore the boiling salt-kettles, the bleak landscape
and the midnight darkness only relieved by the
blazing fires, ever dreamed of the metamorphosis
that time would work in the scenes of his labors.
Could he but have looked into the future he
would have beheld the giddy throngs of fashion
flaunting about that drear spot-poor, feeble,
tottering invalids, seeking the restoration of
health-pure young girls, with hearts to lose,
entering the mazes of society, and losing hearts
and all! He might have beheld fortunes staked
at the gaming table, and Vice holding its summer
carnival. But he would have seen that Beauty
and Innocence were not entire strangers in the
brilliant saloons, and along the sequestered mountain paths, and on the bosom of the gently flowing Licking.




XXVII.
THE SUGAR-CAMP.
TIIE first winter in the wilderness was passed,
not without its discomforts; but these were
more than atoned for by the pleasures incident
to that season of storm. Then it is, indeed, that
the better nature of man bourgeons and blossoms
in all its fullness, and nowhere do little, but
hearty acts of kindness, manifest themselves as
peculiarly as in a remote settlement where the
resources of social enjoyment are limited, and
the exercise of the rites of friendship and companionableness are attenided by risk and danger.
Throughout the dreary months there had been
merry-makings, feastings, frolics, hunts and all
those pastimes significant of hearts that the winter's cold could not chill, and generous blood
which could not be checked in its warm and
passionate currents, by any of the icy restraints
of climate.
144




THE SUGAR-C CP.           145
Partridges, those delicious, juicy and plump
winged companions of civilization-never being
found save in proximity to white settlementswere to be trapped. After each fall of snow the
timid rabbits were tracked to their burrows.
There was not a gum-tree but revealed the
domicile of a possum. Thus an abundance of
healthful, honest, exhilarating out-door sport
was afforded the pioneers, while the shroud of
winter wrapped their landed possessions.
Within doors there was no lack of employment
for the brisk housewives. Merrily hummed the
spinning-wheels; clatter, clatter went the looms;
stitch, stitch into the new garments and old
rents. There was cooking, and serving, and all
the duties of domesticity, winter as well as sumrmer.
Thus the days, so very brief and dark, were
lengthened with pleasures and brightened with
merriment, and the grim winter passed away
like any other shadow.
The mornings were now cool and clear, with a
frostiness in the air, that tingled the cheek and
quickened the step, and flushed the spirits like a
cup of old Crow. Just the time for sugar-making. Now the maple is brimming with its sweet




146           THE SUGAR-CAMP.
juices, and yonder; in the thick woods, where
there are spiral columns of smoke, and the fire
flashes its red light through the shadowy grove,
and the voices of youth and happiness ring out
like the chimes of silver bells —over bubbling
kettles of sirup hang the faces of the wood
nymphs, their eyes sparkling and their lips pouting and their round cheeks glowing. The golden
liquid simmers and sputters, sending forth its
saccharine vapors until the whole camp is redolent of sweet savors. Active young men tap the
blackened old trees, and tend the troughs, and
replenish the kettles with sugar-water, and keep
the fires blazing. The labor is forgotten in the
pleasurable excitement, and all sense of wearinees is banished by the joy that buoys every
heart and brightens every footstep and lightens
every load.




XXVIII.
THE BENCH OF MAGISTRATES.
A    ND now Spring had come once again, fresh
from the hidden caverns of perfume, and
as she trode the earth with her warm and delicate feet, the flowers and the birds awoke, and
the farmer, looking abroad over his fields, regirt
his loins for the campaign which would result in
golden sheaves and a happy harvest home. How
lovely looked all the land in its fresh, green
robes. How fragrant the bloom of the wild
clover which here grew in native luxuriance.
How bright and glossy the tall and slender reeds
of cane, full of succulence, springing up everywhere in original vigor. How delicious the song
of the robin as he builds his home in the treetop, and the swallows twittering about the
eaves.
The tide of emigration had already set in.
147




148      THE BENCH OF MAGISTRATES.
Daily ark after ark landed at Limestone, and the
roads soon became populous with the thronging
multitudes who where seeking new homes in the
wilderness. These indications of prosperity were
most cheering, and every fresh arrival from the'States was hailed by the old settlers with unboundedc manifestations of joy. The northern
part of Fayette had just been formed into a
separate county, and styled Mason, in honor of
one of the most glorious spirits of Virginia. Its
boundaries were extensive, embracing all the
country from the mouth of the Licking to the
Big Sandy, and bounded by the Licking at the
south. For the seat of justice of this new county,
Simon Kenton donated William Wood and Arthur Fox one thousand acres of land lyipg near
his station. There these two men located the
town of Washington, which almost immediately
became a thriving place. Little did the gallant
and generous Kenton imagine then that this
noble gift would cause him days and months of
anxiety, and that even upon the very land he
had given for the site of the temple of Justice,
he would be held in bonds-the victim of the
grossest injustice from those he had benefited.
The commissions for the magistrates had ar



THE BENCH OF MAGISTRATES.    1491
rived. They were sealed with the great seal of
Virginia, and signed by Benjamin Harrison, the
Governor, with the same bold dash of the pen
that he had used when affixing his name to the
Declaration of Independence. Court could not
now be held too soon. The peace and the dignity of the public demanded that the scales of
Justice should be arranged for balancing the
rights and wrongs of the community. There
was no court-house —for that was years before
the glorious old stone-hammer's time-and a
room had to be fitted up in Basil Burgess'
tavern, as the temporary abode of the blind goddess. IHere the high priests at her altar —four
blooming, stout, self-satisfied, blue-eyed menlooking as if they had been chosen on account of
their mutual resemblance, assembled and inaugurated the career of jurisprudence in that part of
Kentucky. It was a goodly sight. The air of
pomp with which they entered, the dignity with
which they arranged their flowing robes, the
magisterial grace with which they stroked their
long cues-these impressed the people, who had
seen nothing so grand out of the old State. It
is true that they had witnessed battalions of
mounted men, hastening with the sound of trum



150      THE BENCHI OF MAGISTRATES.
pets and clangor of arms, to some Indian foray,
but these spectacles were not to be compared in
impressiveness with the owl-like deportment and
oracular looks and gowned weightiness and powdered heads of a bench of magistrates. Somehow or other this has ever been the case. A
conclave of solemn' owls would awe you more
than the lightning swoop of a fierce-voiced
eagle. Indeed half the utility of courts consists,
not in their utterances and actions, but in their
dignified reserve of powers and attributes, which
the people in their ignorance invest with an awful solemnity, that is farcical to those persons
(lawyers, for instance) who know how shallow
are all the tricks of the legal trade.
The crier proclaims the court open with his
resonant " OYEz,"' and his official prayer for the
salvation of the commonwealth.
"What case have you, Mr. Attorney?'
"May it please your honors, Win. Lightfoot is
charged with stealing a fitch of bacon from
Lucas Sullivant."
The proof is heard, and Lightfoot is sentenced
to receive thirteen stripes on the bare back-that
number being awarded him in honor of the number of States in the confederation.




THE BENCH OF MAGISTRATES.    151
John Naylor is arraigned for stealing certain
edge tools from Slack and Pyle. Guilty and
sentenced to thirty-nine lashes, well laid on, as
provided in the Mosaic code.
Now a burly negro is presented. Dick, a slave
of Thomas Brooks, has stolen two yards and
three quarters of cambric from Wmn. Goforth, jr.
Proof heard in ten minutes-a buzz of consultation between the magistrates-a glance at Henning's statutes —the court agrees upon a verdict,
and Squire Lee announces that for this theft
Dick must be hung on the 4th day of June.
And he was hung between the blue heaven and
the green earth in the bright sunshine of that
June day. So were many other negroes at other
times, for like petty offences. That was before
Jefferson had concluded his revisal of the code
of Virginia-tempering those cruel laws with
mercy, and infusing into the administration of
the courts a benignity and humanity which had
been before wholly foreign to them.
But we have not time to go through with all
the cases. Richard McClure is fined five hundred pounds of tobacco for divulging false news,
and Robert Wilson, having just now spoken
disrespectfully to John Machir, gentleman and




152      THE BENCH OF MAGISTRATES.
Justice, is fined for this breach of good manners in presence of an honorable dignitary of the
State.
Court is proclaimed adjourned. The magistrates doff their official robes, but none of their
dignified, imposing mien. Marching down into
the tavern bar-room they seat themselves, and
calling for their toddies, drink libation after libation to Justice, whose ministers they are.
And thus the law is administered for the first
time north of the Licking River. There are
court-houses and judges in abundance there
now; but we daresay that were all the judicial
officials of this anno Domini lumped together,
their good sense, good manners, and zeal and
strictness in business would not overbalance that
of the four rosy cheeked, tippling, swearing
squires of lang syne.




XXIX.
THE DREADFUL BLOW.
"4 W EEL, we had a braw time to-day,
friend Dobson. There was sic a cannie youth from the old State, who spoke from the
stump on the green common. I vow his arguments were strong, and he demonstrated to a
certainty that your great friend Wilkinson is
after no good in his dealings and traffickings
with the Spaniards. He said, and I agree with
him too, that we should adhere to the old State,
and when the proper time comes then we can
peaceably secede with her consent, and become
one of the confederacy. That's what he said was
the feeling in Virginia, and I think it's what
it ought to be here."
" Pshaw, Campbell, you don't understand the
merits of this question. Here we are unprotected
by the parent government-separated from them
7*               153




154        THE DREADFUL BLOW.
hundreds of miles by frowning mountains and a
gloomy wilderness. We owe them nothing for
the past, for we have built up our own prosperity, and we have defended ourselves, as we
shall have to do yet, with blood and treasure.
Then we have no outlet for our surplus produce,
except over the mountains, and the Federal Congress will not interfere to secure the right of free
navigation of the Mississippi, which was years
ago stipulated in a treaty. Now Spain offers to
allow us to trade down the river; will buy oui
tobacco, and corn, and flour, and will, besides,
afford us sufficient protection. I am for General
Wilkinsonn scheme. He is a true man and
brave soldier. I knew him at Princeton, where
he fought most gallantly, as indeed he did
throughout the wars. He is a man who loves
his country."
" Ah! can a person truly love his country and
sell that country at the same time for Spanish
gold, as this Wilkinson is doing? Don't his
pockets jingle with the yellow doubloons whenever he comes this way, and isn't he always receiving great piles of specie from Low Louisiana?
Bless my eyes, who do I see riding there through
the woods? If it isn't the young man who spoke




THE DREADFUL BLOW.         15~
to-day at Washington. See, Dobson, his glossy
black horse, and how he sits him like a Centaur!"
Sure enough, there came dashing up the path
a mettlesome steed, coal black, and gracefully
formed, surmounted by a young man whose flow
of animal spirits seemed as exuberant-judging
by the almost audible smile that wreathed his
face, and the abandon with which he rode-as
those of the noble horse he bestrode.
He did not hail the house, as was the custom
of the country, nor salute Dobson and Campbell,
who were seated in the front stoop, smoking
their cob-pipes, as strangers. Leaping from his
horse, with agile step he was in a moment before
the astonished pioneers, clasping Dobson with an
affectionate embrace, which startled that undemonstrative man.
One tone of his deep, rich voice, and one
glance into the depths of his burning eye, satisfied Dobson who his visitor was. But speech
utterly failed him when he attempted to frame
words of welcome. His happiness at meeting an
old and gallant friend, and the sorrowful remembrances which that meeting awakened, combined
to palsy his voice. He could but look unutter



156         THE DREADFUL BLOW.
able satisfaction and wring the young man's
hands with his mighty grasp.
The staid Scotchman, unable to comprehend
so violent and enthusiastic a dumb greeting, and
fearing that his presence might interfere with
the complete satisfaction of the two re-united
friends, strayed through the shaded yard, his
course marked by the clouds of smoke which
were whiffed from his pipe, and curled about his
head in fantastic shapes.
Dobson could readily detect in the earnest and
longing glances that the new comer directed
toward the door, that he was not at all satisfied
thus to loiter on the threshold of long-anticipated
bliss. Without a word he led him within; but
just beyond the door-sill they encountered Mrs.
Hardy. At the sight of Basil Greene the fountains of her heart seemed broken up. Yielding
to the cordial embrace, she gave way to a flood
of tears-tears from the depths of a divine
despair.
Basil was unable to account for this singular
reception. Had not his heart been so full of fond
anticipation-had not the longing lover usurped
the place of the keen-eyed man of business, he
might have read in the manner and emotions of




THE DREADFUL BLOW.          157
these two worthy people the painful truth which
was so soon to fall like a cursed blight upon his
hopes.
They were seated in the best room, and Dobson,
glad to be rid of the unpleasant scene, had left
Basil alone with his wife. After the first great
passion had subsided, she resumed her accustomed passive manner, and the keenest scrutinizer of those cold and pallid features could not
have detected any traces of the recent stormy
grief that had swept over her soul. Even after
regaining her self-possession, she remained silent,
nerving herself for the proper control of her
voice.
Just then there was a rustle of skirts beside
the door, and a light step. Basil turned instinctively, eager to catch the first glimpse, and
prompt to clasp to his own breast the form which
he had last seen fading away from him in the
Virginian twilight.
Up spoke Mrs. Hardy in her clear, cold tones
— mercilessly and bitterly cold they seemed to
that listener:
"You need not look, Basil; you will never
see her more! Poor Mary is not here!"
"I Not here-never see her again!" shrieked




158         THE DREADFUL BLOW.
Basil, recoiling from the bearer of these tidings,
and shivering at her words of ice.
" Can she be dead.?" he muttered in a monotone, and then, as the even more dreadful supposition recurred to him, that, perhaps, she had
forgotten her troth and bestowed her heart
elsewhere, he summoned all his courage and
kept back the stammering, broken sentences
which would have shown too plainly how utterly
his heart was crushed.
" Yes, she is dead," said this most imperturbable woman; and not stopping to notice the pallor that spread over Basil's cheek, nor to observe
how his sturdy frame quivered as an aspen, nor
to heed his gasping queries as he clutched at
portions of her narrative, she proceeded to detail,
in her frigid manner, all the circumstances attending the sudden and mysterious disappearance of Mary.
Perhaps it were better thus to have the stories
of our great calamities unfolded to us by a calm,
disciplined friend, in whose voice you can detect
no tremor, in whose narrative there are only bald
words and no touches of pathos, no sympathy, no
condolence, no sharing of the cup of the sorrow.
It may be that you can thus the sooner realize




THE DREADFUL BLOW.        159
your forlorn and stricken condition. Nevertheless, in an hour of misery and gloom, let us see
the tender glance and feel the comforting touch.
If some dreadful, sorrowful truth is to be revealed
to us, let the voice that tells the saddening tale
be warm and gentle and soothing, and even broken by sobs.
When the sad truth had been fully told, Basil
did not utter those words of Scripture which had
been so consoling to the mother and aunt under
similar afflicting circumstances. He could not
find it in his heart to say: " God doeth all things
well.'" Had he not for months looked forward to
the day of meeting? Had it not ever loomed
forward in the sky of his future, no matter what
clouds or gloom obscured? Faithful to the end
-ah! bitter end it seemed now —had he not
kept his heart pure and blameless and unseduced,
that he might bring it as a spotless tribute to the
woman of his choice? To win her approving
smiles had he not struggled and toiled-had he
not endured privations-had he not overcome
mountains-had he not fought legions of adversaries, and in every contest with the doubts and
fears that would assail him, had he not proven
the victor? He had loved and striven, and pa



160         THE DREADFUL BLOW.
tiently suffered, and now was he to be thus cast
down? Were all his hopes to be thus ruthlessly
destroyed, and the smiling face of the heavens
blotted out from his vision forever 
It was too cruel a blow, and his heart rebelled
against the great Chastener, and when Mrs.
Hardy whispered that precious text, he mockingly scoffed at the teachings of a being who
could thus smite and then offer mere words as
consolation.  Rebellion naturally created distrust, and the poor sufferer, whose mind had
never been fully enlightened concerning the ways
of Providence, in his madness and misery doubted the wisdom  and justice of the God of his
fathers. He spoke bitterly against the Creator,
who having made man, and placed him in a
paradise, then purposely planted the tree of evil,
so that he might eat and perish, thus sating His
malice. He scoffed in his incoherent ravings at
the great plan of salvation. It was but a narrow scheme, enabling the few who are marked
and elect to credit the strange sacrifice of the
Son, and thus save their souls; while millions
shall live and die, never hearing the Saviour's
name, and hence go to the gaping grave unredeemed. Was this justice?




THE DREADFUL BLOW.         161
For days Basil lay in a trance, now and then
waking for a moment, and calling upon Mary,
wildly, madly, passionately. Then, in other intervals of his death-like sleep, he would rave as
any madman, and words of blasphemy, which
before had never polluted his lips, would roll
forth in the vehemence of his unnatural anger.
He cursed earth and heaven and hell-all things
and all beings, with a violence that was shocking.
The faithful women never deserted him. Tenderly they tended beside his couch, and strove,
as only women know how, to alleviate his distresses. But could they minister to a mind diseased?  Better, believe it, than would be imagined..The patient, gentle, uncomplaining,
pensive face of a woman, bending over the couch
of the delirious, is certain to reflect inwardly upon
the sufferer. No matter whether a bright, unsullied young face, or one that has been stamped
with years of suffering. Let the woman only be
good. Heaven has writ upon the faces of all
good women a message of hope and love, whose
cheering words flash upon us in straits of illness
and despair.
Basil had thus been brought through the crisis




162        THE DitEADFUL BLOW.
of a severe illness. These two good souls, without
the aid of doctors, had led him gently through
the darkened valley up to the blessed mountainheights of health. Mrs. Burkitt, when she heard
of the attachment between the sufferer and her
daughter, felt a maternal affection for him, and
gave up her days and nights to vigils at his
couch.
Restored, but not to complete health, and feeling, as the tide of life once more ebbed and
flowed through his veins, how blessed it is to
live, Basil began to cast about him for occupation, for he knew that his mind, weakened and
shattered, must have some employment to distract it from wretched thoughts and sad memories.




xxx,
THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.
OF  this June  Sabbath, the words of old
George Herbert are the-fittest description:
"Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridall of the earth and skies."
There was to be religious worship some eight
miles from  the Hardy home, and thither the
family, servants and all, were bound. Horses
were saddled and bridled at an early hour, and
soon they were clattering along the shaded forest
road. As they proceeded, they jjoined other parties on horseback, and overtook scores who were
trudging on foot. It was considered nothing
then to walk a dozen miles to hear the preaching
of the blessed Word.
After a pleasant ride through fields green
with the ripening harvest, and woods surcharged
168




164    THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.
with the melody of birds and the perfume of
nodding flowers —beside new homes that were
springing up in neighborly nearness-across
brooks that, to the sleeping woods, all night sing
a quiet tune-they reached the scene of the
day's services.  It was an immense tract of
woodland, clear of undergrowth, and the green
sward' as smooth and neat as if trimmed for
the occasion. The woods were already populous
with worshippers, and from the centre of the
throng there arose the hum of melody; at first
low and indistinct, then bursting out in full
harmonious numbers, until the very leaves quivered, and the deep, rich music rolled through
the forest, and across the valleys, and up, up to
the sky, where it was blent with the blessed song
of angels.
A rude stand had been erected, and about
it hewn logs were placed at regular intervals,
affording seats for many hundreds. The preacher
mounts the rustic pulpit and announces this
text-it is that brief verse in the Gospel of John:
"Jesus wept." At once the multitude Aix their
eyes upon the speaker, and for two hours (those
were not the days of pleasant little forty-minute
discourses) the listeners are riveted to their




THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.   165
seats. They lean forward, anxious that not one
word of the precious message shall escape
them. The preacher's voice is melodious, his
accents pure, and his words gentle and persuasive. His manners are a happy composite of
the frank and out-spoken style of the woods,
and the ease and grace of the city. His
thoughts are marked by long communion with
nature, and yet give evidence of the polish of
books. Evidently he has seen much of life in
its various phases. IHe has dwelt among libraries, and drawn power and strength from the
old masters of theology. He has spent months
in the wilderness, studying its rugged forms and
finding inspiration in that great fountain source
which avails him here when he would speak
pointedly and plainly-when he would strike
home to the hearts and consciences of these backwoods people; he has learned their modes of
thought and speech, and he uses their expressive
and somewhat blunt phraseology, without sacrificing purity of diction; he knows their boldness and chivalry; he is likewise bold and
chivalrous; he finds he can best influence their
feelings by sharing with them their dangers and
trials; he is a foremost man in the hunt; he




166    THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.
shrinks from no perilous undertaking; he falters
not when the arrows of death are whizzing
through the air; he rushes through the gloom,
and fury, and blackness of tempests; he knows
that God is everywhere and ever mindful, and
that by demonstrating his own perfect reliance
on the strong arm of the Almighty, he can best
draw others to the same great rock of defence
and security.
Such were the tactics of the pioneer preachers;
such the requirements of the men who first
lifted the standard of the cross in the western
wilds. Strong were their hands and strong their
hearts, and strongest of all, their faith in the
Lord Jesus Christ.  They were not delicate,
thin-voiced men, but Boanerges; each one of
them a son of thunder; they did not poetize,
and dream, and articulate in lisping syllables
essays upon love and morality, as do most of the
modern divines; they did not discourse upon
politics, but found more fitting themes in the
wondrous events of their Saviour's life —in the
higher concerns of immortality; they made the
world and men better by the impressive lessons
they taught, and by the pure, bold, manly lives
they led.




THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.    167
Basil soon discovered that the preacher had
thrown a spell over him; nor was he at all
anxious to dissolve it. The subject was one full
of interest at all times, in all places, and to all
men. Its lessons were especially pertinent to
the mental condition of Basil. The sufferings,
the agony, the woe, the misery, and above all,
the tender, loving, affectionate kindness of Jesus,
were depicted in the most striking light. The
hand which drew these scenes in his life and
presented that pathetic picture of the Saviour
weeping at the tomb of Lazarus, was not feeble
Every stroke of the pencil was masterly, and
the broad canvas, as it was unfurled, glowed
with the effective touches of the mighty artist,
who, there in the wilderness, with his pencil of
flame, could paint upon the impalpable air
scenes that brought tears, and aroused erring
hearts, and startled men in their wayward ways,
and pointed to heaven, to that Mediator who had
here wept in the agony of his distress over the
sinfulness of fallen man. Every heart in the
large throng caught the sympathatic glow of
the speaker. Tears suffused their eyes as they
gazed upon the picture of Christ's agony for
sinning humanity, and remembered his great




168    THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.
condescension in suffering that the world might
live.
Thus for two hours the people held their
places in rapt attention. At the conclusion of
the sermon they united as one man in singing
the old hymn:
" Jesus my all to heaven has gone "singing it not with the mere artistic skill of
trained choristers, but with what is much better,
the spirit and the understanding-framing with
their golden words of praise and music a way of
ascent to the ear of the Father.
Then followed the noon repast. Each family
had brought with it provisions for the dinnerhour, and gathering in groups beneath the overhanging trees, white cloths were spread upon the
smooth grass, and the happy people regaled
themselves with their substantial food.
After this brief intermission the people collected again to hear another of their favorite
teachers. There was a striking difference in the
two sermons, and it would have been difficult to
have determined which best satisfied the -hearers.
That of the morning was pungent and effective
in arousing their hearts-in appealing to their




THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.   169
sympathies-in startling them with the wide gulf
between their ways of sin and the paths of peace
and pleasantness, where true wisdom trod. It
was consoling also, as it presented Jesus in that
most affecting of possible positions, sharing the
grief and sorrow of poor fallen humanity, for the
loss of one of its number.  Thus there was
naturally deduced the kindness and gentleness of
a system which, while- it was strict and even
stern in its requirements, was tempered by
mercy and consecrated by all-pervading love.
The afternoon discourse was a calm, dispassionate argument, demonstrating God's justice in
all things. It was a solid, compact piece of
reasoning, unadorned by rhetoric and unrelieved
a single gleam of pity. That God doeth all
things well-that the sinner would certainly
meet his doom and the elect Christian his reward-that no leaf fell, no harvest was blighted,
no station overwhelmed with murder and fire at
midnight, but in the course of God's overruling
Providence. There was no tenderhess of thought
-not a spark of feeling-not a tremor of the voice
denoting emotion. Like that rugged old metaphysician, our American Jonathan Edwards, this
backwoods evangelist, in his discourse deilbe8




170    THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.
rately carried his hearers to the very verge of hell,
and bade them look in; but not the whole heat
of its burnings could melt into a tear the ice in
his eye. He bade them gaze upon a great portion of their fellow men stretched through eternity upon a wheel of torture, but his eyelids
quivered no more than if he looked upon a butterfly. It was only when at the mouth of this
gaping hell he bade them listen to the melodies
of heaven, that he varied in the least from the
unimpassioned coldness of his ratiocination.
Such was the preaching our fathers enjoyed.
It was strong meat, and built them up in a faith
that all the winds and storms of unbelief and
heresy could never disturb.
You will not hear such messages from your
pulpit next Sabbath. Our ministers have given
up that kind of earnest, effective discourse. They
deal now in essays; they preach statistics; they
quote poetry; they make sensation hits; they
deliver lectures, but never preach; they offer the
blue skim-milk of the Gospel diluted with water,
for the nourishment of the babes of Israel. No
wonder. The Christians of this age would revolt
at the presentation of such doctrinal food as that
upon which their fathers thrived and strengthened.




TIE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.   171
But with these two sermons, a faint echo of
which we have attempted to give, the exercises
of the day were not complete. There were yet
other duties to perform. Near by was a running
stream, and, as at AIEnon near Salim, there was
much water there. Thither the entire congregation wended their way, and grouping along the
gently sloping banks of the creek, they witnessed the ordinance of baptism  administered.
First an elderly man was led into the water,
where he submitted to the administration. Next
a young girl, in the ripening beauty and fresh
innocence of her glad life. And then A swarthy
negro, the very one indeed whose fate was so recently and summarily decided by the bench of
magistrates. He is under condemnation of death,
but has been allowed the privilege of religious
instruction, and brought here to-day, under guard,
that he might be enabled to publicly profess his
faith. It was a sad and solemn, as well as unusual,
spectacle. The doomed victim, strengthened by
inward faith, and the hopes of a better hereafter, stepped firmly into the stream, and bowed
his head beneath the crystal wave, the voice of
hundreds uniting in that baptismal hymn:
" In all my Lord's appointed ways."




172    THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.
Then the communicants were seated upon the
grassy bank, and with the golden sunset floating
on them between the trees, kissing the water,
and crowning, as with a halo, the head of the
minister who blessed the sacraments, these people of God-there in the howling wildernesspartook of the emblems of their Lord and Saviour,
the poor negro sharing for the first and last time
in the consecrated supper. Between him and
the everlasting feast at the table of Christ's own
providing, but a few fleeting hours intervened.
As they rode home that evening, Basil Greene
made inquiries concerning the two ministers he
had heard, and learned something of their history. The preacher of the morning discourse
was Elder David Thomas, then nearly sixty years
of age, who had been a minister of great distinction in Virginia. Besides the natural endowments of a vigorous mind, and the advantages of
a classical and refined education, he had a melodious and piercing voice, a pathetic address and
expressive action. Such was his great and persuasive eloquence that persons frequently travelled more than a hundred miles to hear him.
During the first years of his ministry he met with
much persecution, being frequently assailed, both




THE GOSPEL IN THE WILDERNESS.    173
by individuals and mobs. He lived to an advanced age, and was blind for several years before his death, but his spiritual vision was never
dimmed or quenched in the least.
The other was Elder Lewis Craig, one of the
very first to introduce the Gospel into Kentucky,
and one of the most remarkable men of the age
in which he labored.
For many years he suffered persecution in
Virginia, the Baptist then being a proscribed people in that State. He was frequently confined in
jail as a martyr to his love of religious liberty
and the rights of conscience. When imprisoned
on one occasion, in Fredericksburg, he preached
through the grates of his prison to large crowds.
Elder Craig died old and full of honors, leaving
his honorable name as a legacy to a large and
influential family in Kentucky.
It was in defence of such heroic men, and
such principles, that Patrick Henry delivered
his speech at the Spottsylvania Court House in
1768, which was the first outburst of his trumpet,
tongue in behalf of the rights of man and the
cardinal doctrines of the Declaration of Independence.




XXXI.
A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.
IT  TIII[NK your Scotch friend has something tender on his mind," remarked
Basil one evening, as the family group was clustered about the front door watching the fire-flies,
and breathing the odorous night-air that swept
past them from a field of newly mown grass.
"Tender. Why he is a rough-fisted, toughhearted Scot. Do you suppose people of that
sort have feelings a?" responded Dobson, blowing
a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, while the
words came limping from between his lips.
" Well, if he be a Scot, or what, I care not; a
man of more heart, of truer, tenderer, braver
feelings, cannot be found," said Mrs. Burkitt, for
she was still mindful of the great and good heart
that had prompted him to peril his own life to
174




A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.    175
rescue hers, and she would not allow anything
to be said in disparagement of her noble preserver.
"Oh! I understand you, Basil;" and then
Mlrs. IIardy, ill a most confiding manner, detailed how Campbell had for months past, ever
since the days of the Sugar-camp, been particularly attentive to the widow Janes, and had even,
she believed, gone so far as to make a proposal
of marriage.
"Yes, such is the fact," said Basil. "When
I mentioned the other day, in his presence, my)
contemplated departure for Lexington, he called!
me aside and whispered a wish, that I would not
leave until after a certain thing happrened. To,
day, as I was riding by his school-house, he hailed
me, and said that Thursday night was the time
fixed-that, in fact, it was. to be his- weddirng
night, and he desired I should stand up with
him."'-'Why,. the wretch! To be married Thursday
night and not one word said to me about it!"
blurted oust the indignant Madam Hardy.
"' Aw, but there's time enough yet," spoke a
broad voice in the shadow. It was the subject
of their confidential chat, who had thus come




176     A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.
suddenly upon them out of the silence of the
night.
" Well, I heard a part of your conversation. I
suppose, good friends, you approve of my intent.
Matrimony is a Scriptural institution, and my
wife, that is to be, is, as you know, a good thrifty
woman, besides, she has had experience."
"' Yes, yes," said Dobson. " You are perfectly
right. The widow has had experience. Then
she's a lonely woman, living down the Creek
with only three negroes, and she needs some one
to take care of her broad bottom lands. You'll.be snugly fixed, and I reckon will give up your,school, and pay more attention to your theological studies. But what will the widow say to
your Scotch Presbyterianism?"
"Can't tell, indeed; but, as one of your axioms
says, let us not count the chickens before they
are hatched. I only came to say to you all, come'over Thursday."
" Of course we shall be there. But come, sit
down and smoke a last bachelor pipe with us.
The widow may not like tobacco, and exercise
her wifely authority in interdicting your use of
the Virginia weed.
" Cannot sit to-night. Must be off."




A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.    177
And away he tramped, his great figure vanishing in the dark.
It was even so. The Scotch schoolmaster was
about to marry an attractive widow-attractive
from the size of her possessions-a widow who
had persistently heretofore refused all advances
toward a matrimonial alliance. Her husband
was engaged in the bloody and disastrous battle
of the Blue Licks, and from that ill-starred field
had never returned to cheer his wife. But, from
sonle inexplicable cause, she had taken up the
idea, that he had escaped the fearful massacre,
and would yet return. Many years had elapsed,
and still he came not. But she was not daunted,
and scorned the approach of any one who she
supposed thought of occupying the place of her
dear John in her affections. Notwithstanding
all this, the shrewd, practical eloquence of
Campbell, his national perseverance in pressing
home upon her the great question, in season and
out of season, finally caused the widow to yield
her fond hopes to his fonder desires, and the
troth was made. Any one but a Scot would
have failed in such an enterprise; but the sons
of Caledonia-whether it is in winning a wife or
a fortune, in capturing a battery or demolishing
8*




178     A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.
a postulate, —never say die. They are always
successful.
The eventful Thursday night arrived. The
wedding guests were assembled. Dobson had
attired himself in a suit of black, of antique pattern; the very same which he had obtained when
he made his first appearance at the great University of Edinburgh, to enter upon his course in the
" humanities." It was a little worn, and somewhat too scant for his newly-developed muscles,
but, nevertheless, shone in striking contrast with
the buckskin breeches and linsey hunting-shirts
of most of the guests. Mrs. Janes had carefully
preserved her first bridal garments through all
the years of her pioneer travails and adventures,
and these were donned once more to do honor to
her second appearance at the altar.
Bride and groom and their attendants were
standing in the midst of the room; the clergyman had just been handed the license, and the
throng of spectators were on tip-toe peering over
one another's shoulders to see that Gordian knot
tied, which alone Death or the Chancellor can
untie.
The first affirmative response, with its broad
Scotch accent, had barely escaped front the




A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.    179
groom, when crack went a rifle shot, echoing
through the woods.
"That's John's gun," exclaimed the intended bride. With a bound as light as a liberated fawn, she rushed to the door, oversetting two or three of the guests in her headlong
speed.
Marching through the yard, with his rifle and
a coon dangling across his shoulder, was the longlost husband.
He was duly introduced to the persons present by the overjoyed wife, who was, indeed, now
no longer a widow. The occasion of the assemblage was explained, with many protestations,
on the part of Mrs. Janes, of her having been
faithful so long, and only yielding finally because
the sawney, as she denominated Campbell, would
have teased the very life out of her in a month
longer."
"Well, I reckon, Molly, your supper needn't
spile, if you have lost a new husband."
This suggestion was hailed with unmistakable
delight by all present, and they were soon seated
about the plentifully-heaped board. John took
the lead in eating, as he did in talking. His long
disappearance, he accounted for most satisfacto



180     A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.
rily. He had been wounded in the battle, and
from the loss of blood was unable to flee with
the other fugitives, so that the Indians had easily
made him a captive.  When the conflict was
over, the red-skins counted their slain, and buried
them with the usual customs and ceremonies of
their tribes. They then counted the whites who
had been killed, and finding that they were not
so numerous as their own dead, they ranged the
captives on a log, and proceeded to butcher them
in cold blood. Luckily John Janes was in the
exact middle of the row of prisoners, and having
killed the requisite number when they reached
him, he was spared. During the first years of
his captivity he had suffered a thousand deaths,
but subsequently, having proven tractable, he
was treated with more leniency, and adopted into a chief's family as a son.
" As a son-in-law, I reckon," spoke out some
one who had been listening to the narrative.
"Well, son-in-law or not, I was as good as
married all the time that I was among the red
heathen," answered John.
At this confession the waiting, watching, hoping, ever-constant Mrs. Janes uttered a piercing
scream.




A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.    181
"Never mind, Molly. You needn't go off into
hysterics. They had no licenses and no preachers out thar. But what has become of the feller
you intended forgettin' me for? I should like
to take a squint at him."
Wheie was Campbell?  Long since he had
disappeared. The feast and frolic had no attractions for him after the unlucky contretemps that
had rendered him a widower, and thrown him
back desolate upon the shoals of bachelordom,
just as his feet were entering upon the golden
shores of wedlock. Alone, feeling as if he were
friendless above all men, the poor pedagogue
had hastened through the woods to his gloomy
quarters, and carefully folding his black garments, had deposited them in his cedar chest,
with camphor and tobacco about them, so that
the moths might be hindered from desecrating
these melancholy sables. Perchance they may
come in play on some more auspicious occasion?
Did that occasion ever come? We know that
we shall be transgressing the rules of the high
art of story-telling if we reveal here, in medias
res, the fate of any of the characters involved in
our plot. But at the risk of lessening the inter



182     A COURTSHIP ANTD ITS RESULTS.
est that might attach to any future appearance
of Campbell upon this stage, we shall lift the
veil from his future.
It is 1795, the year of St. Clair's defeat by the
Indians in the Northwestern Territory. John
Janes was engaged as a volunteer in that encounter, and with too many other brave fellows was
killed. Actually and positively killed, scalped,
buried, and his name reported to the War Department as one of the dead. No mistake this
time. He might revisit the pale glimpses of the
moon; but could never again disturb a wedding
feast with his bodily presence. Even Mrs. Janes
was satisfied. Campbell, who from pedagogue
had risen to the pulpit, and was lashing men's
consciences in place of boys' backs, again proffered his hand and heart.
Accepted. Married. Not without many misgivings on the part of Campbell. He was continually haunted with the presentiment that
some sharp rifle shot would dissipate his domestic
happiness, and a stalwart spectral hunter march
in to assume mastery of the house and fields he
had usurped.
But these were only illusive conjectures of his
brain. 1No fleshly realities ever entered into his




A COURTSHIP AND ITS RESULTS.    183
happy home for the purpose of producing discontent. There were children, and grandchildren,
and we are bold to say, that if you will look into
one of the sweetest cottages that now brightens
old Mason, you will find a group of rosy-cheeked
great grandchildren.
May the line, established with such difficulty,
never be extinguished I




XXXII,
WE DISCUSS POLITICS.
TIHE stump-speech of our young Virginian,
upon his advent into the county, whereof
Campbell had spoken in such exalted terms, had
favorably impressed many hearers besides the
quiet and conservative Caledonian, and the
friends of the measures then advocated by
Wilkinson were alarmed at the rapidly gaining public sentiment hostile to a Spanish protectorate. They dispatched a messenger to Wilkinson at Lexington, and informed him, if he
would have delegates chosen to the Danville
Convention, partial to his policy, he must come
down and set matters right. This warning the
energetic politician did not neglect. He hastened to combat the arguments of the Union advocate, "and appointed a day for the public discussion of the political condition of the county.
184




WE DISCUSS POLITICS.       185
Even at that early period Kentuckians found
their chief delight in these logomachic tournaments-these sharp and bitter contests of the intellect. Fond as they were of the chase and the
Indian foray, they loved, above all things else, to
cluster about some leader and hear him pour out
his flood of reasoning, of wit and eloquence,
upon political topics. They were all partisans
and all discussed the various questions with the
liveliest animation.  Over their toddies they
talked politics, occasionally warming until blows
were exchanged.  In the harvest-fields they
argued. When on the hunt they beguiled the
tedium of the night-watches with wordy conflicts. Every household was a debating club.
The women even took an interest in these struggles, and the children shouted for the champions
of their fathers' measures.
Thus it happened that the very atmosphere of
Kentucky became imbued with a political cast,
and that the relations of society were formed
according to the bias of political sentiment.
From these ancestors, who engaged with such
ardor and vehemence in the strifes and canvasses and election bouts of that era, we have inherited the unexampled proclivities that now




186          WE DISCUSS POLITICS.
mark the Kentucky character.  Everything —
religion, love, business-everything save war is
subsidiary in interest to the discussion and maintenance of political principles. For our side we
spend breath, money and muscle; we argue aand
we fight; we huzza; we intrigue; we buy; we
do anything, whether it is respectable or otherwise. All is fair in battle, and so in politics.
Where reason fails to convince, other appliances
are used. Do we see a poor devil, who would
barter his suffrage for a glass of whisky, we
treat him until he is blind with liquor, and then
place in his shaky hand a shining half dollar
that his enthusiasm may not become lessened
for the want of alcoholic inspiration.
Owing to such a condition of facts, all the
talent of the State, from its first settlement, has
been embarked upon the treacherous and boisterous sea of politics.  Hence, men able to
achieve success in science, literature and art, have
preferred the shouts and plaudits and votes of the
crowd to the peaceful walks and shady groves
and laurel crowns of scholarship. It is only
when the clarion tocsin of war sounds that we
forget our animosities and bickerings, and rush
to a common standard to battle and bleed,




WE DISCUSS POLITICS.       187
brethren at once-as at the Thames and Buena
Vista.
Perhaps it is well that such are the facts of
history —that such is the truth concerning the
Kentucky of to-day. The predominance of politics over every other pursuit has given the State
an especial and peculiar character as a member
of the confederacy, and has instilled into the
people a spirit of patriotism so deep abiding and
true that the time can never come when either
of the parties would, for one moment, seriously
jeopardize the safety of the Union. Wi may
talk and threaten and gasconade. That is all for
buncombe. When the hour of peril comes the
heart of the populace beats true, and the captains of the opposing phalanxes know that to
strike one serious blow at the Union we were
born to love and cherish and defend, would be
the signal for the preparation of their own death
warrants.  So they ground arms and shake
hands and fling their banners to the breeze, each
proud of the motto-" United we stand, divided
we fall."
Greene was informed of the proposed visit of
WVilkinson, and a deputation of the yeomanry
urged him to be present and answer the speech




188         WE DISCUSS POLITICS.
of the distinguished soldier and politician. He
pleaded, in excuse, that he was comparatively a
stranger, and that it would look impertinent in
one so young, and who had so recently come in
the country, to thrust himself forward in an encounter with a veteran leader. But they would
listen to no excuses. He must accept the challenge which had been so defiantly hurled at him,
and sustain the reputation he had won in his
first" effort. Hardy, although opposed to the
position of his guest, saw that this was an opportunity for his acquiring popularity, and exercised
his influence in prevailing on him to engage in
the contest. At any other time no one would
have so rejoiced as Greene at an occasion of this
kind. It was exactly to his humnor. Above all
things he loved these open tilts before the people. He knew his own resources; was confident,
fluent, and had a presence that inspired respect
in opponents and admiration in friends. But
now he felt his mind unsettled. HIe was still
staggering under a heavy blow. Iis heart was
writhing with anguish. IIe felt his soul shrouded
with gloom, and he much preferred avoiding the
glare of day and the noise of crowds. At last
he yielded reluctantly.




WVE DISCUSS POLITICS.      189
The day came on. From far and near the
farmers and hunters gathered. Every path and
road leading to Washington was lined with eager
multitudes. No room in the town could hold
one tithe of the crowd, and they assembled, as is
still the custom throughout the State, in the open
air.
Wilkinson was no orator; but he possessed a
plain positive manner of speaking, occasionally
bursting into vehemence of utterance, that could
control the attention; while the apparent candor
of his statements, and his frankness of explanation were as potent in winning hearts as honeyed
words and graces lof oratory. Cheer after cheer
from lusty lungs greeted almost every sentence
that he uttered, and the committee that had invited Greene wished, before the General had concluded his harangue, that they had not been so
hasty. They cursed their own presumption, and
trembled for the stripling who would attempt
to parry blows with a disputant so stalwart and
practised in the manly art of stump speaking.
Greene, however, was in no wise abashed.
Whatever hesitancy he might have felt at first in
confronting so formidable an opponent, had all
vanished. The huzzas of the throng were musi



190         WE DISCUSS POLITICS.
cal to his ears. As the war steed hears the
shock and thunder of battle, and rushes to the
conflict, he heard the shout and din of the applauding concourse, and was panting for the
fray.. The excitement was intoxicating to his
soul. His cheeks, so pale and haggard from
recent illness, became flushed.  His eye, dimmed by tears, brightened.  His whole form,.which had been shrunk and enfeebled, was in a
moment filled with new life. He gave all his
puny fears to the winds. There was but one
thought of sadness-could Mary but have heard
of this triumph and shared with him its bliss?
Then, casting aside even this bitter reflection, he
pushed his way toward the stand as the General
was concluding, and mounted that rustic rostrum.
No word of welcome greeted his appearance;
no voice of recognition was heard. He could
detect no sympathizing glance in the audience.
Even the friends of his policy did not dare afford
him a smile of encouragement. They had been
overawed by the position of the former speaker,
and the tumult in his favor; but Basil was not
disheartened. He knew that he could arouse
the sluggish friends of Union from this torpor



WE DISCUSS POLITICS.       191
that he could charge home upon the enemy with
such effect as to startle them from their sneering
indifference. Without one word of apology for
his seeming presumption, as he had at first intended, he began.
First, in a low, subdued tone-but with a
voice so exquisitely modulated, with such clearness of articulation and words so well chosen,
that each one was a keen rapier- he stated his
position. He did not assail the patriotism of the
distinguished advocate of a Spanish protectorate.
The history of that champion he knew. His
valor in the war of Independence —his sacrifices
and sufferings through that long struggle had
endeared him to his heart. It was the wisdom,
the prudence, the policy of the measures proposed that he attacked. That vassalage to Spain,
even with the right of the free navigation of the
Mississippi, would be odious to freemen, he plainly
demonstrated. He depicted the incongruity of
language, blood and religion, and asked how
could relations so intimate as had been mentioned, be sustained between nations that had no
common ties-nothing but sordid, miserable
avarice to bind them  together.  Here every
blow fell with effect upon the General. His




192         WE DISCUSS POLITICS.
only aim in advocating his propositions was
pecuniary aggrandizement. Himself a merchant
largely engaged in commerce, he was already
reaping golden rewards from his friendship for
the Spanish, and it was plain to be seen that he
advocated his policy with an eye singly to commercial prosperity.  Basil excused the inefficiency of Virginia in not providing proper defences for the frontiers on the best grounds. She
had just'passed through the terrible Revolutionary ordeal, and while her troops were defending
other portions of the confederacy, her own borders had been ravaged-her towns pillaged, and
her citizens murdered by British ruffians. Since
the peace, every energy had been exercised to
recuperate her almost prostrate fortunes, and
while she felt a mother's interest in her young
child, here on the frontiers of civilization, she
was too weak to extend a helping hand. But
strength was again returning to her enfeebled
arms. Her step was regaining its wonted vigor,
and she would soon, not only as a matter of duty,
but with the pride of a fond parent, place this
young and vigorous athlete among the members
of the confederacy-place her as a star in the
diadem of freedom, and bid it shine there with a




WE DISCUSS POLITICS.       193
lustre that no time could dim-a star like the
Julian:
Micat inter omnes
Julium sidus, velut inter ignes
Luna minores.
The young orator concluded with a stirring
appeal to the people. He pleaded with them for a
continuance of their union with Virginia, which
would ultimately result in freedom and independence as a State. HIe conjured them by the
ties of consanguinity and affection, by the remembrance of blood mingled in a common cause,
and by the hopes of a future which promised to
their union blessings, for themselves and their
posterity to the latest times.
Wilkinson made a brief rejoinder, but he only
alluded to the youth, inexperience and inconsiderate zeal of the impetuous Virginian. He
said nothing by way of repelling the force of his
argunents; nor did he indulge, as the listeners
expected, in his usual bravado and insulting
attack. He had read at a glance the character of
Greene, and he saw that he was not to be browbeaten and bullied-that, if he conquered him at
all, it must be by kind words, by gentle flattery,
9




194         WE DISCUSS POLITICS.
by acts of friendship. He was no opponent to
meet in stern conflict, and overwhelm. A young
Samson, he must be insnared by some fair
Delilah and shorn of his locks and strength.
While these yeomen bold are debating the
discussion over their spirits and water, let us
step aside and recount, with as much historical
precision as possible, the political condition of
Kentucky at that period. Anarchy and discord
prevailed to a dangerous degree, and the people
were divided into half a dozen parties. Interest
and the prospect of trade undoubtedly swayed
many and reconciled them to the prospect of a
union with Louisiana under the crown of Spain.
General Wilkinson, Judge Sebastian and others
of less notoriety, were active agents in these disgraceful intrigues. Another party was favorable
to the formation of a separate and independent
republic. A third was opposed to any Spanish
connection, and in favor of forcing the free navigation of the Mississippi by the arms of the
United States, with the invasion of Louisiana
and West Florida. A fourth was in favor of
soliciting France to claim a retrocession of Louisiana, and to extend her protection over Kentucky. Happily for the nation at large, the




WE DISCUSS POLTICs.      195
strongest party advocated a continuance of the
relations with Virginia, until a separation could
be peaceably effected and admission obtained
into the Federal Union.
Thus distracted by conflicting factions, Kentucky passed through the years of probation; not
patiently, not even hopefully-her nervous, excitable and ardent inhabitants continually agitated by the intrigues of leading citizens whose
talents were devoted to schemes of personal
aggrandizement and traitorous profit. That thus
perplexed and thus influenced the mass of the
people should, unseduced by the abilities of the
leaders, remain steadfast to the doctrines of freedom and the original government, is a noble
commentary on their purity and integrity and
fidelity-an example that has not been lost even
on this generation.




XXXIII.
MAPLE HILL ACADEMY.
CAMPBELL, after his matrimonial misadventure, went back to his school-teaching.
To the Maple Hill Academy, over which he presided, suppose we go, and see how our ancestors learned-after what fashion they drank of
the Pierian spring. It is preferable to go in the
cool of the morning, before the sun has kissed the
dewy sward, and brushed with his beamy hand
the pearly tear-drops of the night from the matted grass and glossy leaves. We will cross the
crooked worm fence, at the well-worn stile, and
follow the beaten path through thick undergrowth, and beneath huge forest trees. Now it
leads straight on, turning neither to the right nor
left-anon it straggles in a zigzag manner toward
all points of the compass-now turns toward the
brook, and then leaves the babbling water to
196




MAPLE HILL ACADEMY.         197
sing its music unheard. On, on it leads, and we
tire not, for on either side the green grass seems
visibly growing, the little wild flowers appear
blushing into life beneath our feet, while delicate
odors greet us at each step. Now comes the hill,
and peering through the woody inclosure, it may
be halfway to the top, we see the shrine of
learning. A nearer approach reveals its diminutive proportions, and rude, unseemly appearance.
While yet there is no one about, pedagogue or
pupil, we will examine the structure, its architecture and the surrounding grounds.
The house is eighteen by twenty feet, built of
logs, the interstices between which are chinked
with a conglomeration of mud and stones. There
are two apertures, one of them for a window,
where the light struggles fitfully in through the
oiled paper. The floor is of bare earth, and in
rainy weather-for this nursery of the intellect is
but ill protected from the peltings of the pitiless
storm-it becomes softened with mud; measuring feet, and forming uncouth images in
which, makes an interesting episode in the journey of these young wayfarers up the hill of science. The roof is formed of a layer of straw,
spread over the unhewn rafters, covered by an



198         MAPLE HILL ACADEMY.
other of dirt, and followed by a third of straw.
The chimney is of sticks cemented by a clayey
mortar, and serves as a medium for the exit of
about one-half the smoke generated by the fire,
which, minus stove, fire-place, or other appendages of ordinary civilized life, is built on the
floor, at one extremity of the house. The furniture is in strict accordance with the finish of the
building. Two benches, formed of oak slabs,
supported by cross legs, seat the pupils, while a
broad board, slightly inclined, and placed against
one side of the house, with proper supports, is
the writing form. The teacher has a unique
chair formed of hickory withes, curiously woven
together, in which he places himself on a small
elevation in one corner, and overlooks the assembled scholars-monarch of all he surveys.
Listen. There is a pattering of feet without,
and yonder, up the path, comes a lot of urchins,
gleesome and noisy as their untainted hearts can
render them. By and by, a lassie struggles
along, her feet bare and wet with the morning
dew. And then the children from every direction make their appearance, each one bearing a
load of knowledge in an armful of books, or else,
in a willow basket, the noon-hour meal. Now




MAPLE HILL ACADEMY.         199
for an hour of fun and frolic beneath these shadowy trees. All manner of gymnastics and calisthenics are practised, and upon each cheek the
rose of health is blushing in glorious beauty. In
every vein there courses the pure blood of life
and energy, and through every system there
leaps the vital current. No countenance is paled
over by the hue of sickness-no frame seems
tremulous or weak. One thing that these early
schools taught was the free use of the limbs, and
they thus diffused a litheness and activity among
the pupils which has given to Kentucky her
world-renowned race of men and women.
Here comes the teacher, with his staid gait,
and mien of awful severity. The pupils follow,
each making a low courtesy, or, as they termed
it, a "kerchy." Soon commences that humming,
droning sound, peculiar to all school-rooms.
Then the classes are called up, and recitations in
Dilworth's Spelling-book, Daboll's Arithmetic,
the Columbian Orator, Morse's Geography, and
the New Testament, formed the business of the
day. A lesson is given in penmanship, and ever
so many in ferruling.
About sun-down school breaks up, and out
there bursts, into the dying sunshine, the crowd




200         MAPLE H]ILL ACADEMY.
of boys and girls who, after parleying and counselling concerning their respective grievances, at
last disperse homeward. The scholastic instruction of that period never went further than the
list of studies we have mentioned, and five or six
quarters' attendance in such a school was considered a sufficient education. The boys, upon the
completion of this course, were put at the plough,
or into active business. The girls entered upon
a thorough training in housewifery, and beside
the kitchen fire they learned to bake and broil
and stew-reddened their handsome faces over
the glowing coals, and in the wash-tub gave form
and size to their hands. The long days passed
off in the exercise of domestic drudgery, with an
occasional visit to the neighbors, when knittingneedles and balls of yarn were sure accompaniments. The music of the spinning-wheel and the
weaver's loom resounded in every house. And
thus were educated the honest, brave, stalwart
fathers and mothers of Kentucky.




XXXIV.
THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.
D  OBSON  HARDY  was something of a
skeptic, uninclined to give credence to
new ideas and new discoveries, and would have
never been a convert to the system of Cookism,
had not his family wants been such as to demand a new spring or well of water. The summer drouths rendered the neighboring branch
unreliable, while every shower of rain made the
water unfit for use. He was accordingly forced
to test the wizard spell of Mr. Cook, who, for
some time, had been travelling through the
country, discovering springs by the aid of a
hazel twig.
Upon invitation, and with the expectation of
receiving a considerable fee, Cook visited the
Hardy farm. He was quite a philosopher, and,
after the fashion of that tribe, a wise-visaged,
9*               2M




202 THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.
fluent-tongued man. Magnetism was his hobby,
and from the lodestone he deduced a series of
laws which were to regulate the moral and physical relations of men. He was but a forerunner of the wondrous wise men and women of today, who, with a grain of wheat in their bushel
of chaff, are instituting new gospels and revolutionizing the economy of the entire world. Of
course he was a self confident, strong-willed man,
for trust-in-yourself is the basis of this sort of
people's operations. ~
But we must not forget the wants of Hardy,
and the manner in which Mr. Cook supplied
them. The supercilious little fellow came dashing in one morning, and said that he was ready
to make the discovery. Eager to witness his
mode, the entire family follow the wizard, who,
plucking a small forked rod, makes use of no incantations, but proceeds to soliloquize aloud, apparently indifferent as to who hears him, but all
the while watching the impression that his verbose and high sounding talk has upon the unschooled listeners.
"The secret, inexplicable laws of polarity puzzled Sir Isaac Newton, and it is not to be wondered that the illiterate should be puzzled at the




THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 203
magnetic influence which causes a tender forked
rod to vibrate and tend to the object of search
in the hands of an impressed practitioner.
"There are three premises I shall lay down.
These are: 1. The mind must be strongly impressed with, and in a constant state of inquiry
after the thing or substance sought for. 2. The
forked rod must be of a young, quick and tender growth, porous and lively; the bark being
fresh and green and easy of penetration. 3. It
is required to be granted, that like substances,
qualities or properties have an attractive influence one upon the other.
" Now, of what does the animal frame consist;
how has it been reared up; whence has it derived
its support and growth; what its diet; whlence
arose this diet; has not all been from the bowels
of the earth, without a single exception?  Well,
if all vegetable matter, as well as animal, is the
immediate growth and offspring of the earth,
which is the common parent of all, is it not fair
to conclude that all vegetable matter is also
composed of the same qualities or properties that
the earth itself possesses?  If so, the forked rod I
make use of in this process is also vegetable, and
consequently partakes of the same qualities or




204 THE WATER-WIZARD AND- HIS PHILOSOPHY.
properties that the human or animal system
does.
"My mind being in a constant state of inquiry
after hidden water, this constant pressure upon
it spreads through and affects the whole system;
operates on the nerves, on the juices, and extends
to the extremities, thereby strongly impregnating the effluvia which passes through the pores
of the body in common perspiration; and as the
system is composed of various qualities or properties, the quality of the same kind with that
on which the mind labors now becomes warm,
is roused into action, and for the present governs
all the rest; it being the only quality which
is congenial with the strong agitations of the
mind.
"Now I set out in quest of fresh water.
My mind is bent down to the object; the effects
of the mind flow to the extremities; the nerves,
the juices, the effluvia which is perspired, all are
strongly impregnated with the same inquiry. I
grasp the rod closely, the warmth and dampness
of the hand strike through the tender bark, and
into the soft and flexible pores of the wood, and
the watery qualities in the rod are now roused.
The attraction of the vein of water seizes the rod.




THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 205
I follow the meanderings of the vein as the rod
dictates. Here is a spring of water.
"Boy, here with your pick. Mark this spot
and dig."
The astonished family followed Cook while he
was delivering himself of the previous soliloquy.
They had narrowly watched the vibrations of the
twig he held in his hand, and there, where he
stood, it pointed directly to the earth.
" Now," said he, "it is necessary to ascertain
how far below the surface of the earth the water
is. I shall proceed."
He accordingly elevated his rod, and turning
his face from the point marked, walked cautiously
at right angles from the object. At a certain
distance the rod again operated, turning directly
to his breast. Here he made a second mark.
He then measured the distance between the two
points, and at that distance he said the vein of
water would be struck.
"Do you ask why?" said Cook. "Let me, my
friends, explain this to you on strictly philosophical and mathematical principles."
" You must grant, of course, that by the laws
or powers of exhalation all rarefied vapor or
effluvia are caused to ascend; and that by the




206 THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.
laws or powers of gravitation all substances are
caused to descend, or at least so to expand as to
form a level and be in equilibrio."
There was no one present to question, even if
it had been possible, these postulates, and he
proceeded:
"Well, then if the distance between the two
points is equal to the distance from the vertical
point to the object, it follows that those dimensions form a right-angled plain triangle, whose
legs are equal, and consequently whose acute
and opposite angles will also be equal, for equal
lines subtend equal angles.
"To illustrate, I will draw a figure. Here:
B              A
D................... 0
In the triangle, A B C, let c be the object, A the
vertical point, B the point whence the attraction
will cease to operate on the rod, and return
toward the practitioner, c D, a level being paral



THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 207
lel to A I. It is proven to a clear demonstration
in the first book of Euclid that the sum of
the angles in every plain triangle, as A B C, is
equal to a semicircle or 180 degrees, and also
that every right angle, as is the angle A, contains
90 of those degrees. It therefore follows that
the sum of the other two angles B and ca must
also be 90 degrees; for if the three contain 180
degrees, of which the angle A contains 90 degrees,
it follows that the other two, B and c, must contain the other 90. But if the line A B is equal to
the line A C, it will also follow that their opposite
angles, B and c, will also be equal to each other,
that is, each being the equal half of 90, to wit
45 degrees.
"It is also clearly proven," continues Cook to
his listeners, who by this time were clearly mystified, " in Euclid, that if two lines, as A B and c
D, be drawn parallel to each other, and if a line,
as B c, be drawn to intersect them, the acute and
opposite angles, A B c and D c B, will be equal to
each other. Hence it is inferred that the line c
B exactly inclines as much to the level, c D, as to
the perpendicular, c A, and no more so, but a
splitting line between the two, dividing the right
angle, A c D, into two equal halves of 45 degrees




208 THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY.
each. If then, as was granted at the outset, the
exhaling power would cause the attractive influence of all substances to ascend and rise in the
direction of the perpendicular line, A c; and if
the power of gravitation would cause all attractive influences to expand, and form a level in the
direction of the dotted line, c D, it follows with
irresistible force that those contrary or opposing
laws of nature operating at once on the attractive influence of substances beneath the surface,
with equal force and power, will have a tendency
to direct the rays of attraction which pass from
the object to take a middle course and ascend
directly with the splitting line, c B, forming
angles with the level and perpendicular of 45
degrees each!"
While Cook had been thus engaged in demonstrating the truth of his theory with mnathematical precision, the two negroes were testing it by
a diligent appliance of spade and pick to the
yielding ground. After hours of labor, within a
few inches of the specified distance below the
surface they struck a fine vein of water. Dobson was of course an unbeliever no longer. His
incredulity gave way to implicit faith, and
after that exhibition of his supposed supernatural




THE WATER-WIZARD AND HIS PHILOSOPHY. 209
powers, Cook could have performed anything
unreasonable, and found a firm believer.
Rattling the silver with which Dobson paid
him, the water conjurer rode off, elate with his
new triumph, and gazed after by the wondering
farm people as a sort of demigod.
We have given in detail this plan of discovering water, because it was received by all classes
in the time we write of, and practised on all
necessary occasions. The principles of the philosophy we have presented are submitted to this
wiser and more speculative age for investigation.
As a mere chronicler of what our fathers believed
and how they acted, it is not in our province to
decide upon so abstruse a point.




XXXv.
TIIE CATECHISM OF LOVE.
PLEASANT enough this holiday life in the
woods and fields, which Basil Greene had
been enjoying for months. Too pleasant to last,
for he needs must be out in the great world, in
the stirring battle, performing his part like the
true man that he is. He has dallied with the
flowers and loitered in the cool shades sufficientlyr
long. He must take to the dusty high road, for
the summer is going, and the flowers are dying.
Lexington was then, as it continued to be for
more than a half century, the intellectual and
fashionable capital of Kentucky.  There had
congregated, as about a common centre, the foremost men in science, war, law and merchandise.
210




THE CATECHISM OF LOVE.       211
The society was as refined as that of any of the
Atlantic cities, and fashion was as potent an arbiter as in any part of the beau monde.
The talent already collected there did not
daunt our young adventurer. Ile was the readier to enter upon a field where he could soon
measure his strength, and ascertain who were
his equals; for in the bold confidence of youth
he did not indulge in the idea of there being ank
one his superior. Here, then, we have Basil
Greene fairly embarked upon the ocean of life.
There are favoring winds to fill his sails. His
colors wear the prestige of recent victory. Highhearted, ambitious, full of genuine talent, what
is there to hinder success?
Gen. Wilkinson had received him cordially,
and introduced him into the most select circles,
always bestowing the highest encomiums upon
his genius and attainments. Not one word of
the praise was wrongly bestowed. It was true,
as the society in which Greene mingled soon discovered. It was gratifying to the subject, for
nothing was so sweet and toothsome to him as
the skillful flattery of people of position. He regarded it as corroborative evidence of his assumptions concerning himself, and was thus




212       THE CATECHISM OF LOVE.
assured of his own correct judgment upon his
own attainments.
Diligent, studious and upright, Basil had no
inclination to enter the mazes of society, and
would have avoided the dangers incident to the
high life then prevalent in Lexington, had he not
been ambitious of distinction, and eager for
praise in private as in public. His earnest craving after position, and his susceptibility to flattery, rendered him weak, and though he was no
fawning sycophant, the intensity of his longing
for the good-will and good words of all, was a
blemish, the more noticeable in one of his lofty
nature. A welcome guest in the houses of all,
invited to routs, parties, balls and every description of festivity, he soon became as prominent in
the social ranks as at the bar, where he was rapidly attaining a leading position.
At one of these fashionable gatherings his
heart, which had hitherto kept green and sacred
the memory of his first love, was suddenly affected with that species of distemper for which
woman is the only physician.
Lucy Connolly, who, for some months had
been absent, was now returned hene, and the
next day after the party she could not refrain




THE CATECHISM OF LOVE.      213
from  a confidential detail of the- impression
which young Greene had made upon her.
" Oh, he has an air that shone like rays about
his person, and no forward behavior, no studied
looks, no artful posture-nature did it all. And
then his eyes were so sprightly, not at all wandering, and his looks were so noble, and yet so
humble; I really thought that he aimed to tell
me that he could die with pride at my feet,
though he scorned slavery anywhere else."
All of which girlish enthusiasm was revealed
by Lucy's confidant to another confidant, and
thus, embellished by each one through whom it
passed, reached Basil.
That young man had been not less enthusiastic in his eulogies upon Lucy. He had eloquently praised her coal-black eyes, and the
sparkling moisture and shining fluid in which
they swam. He was poetical when he alluded
to her dimples, where there were swarms of killing Cupids ambushed. He was amorous when
he luxuriated in language concerning her lips,
whose carnation dew and pouting ripeness
tempted the taste. He was particularly happy,
when the friend, to whom he was expatiating
on Miss Connolly's charms, told him of her for



214       THE CATECHISM OF LOVE.
tune.  " Ah, yes," said he, " to borrow the language of Aimwell, in the play, Did I not read
thousands in her looks? Why, she has the appearance of Ceres in her harvest: corn, wine, oil,
honey, milk, gardens, groves, and purling streams
played on her plenteous face."
Basil, in fact, had grown foolish. The draught
of l'elUsire d'amore had fuddled his sentiments,
but sharpened his wit. He who before had
gloried in trueness of heart and genuineness of
intellect, was now revelling in the possibility of
winning a pretty face and a well-lined pocket.
He had become a worshipper of Beauty and
Booty!
When next these two enamored persons met,
there was scarcely the necessity of a formal introduction, so well had they learned each other's
thoughts. It was a Sabbath afternoon, and Basil was on his way to church, having called, with
a friend, hoping that Miss Connolly and her
visitors might accompany them.
" Pshaw!" said the gay Lucy, " why go and
hear David Rice? Stay with us, and I'll teach
you a better catechism than the Westminster
Assembly's."
" What is that?" asked both of the gentlemen.




THE CATECHISM OF LOVE.      215
"Well, it's the Catechism  of Love; and I
don't know whether Farquhar, the author, was a
Scotch Presbyterian or not, but he certainly has
more wisdom than all the makers of the shorter
or longer catechisms.  Here, Mr. Greene, sit
near me, and answer as I question you."
Lucy-" What is love?"
Basil-" Love is-I know not what. It comes,
I know not how; goes, I know not when."
Lucy-" Very well. You are quite an apt
scholar, and must have learned this lesson of old.
But tell me, sir, where does love enter?"
Basil —" Into the eyes."
Lucy-" And where go out 2"
Basil —" I won't tell you."
Lucy-" What are the signs and tokens of the
passion?"
Basil —" A stealing look, a stammering tongue,
designs impossible and actions impracticable."
Lucy-" That's a good boy. What must a
lover do to obtain a wife?"
Basil —" He must adore the person that disdains him; he must bribe the servant that betrays him, and court the person that laughs at
him. He must -he must "



216       THE CATECHISM OF LOVE.
Lucy-" Why, child, I must whip you, if you
don't mind your lesson. He must treat his"Basil-" Oh, yes; he must treat his enemies
with respect, his friends with indifference, and
all the world with contempt. lie must suffer
much and fear more. He must desire much and
hope little. In short, he must embrace his ruin
and throw himself away."
Lu;cy-" Well; now tell me why Love is
called a riddle a?"
Basil —" Because, being blind, he leads those
that see; and though a child, he governs a man."
Lucy —"Very well. And why is Love pictured blind i"
Basil-" "Because the painters, out of their
weakness, or the privilege of their art, choose to
hide those eyes they cannot draw."
Lucy-" That's a dear, good scholar. And
why should Love, that is but a child, govern a
man a2"
Basil —"Because a child is the end of love!"
Lzucy-" And so ends Love's Catechism. Say,
now, Mr. Greene, have you not learned more
than you would from David Rice's sermon?"
Basil-" Yes, Lucy; and have been far hap



THE CATECHISM OF LOVE.       217
pier, though I fear your teachings may result in
my misery. I feel as if I had been devouring the
fruit of the forbidden tree of knowledge."
This last remark was in a whisper, inaudible
to the remainder of the company. The only response was a look, in which were mingled reproach, love, and all the elemental passions that
blaze and burn in women's eyes.
A pretty fair beginning for a first interview.
10




XXXVI.
THAT THE HINDOOS WERE THE ORI-tk-,
INHABITANTS OF K]ENTUCKY.
DOBSON HARDY, who had never been
any considerable distance in the interior,
determined on visiting that, to him, terra incognita. Itis crops were all saved and housed, and
they were glorious harvests that he had secured.
The rich, new; strong land, that had been moldering and untouched by the plough for thousands
of years, had yielded him a hundred fold in return for his cultivation. From among thick
stumps he had gathered the golden grain, and
plucked the white corn from the very borders of
the dark and tangled forest. His tobacco had
been cut before the first frost, and was now being cured. Concerning its disposition he must
needs consult Gen. Wilkinson. He set out one
clear crisp morning late in the fall; the inmates
218




THE ORIGINAL INHABITANTS OF KENTUCKY. 219
of the Hardy home sending not only kind messages, but pleasant remembrances to Basil, who
still maintained his place in their hearts.
Right welcome was the honest farmer to the
gaieties and pleasures of Lexington. Basil received his old friend with unfeigned satisfaction,
notwithstanding his appearance reminded him of
sorrows that were now well-nigh banished from
his memory. Gen. Wilkinson was happy at the
opportunity of purchasing the tobacco of Hardy.
But happiest of all the greetings he received,
was that of Pierre Savary, who, catching a
glimpse of his old friend in the tavern bar-room,
rushed in and embraced him with the most frantic gesticulations and the most furious torrent of
words and oaths, which would have alarmed the
people present had not they been some time accustomed to the demonstrative manner of the
little Frenchman. It required but a moment to
flood Hardy with every requisite item of information concerning his whereabouts and adventures. Ile had deserted the Blue Licks, and
elevated himself from the position of salt-boiler
to fhat of savan.  Hardy, not knowing exactly
what that was, supposed it to be some honorable
trade. He had given up the common salt for




220   PROVING THAT THE HINDOOS WERE
the genuine Attic. Another remark lost upon
the farmer.
" But come," continues Pierre,' you are just
in the proper time. This evening the Kentucky
Academy of Science holds its regular meeting,
and I have a paper to read, proving that the
Hindoos were the original inhabitants of this
section of country."
Then, seizing Dobson by the arm, he hurries
him off to a French caf6, where, instead of a
rousing supper of meat and hot bread, and other
strong food, he introduces him to the light and
airy edibles of the Johnny Crapeaus. A number of French had lately settled in Lexington
and vicinity; among them, Messieurs Duhamel,
Meutelle, and Robert, gentlemen of rare scientific attainments. A Swiss colony, under the
direction of M. Dufour, had also commenced the
cultivation of the grape, for the purpose of making wine, near the Hickman Ferry, on the banks
of the Kentucky. So these Frenchmen were not
so far removed from their natural element as
might be supposed. They could sip light wines,
and petit verre, and drink their peculiar coffee,
and be as vivacious as possible. Hardy would
have been startled at the new society in which




THE ORIGINAL INHABITANTS OF KENTUCKY. 221
he was thrown, but having been an old campaigner in the Revolution, and fought side by
side with the French, he had learned their manners, and some small fragments of their language, from the roystering and gallant troops of
Lafayette. Still he was not reluctant at leaving
this merry-andrew company, and when Pierre
offered him a cigarette, he gave vent to all his
vexation by heaping opprobrium and contumely
upon a people who had no more respect for tobacco than to chop it up and roll it in nasty
paper.
They reach the Academy of Science-the back
room of the office of Dr. Samuel Brown, a physician of eminence, and a naturalist of rare attainments, who graduated at Edinburgh, and was a
fellow of several royal scientific societies. Here,
in the backwoods, he kept his enthusiasm alive
for his elevated pursuits, assisted by several
French gentlemen who were equally partial to
similar studies and investigations.
The presiding officer on this, the occasion of
Hardy's visit, was a kind of Ferdinand Fitzfossillus Felspar, who was intimately acquainted
with all the internal fires and tertiary formations.
He talked continuedly and learnedly, and incore



222    PROVING THAT THE IINDOOS WERE
prehensibly, like one of Poe's friends, about
aeriforms, fluidiforms, and solidiforms; about
quartz and marl; about schist and schorl; about
gypsum and trap; about talc and calc; about
blende and hornblende; about mica slate and
pudding stone; about cyanite and lepidolite;
about hsematite and trematite; about antimony
and chalcedony; about manganese and-whatever you please.
We can only afford space-to borrow an editorial expression-for a brief resume of the very
learned paper of Pierre Savary, late salt-boiler
and now antiquarian. Hie started out with the
intention of proving that the country, now known
as the State of Kentucky, was originally inhabited by the Hindoos. Of course, he demonstrated this to his own satisfaction, after the following fashion:
"Not possessing the light of positive history,
nor the less satisfactory glimmer of tradition, it
is impossible to speak with certainty concerning
the people who formerly inhabited this favored
region. We are enabled, however, to construct
a rational hypothesis from the relics of past ages
-the debris of former civilization.
"'Recent discoveries lead us to infer, with




THE ORIGINAL INHABITANTS OF KENTUCKY. 223
great certainty, that we are now dwelling on the
site of a once populous Hindoo empire. We infer this from the surest and only test, the analogy
between the manners, customs and religion of
these prior inhabitants and those of the Hindoos of the past and present.'" Within twenty miles of this place —Lexington-have been found nine murex shells. Their
component parts remained unchanged, and they
were every way in an excellent state of preservation. These shells, so rare in India, are highly
esteemed and consecrated to their god MIehadava, who corresponds in his attributes to the
N eptune of ancient Greece and Rome. This
shell, among the Hindoos, forms the musical
instrument of the Tritons. The foot of the Burmese god, Guadama or Budh, is represented in a
statue at the capital of that empire with large
feet, and the toes are carved in imitation of
these shells.
" In various other places-on the farm of Gen,
Kennedy and that of Mr. Jones —conch shells
have been found in the ruins of circumvallatory
temples, and always directly opposite to fountains. These facts lead us to no other inference,
than that a people must have existed here, who




224   PROVING THAT THE HINDOOS WERE
placed great, we may say religious value, upon
these shells.
"On Stoner's Creek, north of this, are seven
piles of stone, placed in a direct line. They are
from eight to ten feet high, and from twentyfive to thirty feet in diameter; the base of a circular form, and terminating in a cone at the top.
These piles are situated on a commanding eminence, formed by a bluff of the creek. Such
were the monuments used in ancient times by the
people of Asia to commemorate important events.
Then the number seven was, with the people who
erected this description of monuments, a perfect
number, as it is indeed with the Arabs and Hindoos to this day. Its origin is India, whence it
was carried by emigrant tribes to Gothland and
Scandinavia, as well as to this continent.
" Coins have also been discovered attesting the
truth of this hypothesis. These were discovered
on the farms of Messrs. Payne and Chambers, in
this, Fayette County, and by Mr. Spear, under
the root of a beech tree, on the headwaters of
Bear Grass Creek, in Jefferson. The eldest bears
date in the time of Antoninus, the next in the
time of Commodus, the next before the elevation
of Pertinax, and the last in the time of Valerian.




THE ORIGINAL INHABITANTS OF KENTUCRY. 225
Coins, prior, or subsequent to the space embraced
in these periods, are not found, and hence the
conclusion, that they were brought into America
within one or two centuries at the furthest, after
the year 260, and by a people who had not afterward any intercourse with the, countries in
which the Roman coin circulated.
" These coins were certainly not brought here
since the discovery of the continent by Columbus, for the age of the trees beneath which they
were found preclude the possibility of such having been the case. Neither were they brought
by a Roman colony, for had any such enterprise
as visiting regions so remote been entertained,
some mention would have been made of it in the
chronicles of the time. We are left to only one
inference, which is indeed the correct one. These
coins must have been brought by those who
came hither by navigation from the south and
east of Asia, to the western coasts of America.
In the time of Antoninus, the Romans carried on
war against the Persians, and hence the diffusion
of their money, which was carried into Hindostan in payment for silks, and other peculiar products. Hence it was brought here, probably in
ships navigated by the Japanese, who, it is well
10*




226   PROVING THAT THE HINDOOS WERE
known, have sailed over the Pacific since time
immemorial. From Mexico the Hindoo civilization proceeded eastward, and there can be no
question as to Kentucky having once been its
seat."
When Pierre had concluded, Dobson was so
delighted, that he eagerly clasped the hand of
his French friend. Not delighted, however, at
the learning and ingenuity in inference that had
been displayed, but at the termination of what
he thought was a tedious bore. But he did not
wound the sensitive feelings of the little savan
by inquiring what all his statements amounted
to, and what would be done about it if the Hindoos did live here ages and ages agone; although
he really thought that it was a matter of no consequence to the then occupants of the soil, since
the former inhabitants had certainly given a quitclaim to the land, by their departure to parts unknown. Had any member of the Kentucky
Academy of Science of this present era-if there
be such an institution-read a theoretic paper of
the above character in the presence of some hardheaded agriculturists, would his hypotheses have
been tolerated so politely as by Mr. Hardy. We
opine that a round oath would have been sworn,




THE ORIGINAL INHABITANTS OF KENTUCKY. 22T
to say nothing of the inward vexation of
spirit.
The bottle and the pipe were passed around
before the adjournment, for they Wvere then considered indispensable to social and scientific and
religious, as well as political gatherings. Doctors drank as well as politicians, and no preacher
ever presumed to enter the pulpit without first
seeking inspiration from this now much perverted
source.
After a few sips of toddy, and a few whiffs of
tobacco, the savans adjourn, and Hardy, more
fatigued than if he had set forty panels of fencing, seeks his couch.




XXXVII.
EVIL DAYS COME.
"I'VE been pestered all day with that death
call in my ear. I'm sure it bodes some
of us no good, and I wish that Dobson was only
at home. Surely he has had time enough to go
to Lexington and transact all his business."
Thus remarked Mrs. Hardy, as she and her
sister were sitting before the booming fire, one
November night, during Dobson's absence. Then
ensued, as naturally there would from the remark already quoted, a discussion upon various
signs which, however trivial they might appear,
exercised no small degree of influence over both
men and women. The people of that day were
certainly not more superstitious than those of
this latter half of the nineteenth century; yet,
since they believed in ghosts and signs, the spiritualist and mesmerist and psychologist of to-day'228




EVIL DAYS COME.          229
would laugh at them  as very absurd.  Our
fathers and mothers of that far past epoch did,
it is true, place too much reliance in prognostics
and other methods of divining the future, but
theirs was only a simple, subdued, and childlike
faith, involving no desecration of religion. They
did not usurp the God-possessed power of revelation. They did not set up a " Gospel of beauty"
in place of that perfect one of Christ. They did
not dupe poor fools, and fill lunatic asylums, and
play such fantastic tricks before high heaven as
make the angels weep, as do the charlatan spiritual teachers of to-day.
In the good old time the utmost confidence was
placed in your luck or good fortune if you picked
up a pin with the head pointing toward you.
Children were careful never to spill salt, for it
was a sure premonition of a sound whipping. If
the ear burned, some one was talking about you:
pleasant things if it be the right ear-scandalous,
if the left. An itching sensation in the palm of
the hand denoted that strangers were to be
greeted-the nose itching, that some one was
coming-the foot, that you should walk on
strange ground. Three lighted candies in a room
betokened a wedding, so that young misses were




230           EVIL DAYS COME.
often known to light an extra "-dip" accidentally,
of course. The smoky side of the fire-place was,
singularly enough, in great demand when a party
of young people gathered. The smoke always
came to the handsomest girl in the room. Even
the most sagacious farmers always followed the
light and dark of the moon in planting certain
species of vegetables and crops. While no one
was ever known to succeed in destroying a locust
thicket when it was cut in the light of the moon.
It must must be done when fair Luna has veiled
her face.
Of such harmless, pleasant little matters were
the two sisters conversing-their minds removed
from the solemn thought which first suggested
their present reflections-when a heavy but
faltering step upon the porch arrested their attention. Soon the door-latch was lifted, and in
there came, with a ghastly, unnatural look, and
a tottering walk, Dobson Hardy. He was so
faint that it was some time after he had been
seated, before he could ask them to call a servant
for his horse, and then, with great difficulty, he
explained how the night before, in crossing Licking, he had missed the ford, and narrowly escaped
with his life, after being thoroughly drenched




EVIL DAlYS- COME.        231
with water. The excitement, fatigue, and exposure, had entirely prostrated him, and after lying
out on the bare ground the previous night, unable to find accommodations, he had travelled
all day at a slow pace through the mist and sleet
and cutting coldness of the drear November
weather.
The medical repertory of the two women was
exhausted in search of remedial agents for the
fatigued Dobson.  Could watchful tenderness
and heartfelt prayers and the constant application of panaceas, have availed anything, the sick
man would have soon been restored. But through
all the night after he reached home, he tossed
upon his bed in pain and sleeplessness. Days of
increasing debility followed, and in a week's
time, the former stout and sturdy Dobson was
but an attenuated shadow, stretched helpless
upon his bed.
Although his physical sufferings were unquestionably great, still it was quite evident fhat his
prostration was occasioned by ills that were beyond the potency of human medicaments, and
must be dependent for removal upon the vis
medicatrix naturce. There was some secret sorrow at his heart, gnawing the tenderest fibres




232          EVIL DAYS COME.
and rudely breaking the most sacred chords.
But his unmurmuring patience and the constant
care he took to make no allusion to the pains
that racked his body, and the anxieties that tortured his mind, prevented even those who
watched most assiduously beside his couch
from ascertaining what it was that preyed
upon him.
But at last there was a revelation.
The gloom of December had succeeded the
dreariness of November. There was not a leaf
in the forest save upon the bleak, cold earth;
there was not a bird-not even the chick-a-dee,
with its homely little song; the winds wailed
their Miserere through the bare boughs and
about the black chimneys; the clouds drooped
with their murky folds close to the earth; there
was no sun, no brightness, no fragrance out of
doors, and within, where Dobson lay patiently
bearing the burden of his affliction, the atmosphere Partook strangely of the depressing darkness of the season. Vainly they heaped the fire
with dry logs. The flames were not so brilliant
as common; the coals did not glow with their
usual ruddiness, and the sparks no longer shot
with glittering frolicsomeness up the chimney.




EVmIL DAY COME.           233
In vain did Mrs. Hardy seek to banish the contagious gloom. It affected her as it did all
things, and her smiles, as she handed the sufferer
the soothing draught, wee but the ghosts of
those lively and hopeful marks of pleasure which
formerly played over her features.
There was a knock at the door, and in response
to the faint "' Come in!" there entered a stranger.
He inquired for Mr. Hardy, and the spectral
man upon the bed was pointed out. Not caring
to notice how ill the poor sufferer was, nor
possessed -of suficient ~delicacy to await an opportuuity when he would be alone, he bluntly explained his business before all present. It was
what IDobson had been anticipating all along,
and the expectation had affected hiln more seriously tlan anything else. The visitor was,,or sB
represented himself, John Sharpset, agent for
Dr. Connolly, of Lexington. The object of the
visit was to notify Mr. Hardy that Connally had
a prior claim upon the land where he was now
living, having purchased a patent for that tract
which was issued years before Hardy's purnnchase
at Richmond.  There was no question about
this. So careless, or rather, should we say, so
wickedly negligent, were the managers of the




334           EVIL DAYS COME.
land-office business in Virginia that they had
issued patents for three times the amount of land
there was in Kentucky. The whole State was
thus shingled over with different claims. The
evil was one of the greatest from which a people
ever suffered, and it has been only within the
past twenty years that any titles to landed estates
in Kentucky have been secure. Companies of
land pirates were organized, who purchased for
mere pittances old and forgotten claims, and
armed with these they harassed the possessors of
the soil, driving them from their homes and
happy fields, after they had passed years in
bringing from the original wilderness a blossoming paradise. Never was a State so cursed as
was Kentucky with these land pirates. Mere
speculators, they realized enormous profits from
the miseries and sufferings of the honest farmers,
and many proud and mighty fortunes of to-day
are built upon the wreck of homes and hearthstones and happiness, the prey of these land
sharks.
Connolly was an. English emigre, and had embarked extensively in the business of purchasing
land claims, thus adding largely to his original
wealth. Remorseless, cruel, unfeeling, he ex



EVIL DAYS COME.         235
acted from all a strict fulfillment of the letter of
the law, and Hardy knew that it would be useless to hope anything from the leniency of such a
person. He only thought that some step could
be taken to stay the summary execution of the
claim, and that thus he might be enabled to
make provision for the future. He informed the
agent of Connolly that so soon as he recovered
he would take steps to adjust the matter.
"And, pray, how soon will that be?" said
Sharpset.
"I am in God's hands, and how canll I speak
certainly of a matter of life and death. I hope,
however, to be about in a few weeks," responded
Dobson.
" Well, sir, in God's hands or not yod mus1
arrange to give possession by the 1st of January,
and recollect you are in our hands now!"
Mrs. Hardy had a bitter speech upon her
tongue's end, bvut was prevented giving it utterance, for after his cruel remarks Sharpset fled,
and mounting his horse was soon speeding out
of sight. He did not neglect casting hia eye
over the fertile and rolling land, whieh, through
his agency, was about to be snatched from the
industrious and honest man who, had redeemed




236           EVIL DAYS COME.
it from its primitive savageness. Even on this
gloomy day it appeared enticing, and might well
awaken in his miserable breast thoughts of cupidity and avarice.
Not more than an hour had elapsed since the
departure of Sharpset, when a horse, riderless
and wild with affright, dashed up the forest path,
and in a whinnying tone seemed begging protection. There was something unusual in the
appearance of the animal, and its conduct was
such as to make it evident that some startling
incident must have, occurred thus to throw the
poor dumb animal into convulsions of terror.
Tom was called from the, barn to take care of the
horse, and he immediately pronounced it the
same that the " strange gemnraa'   " was riding.
Having properly provided for theanimal, he and
Cash starte.d out to ascertain, if possible,, the fate
of the Iider, fori't was evident that he had, been
thrown. About two, miles from the!houseiaa the
midst of'a dense thicket, theycame,upon the
prostrate body of Sharpset. His head wasi baire
and the scalp removed, for it was immediately
apparent that Indians had been busy with him.
From a wound in the side there oozed out the
purple life blood of the poor fellow. Iis pulse




EVIL DAYS COME.          237
was faint and his respiration short and difficult.
Only once did he open his eyes, and that was
when the faithful negroes had lifted the limp
and scarcely animate body from the damp
ground. Careful, lest they might occasion him
an increase of pain, they proceeded home; but
their loud laugh and gay chatter had ceased;
their buoyancy of spirits was gone; their gibes
and jests were stilled. Not only respect for the
wounded man prevented their indulgence in
these natural outbursts of joviality so characteristic of their race, but they had a premonition of
evil which bore heavily upon them. They had
not mistaken. There were Indian signs, and
how did they know but that at any moment they
might be pierced by the bullet shot of the foe 
Cautiously, silently, and with fearful misgivings
they wended their way to the house. The
strange load they bore between them awakened
the apprehensions of the inmates so soon as they
saw them approaching. The suffering, dying
Sharpset was borne into the room where Dobson
lay. There, where but a short time before he
had stalked in all the insolence and arrogance
of health and power, he was now broughtweak and helpless, finding shelter under the




238           EVIL DAYS COME.
roof of those he was so anxious to drive out
upon the cheerless world, and obtaining relief at
the hands of those he was so eager to injure and
ruin.
This exciting incident and the alarming intelligence that Indian tracks had been discovered,
operated very injuriously upon Dobson, and
those who nursed him found it impossible to
calm his nervousness. Thus suddenly had come
upon them an accumulation of disturbing causes.
But before night their alarm was destined to be
considerably increased.
The intelligence of an Indian incursion had
spread rapidly through the settlement, and an
immediate resort to the stations for protection,
was necessary. It had been three years since
the savages had committed any serious depredations, and in that long period of quiet a fancied
security had been begotten, which rendered the
pioneers less able than they would else have
been to resist the foe. Hardy's illness was very
generally known, and a number of friends,
strongly armed, gathered at his house to assist in
removing him and family to Kenton's station,
where they would be secure. They arrived on




EVIL DAYS COME.          239
their mission of mercy about dusk, and preparations were instantly made for the removal.
The night settled about the earth as if robing
it in eternal gloom. There was not a star to
illumine the dark way. Plashes of cold rain fell
from the boughs of the trees which swayed before
the blast. The wagon creaked mournfully as it
was drawn through the miry path. Silently followed the family upon horseback. There were
no voices, no sounds, nothing human to dispel
the weird influence of the night scene-of the
ghostly procession. It was a weary, weary way,
and midnight came before they descried the
glimmering light in their desired haven of repose.
But even before the little band entered the
friendly portals and nestled beneath the protecting roof-trees, two of the number had found a
place of refuge far removed from the cares and
dangers of life, beyond the reach of savage hate,
where the wretchedness of winter nights could
never more affect them.
When the wagon had reached the inner yard,
Mrs. Hardy, in whose bosom the head of her
husband was gently pillowed, called him, but
received no answer. A servant brought a light




240           EVIL DAYS COME.
that they might the better see how to dismount,
and thus was revealed the affecting spectacle.
The poor man had fallen into his last sleep during the ride, and so gently, so peacefully, that
his features were unchanged, and he seemed to
be but at rest. Yes, he was at rest. No longer
in that gentle wife's bosom, but in the breast of
Abraham.
Near by, in the same wagon, lay the body of
Sharpset. Htis face was fixed in the stern, forbidding, ghastly -shape, which death implants
upon some victims. His gaping wounds and
harsh features contrasted vividly with the peaceful and quiet aspect of the other dead.
Utterly d~esolate, wholly bereft of friends,
thought Mrs. Hardy concerning herself through
the weary watches of that night; and when the
dark, grey, blustering morn found her sitting beside the form she had loved so long and faithfully, and she remembered that she had no spot
of ground she could call her own where he could
be laid at rest, what a speechless, tearless agony
was hers!
They fashioned two graves within bow-shot of
the station, so as to render them secure from
marauding savages or beasts. And there, almost




EVIL DAYS COME.          241
side by side, they placed the men who but a few
days before were planning prospective schemes
to thwart one another. There the robber lay
near the victim. Neither to do or suffer more
on earth. Both-the just and the unjust-translated to the bar of God, for acquittal and conviction.
Over the pulseless, inanimate, clammy body
of Dobson Hardy, tears, sincere and meaning,
were shed. His family were stricken with grief
that seemed almost inconsolable, and the negroes
united in the lamentations for their " marster "
with a feeling and pathos that was extremely
touching.
And thus the good, brave, honest, upright,
God-fearing man was removed, just as it seemed
most important that he should live.
"L'homme propose et Dieu dispose."
11




XXXVIII.
THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE.
TENTON was rejoiced at this occasion to
wreak his vengeance upon the Indians,
and collecting a formidable force, he immediately set out to carry into'execution his purpose
of exterminating the Shawnees, who were the
leaders in all the inroads upon Kentucky, and
who were, furthermore, supplied with arms and
ammunition, as well as gold, by British emissaries.
That is a most disgraceful page in history
which records the alliance of the British with the
savage hordes of the Northwest. After the close
of the Revolutionary war, they spent millions of
dollars in inciting the Indians to attack and destroy the feeble white settlements in Kentucky,
their officers frequently commanding these atrocious enterprises. Britain paid heavily for. the
242




THE SCOUT'8 ADVENTURE.      243
desolation of many homes, for the murder of
many pioneers; and yet who, forsooth, gainsays
the Christianity of her rulers?
When the expedition reached the Indian villages on Paint River, they found them deserted.
Having burned the wigwams, and scoured the
surrounding country very thoroughly, there remained nothing to do but to return home. There
were no horses to steal, nor growing crops to destroy, and they retraced their steps, without a
single scalp as a trophy of the excursion.
Washburn and Johnston, two adventurous hunters, were not at all satisfied with this peaceable
conclusion of what promised to be an exciting
foray. They, therefore, determined to leave their
comrades and indulge in a scout on their own
responsibility. Kenton readily acquiesced in the
proposition, and would have been delighted had
it been possible for him to have joined them.
But he was commander of the company, and it
was necessary that he should conduct it back to
the station where it was organized.
Two days of leisurely and cautious adventure
northward brought the scouts within the vicinity of an Indian settlement. There were signs
in the forest and in the cultivated fields, upon the




244       THE SCOUTTI ADrVENTURE.
banks of the Scioto, and in the atmosphere,
which was darkened by the smoke from watchfires, betokening this. They, of course, increased
their vigilance, and the near approach of danger
added to the quickness of their already wonderfully acute senses. Advancing with stealthy
steps, they found themselves at dusk upon the
summit of a hill overlooking a broad area of bottom land, around which the river coursed in a
semicircle. There, far below, was the encampment of the foe, whose actions they could only
mark, and thus infer their intentions. The plain
was dotted with wigwams, from each of which
the blue smoke curled gracefully through the
clear air. Although it was now quite dark, they
could distinguish groups of the savages wending
their way toward a central lodge, where, doubtless, the council of the chiefs was being held,
and preparations made for another descent
upon the border settlements beyond the Ohio.
The next day, that this was their purpose became more evident. Every hour there were
fresh arrivals of fiercely-painted warriors, whose
approach was announced by the most savage
yells. Throughout the encampment were to be
seen parties of young men engaged in practising




THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE.      245
with the tomahawk and bow and arrow, the rifle
being only used occasionally, for they were sparing of powder and ball. The scouts witnessed
these preparations from their place of safety,
nourishing themselves with the jerked meat and
pop-corn which they had brought with them,
and quenching their thirst at a little hill-side
brook. It was their purpose to remain there in
hiding until the departure of the Indians, and
then, having become acquainted with their destination, leave, and by forced marches reach the
white settlements so as to prevent their being
surprised. But an accident prevented this wellintentioned plan being put in execution. The
rifle of Washburn, which was always ready
cocked, slipped, and a loud report followed, reverberating through the valley and across the
plain, startling the Indians, who were in the
midst of some of their sports. They almost instantly descried the smoke, and a large party of
warriors hurried up the hill to ascertain the
cause of this sudden explosion of fire-arms.
Washburn and Johnston were at once aware
of the extreme danger in which this unfortnate
occurrence placed them, and they immediately
attempted to effect an escape. Over the hill




246        THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE.
they stole, as quietly and expeditiously as possible, only to find that they were surrounded.
Every avenue of escape was cut off save on the
side of the river, and there it seemed immediate
death if they ventured. The beautiful stream
flowed between towering precipices on either
side, and when they had reached the brink there
lay before them only the prospect of being
dashed to pieces by attempting to descend the
almost perpendicular stone wall, or capture if
they remained behind. _They heard the shouts
and execrations of the advancing Indians. There
was no time to lose in considering between the
alternative of instant death or slow torture at
the hands of their captors.  A hunter of Kentucky never thought twice in an emergency of
that character.  He decided at once, and generally with great correctness.  Sober second
thoughts may be very excellent things, but they
are untimely in predicaments like that in which
our two scouts now found themselves. Just as
the first of the pursuers appeared in sight, Washburn gave a hopeful look toward a jutting crag
standing isolated about thirty feet from the main
hill, and the idea struck him that if he could
reach it he might hold the red miscreants at bay.




THE SCOUT'S  ADVENTURE.     247
He pointed it out to his comrade, and the mere
gesture must have been filll of eloquent encouragement, for, at the instant, Johnston attempted
the leap. As he did so, Washburn turned upon
the advancing Indian, and, levelling his rifle,
caused him to bite the dust. He then looked to
see what success had crowned the perilous undertaking of his comrade. Far down the mountain steep, yet falling amid the jagged rocks, and
his descent accompanied by an avalanche of dirt
and stones, he saw him hurled to instant destruction before his eyes. It was now his time to
make the attempt. It was a leap for life, and
tire failure he had just witnessed only nerved
him  to greater endeavor.  Retreating several
paces, he ran swiftly to the dizzy edge of the
precipice, and then boldly leaped forward. It
was but the work of a moment, but in that time
the energies of his life and soul and entire being
were concentrated. He passed the intervening
distance, but was not yet safe. Falling heavily
on the bare rock, his feet having slipped beneath
him, he barely had time to grasp a small twig,
the only vegetation that marked that thunderblasted crag. Feeble and faint from his almost




248        THE SCOUT S ADVENTURE.
superhuman exertions, and bleeding from the
wounds he had received by the sharp stones, he
crawled to the top of his place of refuge, and a
few feet below disovered a crevice where he
might possibly hide himself. Hastily descending, he entered it, but it was too small to conceal
his entire person. The Indians had by this time
reached the opposite ledge, and were stricken
with awe at the fearful leap. None of them ventured to perform the same feat, and feeling certain that it would be impossible for the fugitive
to escape from his position, they reluctantly concluded to allow him the privilege of starving in
his bleak eyrie. But before quitting, several
shots were fired at those portions of his figure exposed, and two of these took effect in
that location where Achilles was alone vulnerable-the heel. In vain did Washburn attempt
to draw up his feet. By so doing he exposed
his knees, and one bullet tore the flesh from off
his knee pan.
But as the evening was now advancing the
Indians were forced to leave their game; not,
however, without great reluctance, for, although
they were certain that death would speedily over



THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE.      249
take him in his lonely and inaccessible perch,
they regretted that the privilege of burning him
at a slow fire would be denied them.
Washburn, when he ascertained by the receding shouts of the Indians that they had given up
the pursuit, lifted his head and began to examine
his present locality. It was refreshing to be relieved from his uncomfortable position, but he
soon discovered that there was barely space for
him to stretch his contracted limbs, and that his
situation was by no means one to beget sanguine
hopes for the future. On one side, the cliff descended precipitously to the river, over three
hundred feet, and on the other, over one hundred
into the narrow gorge where he could see the
mangled body of his friend Johnston. There
were no footholds upon either side whereby he
could descend. Everything was grim, stern and
appalling. But his heart did not sink; his spirit
did not quail; hope did not for an instant desert
him. With the calmness of a philosopher he
glanced toward the earth so far beneath him,
and thence to the sky which was arched in
beauty above him. Had the daring scout been
an enthusiastic devotee of Nature, he would
have been filled with delight at the unapproach11*




250        THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE.
able loveliness of the scene spread out before
him. The sun had already set, but, marking
where the fiery charioteer had disappeared beneath the horizon, were trailing clouds of purple
and gold. The heavens were already becoming
studded with those myriad constellations that
beam so lustrously on winter nights. The distant hills were bare and brown, save where the
evergreens nodded before the fitful blast. Immediately beneath him the swift river rolled onward with a sad, musical murmur-its bright
waters flashing with the reflection of the newly
risen moon. Than the Indian encampment nothing could have been more picturesque. Huge
fires burned about the outskirts of the settlement,
before which the wild demons of the forest
danced in infernal glee, their shouts and yells
making the night hideous. The wigwams lay in
the shadow peacefully. About them moved the
figures of women, as fleeting as if they were
spirits. But all the beauty and novelty of the
scene was lost upon Washburn, as it would have
been upon any of us had we been in his place.
He quietly composed himself to sleep, although
there was danger of his falling from the height;
but, philosopher as he was, he thought if such




THE SCOJT'S ADVENTURE.      251
was to be his fate, it would be better to roll off
into eternity while reposing in slumber, than to
be plunged headlong to destruction with his
senses keenly alive to the horror of his doom.
Ie slept as soundly through the dreary hours of
that December night, as if upon his own cabin
floor wrapped in buffalo robes. No dreams disturbed him. Nor did the keen and cutting cold
interfere with his repose. He had long been
inured to exposure. But his thoroughly-drilled
sense of hearing caused him to awake at an early
hour of the grey morning. The Indians were
preparing for their march, and he soon discovered them filing away after their fashion, one
by one, toward the south-toward Kentucky,
where they could murder and burn and devastate. This was a bitter reflection; but he consoled himself with the knowledge of their absence tending to relieve him of his embarrassment. If there was any possibility of escape, he
could avail himself of it without the fear of interruption. The day came slowly on, and Washburn, having satisfied his hunger with a bite of
the cold meat and a few kernels of the popped
corn from his buckskin pouch, began to devise
ways and means to leave his lofty pinnacle. He




252       THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE.
was not, however, long left to his own thoughts.
Very soon he discovered a party of squaws on
the opposite ledge, armed with bows. They immediately began discharging their arrows at him,
and he was compelled to hide himself in the crevice. These female savages having tired of this
unprofitable sport, once more left him to the
solitude of his thoughts. But presently, whiz
came another arrow, and he thought that he was
again to be tortured by the female archers. He
had scarcely time to mutter an execration upon
savage womankind, when a stone fell at his feet,
around which he perceived a slender cord was
tied. Eagerly looking to see whence this signal
of hope came, he perceived a squaw, as he supposed, standing where his tormentors had lately
disappeared. But a more searching and scrutinizing glance revealed to him the joyful fact
that this female was of his own race. In her Indian garb he descried traces of white parentage,
and he readily comprehended that she would
afford him the means of deliverance if in her
power. Quickly he grasped the thin and fragile
line and drew it toward him; a stronger rope
followed, and then he saw how he was to escape.
The young girl uttered not a word, but watched




THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE.       253
his movements eagerly, and motioned to the
gorge beneath.  He understood her gestures.
They dared not speak in words, lest some one
might discover them. Adjusting one end of the
rope securely to the crag, he let it down, but it
was not sufficiently long by fifty feet.- It was
the only resource, however, and Washburn determined to avail himself of it, although at the
imminent risk of being dashed to pieces upon
the jagged rocks below. He swiftly descended,
his hands burning to blisters with the intense
friction, and by the time he reached the end he
was compelled, through sheer exhaustion and
pain, to give way, and down, down he fell, a
helpless mass to the earth. For some moments
he was senseless, and only revived when he felt
the tender hand of his deliverer pressed upon his
pulseless temple. Fain 0ould he have kissed
the very hem of her skirt and uttered his words
of thankfulness, although writhing in pain, but
she pressed her finger upon his lips to warn him
into silence. Lifting the almost helpless scout
upon his feet, the girl discovered that one of his
arms hung by his side helpless, and that a leg
was powerless to move. As if endowed with
superhuman strength, she caught the wounded,




254       THE SCOUT 8 ADVENTURE.
broken-limbed man in her arms, and tottering
under the heavy load, started for the river. Resting every few moments, she at length came in
sight of the stream, where a little bark canoe lay
moored. But as if to intercept her flight and
put to shame her holy intent, she discovered a
squaw bathing in the stream. Depositing her
precious burden in a secure place, she hastened
to join in the aquatic sports. The squaw received her with pleasure, and they sported for a
while in innocent glee, but, in the midst of their
diversion, she uptripped the unsuspecting Indian
woman, and in a trice had gagged and bound
her hand and foot. Then, laying the helpless
thing on the bank, she returned for the scout.
They were soon afloat on the river-poor
Washburn lying on the bottom of the canoe, and
the girl plying the paddle so dextrously that the
graceful little boat shot through the water. They
were safe now. Her absence from the Indian
village would not be noticed until night-fall, and
the only person who was aware of the escape
ws upon the bank of the stream immovable,
her mouth so securely closed that it could utter
no sort of sound, and her limbs so fastened that
they could not make the slightest motion.




THtE SCOOTT'S ADVENTURE.    255
Now for the flight. But wlither? The young
girl did not know, and Washburn lay helpless
and unconscious.  Anywhere out of the hell
in which she had existed so long. Anywhere
front the demons incarnate by whom she had
been so long surrounded. It might be to death
beneath the clear stream-it might be to lingering starvation in the drear forest. Even these
were preferable to loathed captivity. And then,
was there not a hope of freedom-of a restitution
to friends, to home, to kindred, to civilization,
and the sunshine of Christianity?  It was this hope
that nerved her womanly arm, naturally so weak;
that animated her heart, so often faint; that
thrilled her whole being.
The current is swift. The protecting night
falls about them. How the keen-prowed skiff
cleaves the water, leaving a track of foam in the
rear! The dark woods hang over them and keep
out the unwelcome rays of the winter moon.
Still the arm plies its task and the brave heart
bears up, while the suffering scout moans in his
agony. At last he looks about him, and is bewildered by the strangeness of the scene. IDuring the whole flight-and hours have passednot one word has been spoken. Washburn faintly




256        THE SCOUT S ADVENTUIRE.
ask, "Where am'I?" and is briefly answered,
"We are flying," and then sinks back to his bare
couch.
The grey dawn glimmers in the east, as the boat
shoots from the narrow stream into one of greater
width and fiercer flow. This must be the Ohio,
thinks the girl, and it is fifty miles that she has
fled. Thank God for so much! But the river is
filled with huge cakes of floating ice, and thump,
thump they go against the fragile craft. Skillfully
selecting a path through the masses of ice, she
heads the boat for the opposite shore, for that
must be Canetucky, of which she has dreamed
so much and for which she has sighed so often.
But crash comes a tremendous cake, and the canoe is crushed in. In a moment Washburn is
dragged upon the ice, the paddle is saved, and
there the fugitives are, in the middle of the
swollen Ohio. Then it is that the scout recovers
in part his long-dormant faculties, but only to be
aware of the critical posture of affairs, and his
utter inability to render any service either to
himself or the young woman. She is appalled
by the danger, but does not despair. With the
paddle she pushes the cake of ice, and after
weary hours of toil and anxiety they land. Then




THE SCOUT'S ADVENTURE.      257
she explains to Washburn where they are and
how they have escaped. He sees the necessity
of informing the settlements of the contemplated
Indian attack, but he cannot move, and how can
she, unacquainted with the country, travel alone?
But the suggestion is no sooner made than she
carves out a path. She does not know these
woods, but she can learn them, and with a few
directions, she ventures on the daring errand of
mercy. It is, overland, thirty miles from the
mouth of the Scioto to Kenton's station, and
thither, through these trackless forests, she is
bound. In a deep covert, where no one can discover him, she lays WVashburn on a couch of
leaves, strikes a light with the tinder, and having
built a fire, starts upon the lone journey with a
step as light as you, young lady of this era, ever
entered a ball-room.
Good God of the pioneers, guide these bold
footsteps through the tangled forests I




XXXIX.
AN APPARITION.
(f   ORD  a' massy!  I'se seen a sperrit,
mainmy," exclaimed a negro girl of
fifteen, as she came running into the kitchen at
the station where Aunt Milly was busy among
the pots and kettles.
" Hush, you foolish nigger you I Ain't these
woods full enough of Injins, without you trying
to res'rect ghosts?"' Well, but I did, and on my soul, I b'leve it
was ]Miss Mary's.  I reckon old mars' he's sent
her back to see how mistis and all is gittin'
along," continued the younger, whose trembling
frame and ashy countenance betokened that
something unusual had occurred to her.
"' I say," said Aunt Milly, " hush your foolishness and bring me that pail o' water I sent you
to the spring for half an hour ago."
2.58




AN APPARITION.           259
"Why, mammy, I was so skeered that I
dropped the pail and run like a white-head."
" You triflin' hussy! I'll give you sometin' to
run for!" raising a stick to strike the girl; but
she was deterred by the appearance of her child,
who was evidently verging on a paroxysm of
fear. Continuing in a more soothing tone of
voice, she said, "Well, come now, Tildy, and
show me tile sperrit. I reckon I oughtn't to be
afeard, sence I've fit wild beastesses and Injins
out here in this howlin' wilderness."
The two then proceeded out of the gates of the
fort, into the path which led from the stockade
to a large clear spring. It wias the dim and
shadowy hour of twilight, a rather propitious
hour for the appearance of apparitions in the
imaginations and fears of timid people. They
had not proceeded far when the girl exclaimed,
1" Thar! see thar!" pointing with her finger toward
the two graves.
"Why child, that's Paly Miss Sane ard Miss
Susan, standing by old mars' grave."'
"Shaw, I seed them: but yonderi look, look!'
Sure enough there was to be seen the outline
of another female figure flitting through the
woods. It approached the grave. where Mrs.




260           AN APPARITION.
Hardy and her sister were standing.. The two
had just turned their faces toward the station,
as the apparition glided noiselessly between
them. Mrs. H. looked somewhat sternly to see
who had thus dared to intrude upon the'sacredness of her revery beside the last resting-place of
her husband.
The sternness of the look melted in an instant,
as the woe-stricken, grief-laden woman recognized in the strange, unexpected appearance, the
beaming eyes and the soft voice of the long-lost
Mary, who, throwing her arms about her, could
but cry in the very fullness of her joy, " Mother,
mother!"
Mrs. Burkitt understood, intuitively, that this
was her daughter from whom she had been separated since the early infancy of the child. But
her lone, desolate, stricken heart revolted when
she heard the endearing appellation of mother,
that rightfully belonged to her, applied with
such earnest fondness a nd soulful lovingness to
another; although she knew that the girl had
been reared in entire ignorance of her real parentage.
When Aunt Milly saw these exciting demonstrations she hastened to join the group, followed




AN APPARITION.          261
by Tildy, who was not yet wholly relieved from
her ghostly apprehensions. The old negro united
with her mistress in the glad greeting, for Miss
Mary had always been her pet, and the girl,
who had been a companion and playmate of
the young "' mistis " through her girlish days, was
not backward with her rapturous embraces when
she definitely ascertained that it was not a
" sperrit."
Only one of the group was silent, and that was
the real mother.
But the eager Mary, though wearied out by her
extraordinary toils and adventures, could not
tarry there. She said that she had a message for
Simon Kenton, and must see him. They hastened to the station, and found the brave warrior
enjoying his pipe, as peacefully as if there were
no other dangers to be confronted, and the red
hand of murder never again to be averted by his
stalwart arm.
The message was delivered. Horsemen were
dispatched through the various settlements to
alarm the farmers, and to warn the stations of the
contemplated attack, and a trusty company was
sent to recover Washburn, who had been left opposite the mouth of the Scioto by Mary.




262            AN APPARITION.
The heroic young woman had eat nothing
since early in the morning of the previous day;
but the excitement of the flight and the arduous
journey through the forest had quite banished
any sensations of hunger. Now that she was
safe and surrounded by her kindred and friends,
a faintness almost overcame the brave spirit that
had so lately undergone trials and performed
exploits, sufficient to have canonized her in the
middle ages.  The kindness of her aunt who
she still regarded as her mother, was exercised
to its utmost in relieving the wants of Mary.
Aunt Milly prepared a sumptuous feast, warm
baths were in readiness, stimulating drinks were
mixed, and when she had feasted for the first
time in a civilized manner for nearly two years,
she was quite another being. All of her old
tenderness and ingenuousness and simplicity were
restored, and nestling close to Mrs. Hardy's
bosom, she recounted all the troubles of her
long captivity. Hers was a simple story, unembellished by rhetoric. Had we the gift of many
of our brethren of the story-telling fraternity
we could fill pages withl the details of the girl's
experiences.
When loitering upon the hill in the rear of the




AN APPARITION.          263
pioneer calvacade on the eventful day of her
disappearance, she was suddenly seized, blinded,
and her voice stifled. In this condition she was
dragged into a mountain gorge, and there remained until the next morning, when her captor
removed the bandages from her eyes, and " Oh!"
exclaimed she, "it was that hideous man who
was taken at our house in Fauquier, and then
was being driven off the morning we left the
old home. He said that he was my father, and
that he was taking me to my mother.  We
travelled ever so many days on foot, over the
highest hills and across rapid rivers, and then
came to an Indian village. But the man did not
find the person he said was my mother, and he
became almost crazed with madness. He raved
incessantly, and finally fell into a fever, through
which I watched him until he was quite recovered. Then he became more gentle, and since
that time has treated me with such kindness that
I never knew what to make of it."
How she had lived among the savages and
how she had finally escaped, she related in her
artless, confiding manner. There was one listener
to whom all her words were cutting, stabbing
daggers; her own mother, of whose existence
the poor girl kneew nothing.




264           AN APPARITION.
Her story completed, she fell into a gentle
slumber in the arms of Mrs. Hardy, and then the
two women gently composed her weary limbs on
a pleasant couch, where, undisturbed, she could
again enjoy the delicious sleep of freedom.
It was late next morning before Mary awoke.
She was, for a moment, scarcely conscious of her
situation, and unable to realize that she was again
safe among those who had loved her from tender
babyhood until now. All had the semblance of
a dream, and she was afraid to lift her eyes
and look about her lest the pleasant vision of
home and happiness, in which she had been indulging, might be dissipated by the sadness of
a stern reality.
But she need not fear. There, bending over
her, was the kind face of Mrs. Hardy, while
beside the bed, her own mother was kneeling in
prayer.
" Dear, dear mother!" exclaimed Mary, reaching forward to kiss and embrace her aunt.
"But Mary, love, this is your own true, real
mother," said Mrs. Hardy, presenting her sister,
who fell upon the girl's bosom, sobbing as if her
heart would break.
Then the whole story was unfolded to the poor,
wondering Mary.




AN APPRITION.           265
"And so that was my own father, even as he
said. Oh, I ought to have staid with him, and
tried to have induced him to leave those dreadful Indians. Now he is with them again, and
they are coming here to try and murder you all."
What reply could they dare make to this?
None. Mary was left to her thoughts and her
yearnings for the safety of the father she had
never regarded as such, and to the delight of her
assured freedom.
And in all this time had there been no mention of Basil Greene, her betrothed lover? Yes,
indeed. His praises were on their tongues continually, and her bosom throbbed with sensations
that had been foreign to that maidenly temple
of purity for so long and so dreary a season.
Throughout the night the people had been
flocking to the station for protection, and Kenton
placed himself at the head of a trusty force, determined not to await the coming of the enemy,
but to march out and chastise them. At Logan's
Gap, where it was most likely they would attempt to cross the Ohio, he prepared an ambuscade. Nor was he any too soon. The Indians,
several hundred strong, marched up cautiously
just at nightfall, intending, doubtless, to make
12




266           AN' APPARITION.
their attack under the shadow of night. They
were allowed to proceed some distance in a narrow gorge leading to the river, when the word
was given, and the fifty ambushed riflemen discharged their death-dealing volley. Every man
had selected his mark, and not a shot was fired
amiss. Each told with deadly effect upon the
red-skins. Before they could recover from the
consternation into which this sudden attack had
thrown them, the riflemen had reloaded their
pieces and discharged.them with the same fatal
precision as before. The Indians were unable to
withstant these disastrous blows from a hidden
fee. Anhundred of their warriors lay dead or in
the agonies of death, and the remainder fled in
every direction. Pursuit would have been vain,
and the hunters, well satisfied with their exploit,
rushed among the slain to secure the scalp-locks.
While they were busily engaged at this bloody
work, Kenton observed one of the men strike,
with the stock of his gun, a person who was
attempting to rise. He thought that he discerned the features of a white man, although they
were disfigured with daubs of paint. Just as the
keen knife was entering the scalp he begged the
man to desist, and questioning the prostrate foe,




AN APPARITION.          267
he ascertained that his surmises were correct,
and that he was a white. He further inquired
as to the reason of his presence among the Indians, and the man responded, that he had been
taken captive years before, and was forced to engage in their undertakings or be murdered.
The story was not a very plausible one, but
Kenton thought that it would be best to convey
him to the station, and there investigate the matter further. He accordingly acted.
Elate with their success and flushed with victory, the troops returned home, only regretting
that they had missed the main body of Indians,
who had gone another route, and intended attacking the settlements near and beyond the
Kentucky River.
On the ensuing day Mrs. Hardy, hearing that
there was a wounded stranger in the station,
visited him. The recognition was mutual instantly. It was Burkitt. But she said nothing;
only alleviated his sufferings and administered
to his wants, as far as was in her power. She
then sought out Kenton, and confided to him the
exact and full particulars of her knowledge concerning his wounded guest, but begged him never
to whisper one word of what she detailed.
Doubtless the miserable  man had  suffered




268           AN APPARITION.
enough, and from appearances death would soon
efface all memory of his manifold transgressions.
Besides, an exposure would entail needless suffering and disgrace upon the wife and daughter.
Kenton listened with interest to the narrative
of Mrs. Hardy; not, however, without indignation at some portions, displaying the mendacity of Burkitt. But he acquiesced in her wishes,
for the sake of the daughter, whose heroism had
won for her the admiration of all hearts.
Mrs. Burkitt and Mary were apprised of the
presence of the husband and father, and they
regularly visited the now delirious sufferer. Not
one word was breathed concerning the man.
These four kept their own sad secret closely
locked in their bosoms. He was faithfully
tended, and for weeks lingered on the very brink
of eternity. But the warm days of the spring
revived his prostrate frame, and he was finally
able to totter about the house and yard. He
was never again the stout, muscular man of former times, and affliction seemed to have subdued
the harsh and repulsive features of his face, while
his brain, that had so long and so actively plotted wickedness, was quite paralyzed, and Burkitt, the strong, hearty, bold man of old, became
a feeble, drivelling idiot.




XL.
PERPL   EXED.
BASIL GREENE had just completed a very
elaborate toilet, and was seated before the
blazing wood fire in his bachelor apartment, rubbing his hands and smiling to himself with a
self-satisfied sufficiency of manner, that rendered
it evident that his lines had fallen in very pleasant places. Nor need we wonder at the eloquent and famous young attorney. He has most
excellent cause for his present complacency of
mood. He is on the very threshold of the golden,
realm. Before him are years of sunshine. The
shadows are all in the background. The beaker
of happiness is prepared for his lips, and it must
be a long, long time before the dregs are reached,
if ever they do pollute his taste. He casts his
eye about him, and the happy dog sneers at the
bald and bare appearance of the chamber,
209




270                  PERPLEXED.
though it is a snug and cozy place to indulge in
idle dreams and puff the pipe of unwedded
peace. But he sneers and wonders that he has
been content so long in this forlorn condition.
And then he stirs the fire anew, and the flames
flash, and the sparks sparkle, and the coals candesce; and he sees a beautiful vision, which he
would have embalmed in immortal verse or on
glowing canvas, had he possessed the genius of
that doubly-gifted poet-artist —our cher ami —
Brannan, who sings -thus of,one of his own daydreams:' Dark tresses. clung about her neck
In such a captivating guise,
As would have made another wrenk
Of Adam and his Paradise;
But saving grace was il h'er~eye&.
" No Venus rising from the sea,
By an immortal pencil limned,
Could show such loveliness as she;
All praise that poets ever hymned
Her virgin purity had dimmed.
"The peach-bloom blushed upon her cheek,
The lily paled upon her breast,
The love-light shone from eyes as meek
As ever soothed a soul's unrest:
I blest her as my angel guest."




PERPLEXED.             271
This rare and radiant vision appeared to Basil
as he gazed into the fire, but he had neither skill
of pen or pencil to retain even the shadow of
this form divinely fair. Nor need he. Had not
he and the reality of that maiden meek vowed
never more to part,
" And sealed the vow on lip and cheek?"
The truth is, Lucy Connolly, who had catechised Basil concerning love, taught him to feel
the tender passion, and there resulted, as is, we
believe, the common custom, a betrothal between
the two young people. And this was to be the
night of their union. Hence the brilliant costume of Basil and the luxurious fantasies in
which he was indulging.
The door opens, and Sam, a shining-faced negro, enters with a package of letters and papers,
for this was the evening on which the bi-weekly
post from the Ohio River arrived. At that period the postal service of the West was very limited, and as late as 1799, the people were content with one mail from the seaboard every three
months. Basil's correspondence was chiefly with
that miserable class of persons involved in lawsuits, and as he glanced over the letters he was




272             PERPLEXED.
astonished to find one superscribed in a delicate
feminine hand. Opening this first, for his curiosity was instantly awakened, he glanced at the
signature. As his eye rested upon a well-known
name-a name that had been a charm to him in
years by-gone, and the very appearance of which
ever awoke strains of sad music in his heart —he
shuddered as if a blast from the frosty Caucasus
had swept through the room. Pale and trembling he read the brief letter:
" KENTON'S STATION.' MY DEAR BASIL:
"I am here safe and well, as one raised
from the dead, after so long and so dreadful an
absence from you. I hear you praised by everybody, and am fearful that you will find one unworthy of your good and great self in your
There could be no mistake in this. He recognized the penmanship of Mary, and there, to
confirm all, was the issue of the "' Kentucke Gazette" of that week, with an account of the
escape from Indian captivity of a young white
woman. In looking at the paper before, he had
barely noticed the caption of the article. Instinc



PERPLEXED.  273
tively his eye now turned to it, and, with alternating emotions of hope and fear, he read it
through. It detailed everything with a minuteness we have not attempted, and was a confirmation of the genuineness of the letter, which was
" strong as proof of holy writ."
Most of us find it difficult enough to secure the
affections of one young woman, and count ourselves lucky if we can but bask an occasional
hour in the sunshine of some maiden's smiles.
Now, here was an individual not a whit more
comely than any of us unmarried and marriageable dogs, with two care spose, and actually in
distress-perplexed with uncertainty as to his
proper course of conduct —troubled with qualms
of conscience, and positively quivering with fear
at the near approach of the hour which was to
see him united, for better for worse, with the
loveliest and gentlest belle of Lexington.
Through all the mutations of his career, Basil
had preserved green the memory of his early
love. The lapse of time had only hallowed and
rendered more sacred the remembrance of the
ideal of his first passionate thoughts. His sucsuccesses had been shorn of half their pleasure
because Mary could not partake of the joy they
12*




274              PERPLEXD.
had brought him. Even the brilliant beauty. and
fascinating manners, and tender sentiment of
Lucy Connolly could not banish the winsome
country girl from his recollection. He had
shrined her in his heart of hearts as the holy
object of his worship and idolatry. His newlycreated passion had not in the least weakened
the force and fervor of the old, and he had not
been chary in painting her graces in the presence
of Lucy. Nor was she loath to listen to his eloquent praises of the loved and lost. Doubtless,
had she not regarded Mary as dead, the monster,
Jealousy, would have reared his hideous head in
that bosom which now swelled regularly with the
undisturbed pul.sations of satisfied love.  In
Basil's somewhat pathetic reverence for the past,
she saw a guaranty of his fidelity to her in the
future.
To one situated as was Basil, the revelation of
Miary's existence was distressing. So exacting is
womankind that it would be impossible for him
to act without incurring the serious displeasure
of some persons. IHe could not forsake Lucy,
for every tick of his watch notified him of the
nearer and nearer approach of the hour when he




PERPLEtXED.             275
should meet her who was even now bosoming
the bridal flowers
-" with graceful art
Above the beatings of her heart."
And then, when he recurred to Mary, and remembered all that she had been, and pictured all
that she could be to him, his heart revolted.
But his fate seemed fixed.  His destiny was
precipitating him into the commission of what
he considered a crime; the brand of traitor was
ready for his brow. He again read the simple,
loving words of Mary, and kissed the signature,
and fondled the bit of paper over which her innocent hand had passed, and his brain was agonized
with the thought that so soon he was to act a
part where his heart could not be, dissemble
though he might. He was thus inflicting selftorture when he heard the long-expected rap at
his door. It was time for the groomsmen to appear, and these, thought he, must be my frieraq
who are to lead me to the sacrifice.
But, instead of
" a pompous traine and antick crowd
Of young gay swearers with their lowd retinue,"




276             PERPLEXED.
there entered General Wilkinson. He did not
seat himself before beginning:
"Well, Basil, the game is up. It may be a
hard blow to you, but' there's as good fish in the
sea'-you know the rest."
"Pray what do you mean, General?  You
speak in riddles. This is all an enigma to me."'Enigma, is it! Well, I shall tell you the
plain story, Basil, without borrowing any of your
own rhetorical embellishments. Upon the body of
a spy taken prisoner during the last Indian incursion were found papers proving clearly the complicity of Doctor Connolly in certain British intrigues, and his connection with the parties who
are instigating the savages to their outrages upon
the settlements. We informed him of the discovery, and advised him to flee with all precipitancy, lest the people should hear of his guilt,
and their passions, you know, would be difficult
to restrain. So Connolly has fled secretly this
evening, and by this time is halfway to Limestone, where he will cross the river and escape
to the more congenial clime of Canada. Before
leaving, lie gave me a power of attorney to settle
his business, and in that capacity I pay you this
visit. Here is a package for you."




PERPLEXED.            277
Untying the cord with which the small bundle
was secured, he saw a note, and read as follows:
"Basil, he is forced to fly, and it is well that
it is so, and that I accompany him. You have
been grossly deceived. I am not his daughter.
God be thanked that I have been hindered from
polluting your blameless life by a union which
would have been a foul lie.' I have begged him for the inclosed papers,
hoping they may be of service to your kind
friends.                          LucY."
Struggling to master his emotion, Basil merely
glanced at the papers, but he saw that they were
the original title-deeds to the Hardy farm, and a
written withdrawal of all claims to the estate on
the part of Doctor Connolly.
Arising, he said, calmly:
" Suppose we walk, General 2"
Arm-in-arm, the two proceeded down the dark,
unpaved street to the tavern where the usual
crowd of tippling gossippers had gathered. The
flight of Connolly was already bruited about, and
formed the staple of all conversation. So there
was nothing enticing in that, and Basil, disengag



278             PERPLEXED.
ing himself from his companion, returned to his
solitary room.
While he is thoughtfully wending his way
back, let us state the whole truth concerning
this Doctor Connally; for General Wilkinson only
gave the version that best suited him. He was
not apt ever to criminate himself. The facts of
history are these: Conn.ally had been a British
agent at Fort Pitt during the Revolutionary war,
and was subsequently an emissary of the Earl of
Dorchester. Under the pretext of closing up
some old, unsettled business, and searching for
confiscated lands, he came to Kentucky, but his
real business was that of a secret agent of the
Governor-General of Canada, to arrange with some
of the leading men of the State for a return to
British protection and an invasion of Louisiana.
Privy to all his purposes, objects and schemes
were General Wilkinson, Colonel Marshall, and
Colonel J. Campbell. To what an extent of
guilt they were involved it is not in the province
of this chronicler to say.
Whether to be perfectly happy or entirely
miserable, Basil could scarcely determine. Fate,
which seemed just before so implacable, had removed the only obstacle to the consummation




PERPLEX!ED.               279
of his earliest desires, and he was now about to
quarrel with it for depriving him of Lucy. Her
goodness, grace, and gentleness were magnified
tenfold to his vision, now that she was gone forever from his possession.
He tossed for hours upon his bed, and when
he slept he clasped to his breast Lucy, but to
awake and find himself the cheated victim of an
illusive dream. At last there hovered near his
pillow a figure clad in more than angelic purity
and radiance. It gently clasped his hand and
led him through groves fruit-laden, where all the
way was primrosed; where heaven unfolded its
azure, checkered with snowy fleeces; where the
air was all spice and every bush a garland wore:
Then uniting him to Mary, the good angel promised the twain
"Sweet, downie thoughts, soft lily shades, calm streams,
Joys full and true,
Fresh, spicie mornings and eternal beams."




XLI.
CLEARING UP.
IT was sixty miles from Lexington to Kenton's
station, over a rough path, scarcely worthy,
even at that period, of being styled a road. Two
or three days were most usually occupied in
performing the journey. But Basil Greene knew
no weariness, and his noble horse, like that which
Adonis rode,
-" did excel a common one
In shape, in courage, color, pace and bone."
Fast and furious was the pace, the livelong day,
and night found the hurrying rider among the
well-known fields and woods where he had enjoyed his first months in Kentucky. Like an old
border knight in the graceful pride and chivalry
of his bearing, he presented himself at the portals
of the station and demanded admittance in the
2o




CLARrSNG UP.           281
name of Love, whose cavalier he was. Kenton
knew the voice, and as he was sitting warder
near the entrance, made him welcome, with a
hearty grasp and heartful words.
"Oh no," said Simon, "they've not gone to
bed yet. There's a young woman who's sick,
if not dead by this time, and they are watching
by her. I reckon you've come to take the folks
away from the station. You needn't mind. They
are, I'm sure, most welcome here."
"Well we won't talk of those things now.
Please show me where I can find these friends of
mine," responded Basil.
"Here this way."
It was but a few steps into the room where the
sick lay, and into the embrace of Mary, who, angel as she was, had been solacing the dying
hours of a pale young woman, brought there
that day fatally wounded by a fall from her
horse.
The entrance of Basil aroused the feeble failing faculties of the scarcely conscious sufferer,
and, turning her eyes dimmed with the damps of
death upon the lovers who are clasped heart to
heart, and soul to soul, she faintly utters "1 Basil."
He starts to hear his name thus whispered from the




282            CLEARING UP.
shores of death, and looking toward the bed, he
recognizes Lucy. Her look in return is halfreproachful, but she beckons'him to her, and he
kneels at the bedside.
"Is it Mary 2" she asks.
"Yes Lucy. What would you have?"
Then she calls Mary, who kneels next to Basil,
and joining their hands, she lays her own delicate palms upon their heads and blesses them
with her dying breath.
There needs must be mutual explanations.
Mary informs Basil of the accident by which a
blood-vessel was ruptured causing Lucy's death,
and the fact of her companion having continued
the journey, leaving the wounded woman in their
care. Basil then tells Mary everything, honestly,
frankly and candidly. And they are both the
happier for this interchange of confidencet.




XLII.
EPITHALAMIUM.
rTIIERE only remains now for us to ring the
L marriage bells and sing the epithalmium.
Then the book will be closed, the company must
consider itself dismissed, and our pen will be
converted into what, perhaps, it would have been
better had it been originally shaped-a knittingquill for our mother's behoof.
Never shone the Hardy home so fair as upon
this May day. Enwreathed with trellised vines,
garlanded with roses, decked with all the floral
beauties of the month, it was a bower where
peace and happiness dwelt, and where Love was
soon to fold his purple wings, and light his torch
upon the altar of wedded bliss.
The kitchen is redolent with the steam of savory stews and choice comfits, and old Aunt
Milly's ivory teeth glisten with delight at the
288




284            ErITHALAMIUM.
success which has crowned her preparations for
the feast. Tildy is resplendent in a spick-andspan-new dress, and in her efforts to be serviceable, is constantly making mistakes. Tom and
Cash, and the representatives of Young Africa,
are arrayed in holiday attire.
Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Burkitt sit together and
are happiest in silence. They have had their
sorrows, but to-day their cup brims with joy,
and so shall it ever be for them, world without
end.
The children of the household, whom we have
treated with little consideration in the preceding
pages-simply because they are most lovely and
attractive out of books and out of company —
are sporting in all the mad frolicsomeness of
youth upon the green lawn.
Yonder, loitering down the well-worn forest
path, is Burkitt.  He knows that it is a gala occasion, and feels that his presence would not be
in harmony with a scene of innocent happiness.
Above-stairs in the little attic room, with her
bridesmaids grouped about her, is Mary. Theirs
and hers is the bloom of youth and truth and
beauty, and a pretty sight it is when they entwine




EPITHALAMIIM.            285.- " with merry fingers fair,
Their garlands in her sunny hair."
It is high noon, and high time that the bridegroom and the wedding guests should come.
And there they are. Do you not hear the clatter of horses' hoofs over the brush-heaps and
the thickly strewn logs, and the fire of that salvo
away in the deep woods? And there, foremost
of the chase, their steeds foaming and reeking
and the riders shouting in high glee, the tall
man on the tall horse wins the prize-a bottle of
whisky, fixed at the gate, to be secured by the
first person in the race-and as he snatches the
Black Betsey, he exclaims, in a voice that we
must certainly have heard before:
" Ha, ha I little Frenchy, you're no go.  I'm
the feller to swim with the tide and sail with the
wind, to stem the torrent and weather the pint.
I always come off with flyin' colors and carry
the day. But here, old friend, take a swig of
the creeter comfort."
Sure enough, it was Rip Snorter, Esq., and
Pierre Savary, the pilots on the Ark voyage,
and they were now, as then, hale fellows well
met.




286            EPITrALAMIUM.'
Weddings, in that good old time, were
characterized by numerous observances abolished in these latter days. The guests were
accustomed to assemble at the residence of the
bridegroom, and then escort him to the home of
the bride. With loud revelry and riotous glee
they made the way rejoice. Nor was the path
one of pleasantness. Friends generally placed
obstructions across it, and there were occasional
ambuscades, whence discharges of firearms would
burst upon the cavalcade. The race for the bottle was the finale of the march.
It is a goodly procession as it advances up the
hill, and there, in the midst of all-you can tell
which is he by the graceful air with which he
sits his steed —is Basil Greene. Mary, who is
looking from her little window, singles him out at
once, and the mad pranks and queer antics of the
escort cannot win her eye from the lord of her
heart.
There is a little porch wreathed with the sweet
honeysuckle, and there Basil and Mary, robed in
garments fit to have graced any nuptials, stand
up before the man of God, and enter into those
holy bonds, to have and to hold from this day
forward, for better for worse, for richer for




EPITHALAMIUM.             287
poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to
cherish, till death parts them.
As they make the sacred troth, an audible
Amen runs through the group of spectators, and
they all declare that Campbell has done very
well, considering that this is the first ceremony
he ever performed. Never will he unite truer
hearts in more lasting bonds.
We will not linger at the amply provided dinner-table.  Out upon the green-sward!  Hear
the Theologian. He has not forgotten his Horace, for, with a cheery voice, he sings out:
" Nunc est bibendum, nune pede libero,
Pulsanda tellus, nunc Saliaribus
Ornare pulvinar deorum
Tempus erat dapibus, sodalos."
Ah, Campbell, hadst thou belonged to the
Ebenezer Presbytery in this more pious age,
thou wouldst have been excommunicated or exorcised, or exterminated.
But it was given him to live in a freer and
happier time, and no wonder he sings: "l Now is
the time for drinking and dancing, oh, companions!"
The sports are continued out of doors until af



288            EPITHALAMIUM.
ter dusk, when the music and merriment is
transferred to the house. A committee of maidens then escort th'e bride to her chamber, and
disrobe her of the garb of maidenhood. A similar committee of males perform the same office
for the bridegroom.
Still with flying feet the gay guests chase the
hours, until the morrow's sun appears.
And all this night there encamps about the
house the angelic hosts of Love, Content, and
Hope. May it be theirs to watch well these,
and all other happy hearts, ever and ever!
THE END.